Chapter 12 – Let’s Get Real
Part 2
“To me, comedy is just twisting reality.
It's commenting or observing or twisting life.”
– Steven Wright
– ***** –
- Nicolas’ PoV -
After a… well… actually… an insultingly short walk, or at least insulting to anyone who ever thought of walking as a sport – some people are weeeird – , Nicolas eventually arrived at his destination, namely the Holly Land, “Tommy’s Record Store”. The revered place was in fact barely more than two streets away from his serenity circle – apartment – , nothing warranting the twenty minutes he took to reach it, really. Rational as always, Nicolas harshly blamed his W-MP for the delay, because he set his pace to the rhythm of the music and, oddly enough, despite being set on “random” – of course – , the device had obstinately refused to leave the “classical slow” portion of his playlist.
Obviously you’re doing it on purpose, you over-expensive bastard…
“Tommy’s” was a small neighbourhood store. The kind only know to locals. Not speaking about NPCs here. Although… Could it be said that human beings were the NPCs of the real world? Was there a Plan, an Algorithm, a Great Programmer? Were people no more than sweaty lumps of flesh, fragile bags of bloody innards moved by uninterrupted flows of electrical data stocked in a squashy hard-disc called “brain”? If so, were game NPCs less human than humans? Maybe… since “true” humans couldn’t be modified at will. But didn’t that mean NPCs were humans as long as no code-wielding nerd, playing God almighty, came to mess with their minds and bodies? And wasn’t that only valid as long as the details of the Homo sapiens’ genetic makeup, and the inner workings of their individual organic supercomputers remained clouded in mystery? Did that mean that humans were no more than NPCs, or that NPCs were as much as humans? Subtle twist in semantics, but earthquake from a philosophical standpoint.
As Nicolas pushed open the windowed door of the shop, all these questions he didn’t really care about were impertinently popping nonstop inside his head.
HOOOOOOOO!!! SHUT UP! For the Pink Bridge of Cutesiness’ sake! Stop messing up my brain. I think in there!
*trilililing*
A merry electronic carillon accompanied his glorious arrival in paradise, obnoxiously announcing his entrance for all customers to hear. Not that the latters were legions though.
In one corner “stood” – more like “fell in super slow-mo” – two jellylike hoodlums, who would probably trip right away if they ever as much as tried walking in those overly saggy pants. The wannabe thugs were checking the latest compilations in the dumpstomp rap section, moving their head up and down like retarded ostriches, and communicating amongst themselves through flabby ape-ish gesticulations, all the while approximately repeating, with less accuracy than a drunken parrot, the lyrics that their hidden headphones desperately tried to make understand to their dusty brains, which had probably long ago crumbled from disuse. A fascinating sight, from a zoological point of view. Nicolas didn’t judge. Just disdainfully snorted.
Next to them, leant against the wall, obviously bored “outta” her almost-showing ass, was a heavily pierced girl – hopefully vaccinated against tetanus – with short, spiky, flashy, electric-blue hairs, wearing knee boots, a mini-mini-mini-skirt, and a minuscule breast belt Nicolas really hesitated to even dare call a top.
Hoy… Miss Metal-Head, aren’t you cold? It’s literally freezing out there, you know?
Hearing the ringing sound, and thankfully not his thoughts, the barely clad female pin cushion had briefly turned her head towards the door, glanced over Nicolas, sighed in ennui, and then gone back to her meticulous observation of a dirty spot on the once-white ceiling.
Got it. So I deserve less attention than unclean plywood, uh? Well, you’re not my type either, voodoo doll. Don’t need a girlfriend who’d tilt each time she walks too close to a magnet. Seriously, what’s with the attitude? I guess you were dragged here by the two half-wits convulsing over there, and I know I’m no Elric, but still… that’s just rude.
Nicolas was well aware his looks weren’t exactly his strong point. Not that he was – nor considered himself – ugly, just… average. Also, despite not caring much about people’s opinion in general, he wasn’t completely devoid of vanity, like any self-conscious normal human being would. Therefore, he hadn’t hesitated to enhance a bit the appearance of his in-game avatar. Untold Tales actually allowed lots of liberties in the creation stage, with sex change and the limits of what was clinically possible as sole restrictions. Whatever race you chose, having a head five times the size of your chest wasn’t a realistic option. That went for the opposite too. Without going too far, Nicolas had added to “Elric” some muscles, as well as about twenty centimetres in height to reach a round two metres. He had also changed his hair colour from light brown to golden, and made his naturally green-blue a bit more icy and mysterious, he thought.
Yasmin always said that he could have become quite handsome, if he simply put some effort into it.
But who wouldn’t? I mean, come on… Isn’t that the whole point of beauty salons?
Back when she started, Nicolas had thought the girl was just flattering him. You know, the whole “dating” thing. But she hadn’t stopped even after their kinda-break-up, forcing him to revise his position. Only his position though, not his behaviour, and still no care went to his external aspect, apart from what he considered the bare minimum to avoid looking bad, and attracting attention. A bare minimum of which extend could vary greatly depending on his versatile mood.
Now that Nicolas thought back at their short time as sorta-lovers, to be honest, they had ever made a very convincing couple. Mostly because Yasmin and him, along with her brother Daniel, had known each other since childhood. Being around, she had consoled him after the whole “Jenny Fiasco”, which naturally had led to the two becoming somewhat “closer”. However, neither of them had really known how to properly take it to the next level. She was a martial arts addict, Nicolas was… well… Nicolas, and, despite what some might think, great sex – the martial artist had truly shined there – wasn’t enough to build a long-lasting – sane – couple relationship. Nicolas truly needed some sanity to hang on to, once in a while. Thus, after two months of constantly falling back into their habitual friendly routine, but spread with a thick layer of uncomfortable awkwardness, they both had tacitly agreed to stop forcing themselves.
Tsh. Who the hell said the “osananajimi route” <1> was always the best shot? Moron. Anyway, we tried, we failed, we’re still good. Was worth a try. It would have been on my mind forever otherwise. And God knows I don’t need more stuff in there. I know, right? Told you so. We didn’t saw her much since I started exploring that shitty country though… Let’s ask Daniel on Monday at school. … Although I doubt those battle crazy siblings could be anything else than “super-over-fine”. … Well, I guess being politely concerned couldn’t hurt.
Sweeping across the store, Nicolas’ eyes fell upon the fourth and last costumer, a lone girl quietly browsing the classical records, whose appearance immediately brought an adjective to the young man’s mind.
Nerdy…
Not the vulgar, excessive, fashionably nerdy borderline slutty hipster carving for attention – amongst other things – kind. No. The legit article. Certified purebred, reared in library. Thick rectangular glasses, black shoulder-length hair with long bangs, woollen greyish turtleneck, standard jeans, mostly hidden face, unremarkable chest, and timid attitude. Nicolas guessed her younger than twenty, and around one-sixty in height. She moved in fast, precise, and silent gestures, visibly trying not to be noticed by the two epileptic hoodies, at which she glanced nervously every now and then. Nicolas smirked as a weird image formed in his mind, picturing a little shrew with glasses tensely gathering nuts next to a pair of brain-damaged hooded hyenas, while an uncaring blue porcupine was stupidly staring at a nearby mossy rock.
Thou who stands here before Us, I name thee “Shy Girl number 1”. Haha. Poor thing, she’s so preoccupied by these two errors of societal evolution that it seems she hasn’t even heard that loud crappy synthetized carillon… So cliché… So scared… So cute…
“…”
Hoy. My thoughts sounded very creepy just now. Get a grip man.
Despite his mental self-call to order, Nicolas’ derisive, clinical, and vaguely sadistic smile broadened further.
People…
He didn’t really like to deal with them, but human beings were so much fun to observe. Rarely would creatures of other species display such fascinating behavioural disparities among themselves. Truly interesting.
As the mad-scientist-minded, slightly psychotic, young man was indulging in his captivated interest for these two extremes of the social spectrum, who were coincidentally brought in the same place by a similar desire for musical entertainment, like both predators and preys ineluctably gather near the same watering hole, he was suddenly snapped back to reality when a impudent dreadlocked mole intruded in-between the shrew and the hyenas, raised a paw, and called out to him.
“Hey, Nic’! I awaited you sooner, man. You’re a bit late, you know? My stocks have already been plundered.”
Professor Siegel, unlicensed anthro-zoologist, immediately focused on the specimen of talking talpidae, apparently emerging from behind a wooden counter at the back of the store, and exclaimed a very instinctual:
“WHAT?!”
The mol- short black man again quickly raised his pa- hand to calm down his customer/friend.
“Relax man. I knew you’d come. You can’t live without my stuff anyway. So I kept you some of your dope aside.”
He flashed a knowing wicked smile, then reached inside his coat – looking like a long coat on short him – , and took out a plastic sleeve he showed his addicted regular.
“FAAAAUST!!”
Shouting, Nicolas rushed to the music dealer and briefly hugged his low head over the counter.
“Henry, my man! You’re such a bro.”
“How! Peace… Calm yourself, man. Don’t spill your withdrawal symptoms all over me.”
“Oh, you were down there? Sorry.”
Nicolas retorted mockingly while playing with an album that had mysteriously appeared in his hands.
“Hey! When did you… No, never mind. And you’re the one who’s too tall.”
“I don’t think one metre seventy-eight is that much these days. Right, shorty?”
Grumbling, the other jumped backwards, and sat on his high stool, which made him look even shorter. The sight never failed to amuse Nicolas.
Henry was the owner. Tommy Devon – “Tommy” like in “Tommy’s Record Store” – had been his great-great-grandfather. Surprisingly, this little run-down shop had in fact quite the history. Nicolas had discovered the place right after moving to the city, and had quickly developed a teasing friendship with its slightly vertically challenged owner. Not his was to the level of dwarfism though. Just enough for Nicolas to comfortably use the man’s shoulder as an armrest when both standing.
“Anyway, thanks again Henry. I’m quite busy these days, and I really didn’t want to hunt one of theses down throughout the city.”
“Busy? You? Man, come on. Not to me... What would you have to do beside playing UT ‘these days’? And, no need for thanks. I can do at least that much.” He grinned, then added: “I wouldn’t like you leaving me alone, and losing half of my coil.”
Nicolas replied in an exaggeratedly outraged voce:
“Oh! Is that sooo… I’m offended! Do you only see me as income? Besides, I’m not that addicted to music.”
“My books say otherwise.”
“Nonsense! If I was that desperate, I would just download it like everyone else.”
“Everyone with a major in programming, you mean? I don’t know from which hole did the govs unearth the bad bwai who designed the last marine-software, this ‘Tea Spoon’, but the guy must have worked for the NASA before or something… And why ‘Tea Spoon’, anyway?!”
“No idea. Besides, the government might just have asked Whatever for help.”
“That too… damn.”
“Shouldn’t you be glad about this? Your pay check rides on the stuff.”
“Mmmhincomegrbletopoorthrgra….”
“Didn’t quite catch that.”
“You still need to pay me for the CD.”
“Riiiight… Change the subject. Cheer up, and run away! That’s so you.”
“Maybe, but I’m still not the one who took a stalagmite up the a-”
“RIIIIIGHT! …I never should have told you about that.”
Mumbling in discontent and self-reprimand, Nicolas took the exact amount out of his pocket, and gave it to Henry, who took it while mumbling too. They probably looked a bit strange, but it not like many where there to observe them anyway, nor did either of them care much about their image.
However, unwilling to end the discussion on such a poor note, Nicolas added a random question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the conversation:
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Why Rasta?”
“Because it’s Reggae Week, man.”
“…”
Seems legit… Must be another wig though. Not sure I ever saw this guy’s real hair.
Without giving any more explanation about what the hell “Reggae Week” was supposed to be, Rasta-Henry looked over Nicolas’ shoulder, seemingly surprised. He then lowered his head, forcing his interlocutor to literally bend in two get to his level, and whispered conspiringly, with a suspicious grin revealing his yellowish teeth.
“You should get going, man. You wouldn’t want to make your little fan girl over there wait for too long, would you?”
Fan girl?
Nicolas showed the shop owner a perplexed face. He then slowly turned around, following the man’s gaze, and finally ended up frankly staring at the aforementioned “fan girl” without an ounce of discretion, nor tact. Not that Nerdy Ichiban appeared to notice his yet blatant actions though. Unfazed, she kept looking straight at him, a dreamy smile floating on her lips, while clutching her hands around the jacket of a “Republication of Rachmaninov’s Greatest Pieces”.
You have good tastes, Miss Turtleneck. I won’t deny you that. But could you please show some reaction when someone glares at you like you just entered a church riding naked on a zebu chanting odds to Satan? You or the zebu, doesn’t matter who’s chanting. But I’m side-tracking again… Am I not obvious enough? Because I usually am.
However, she continued to show no acknowledgement of his attention whatsoever, lost in her own little world, visibly happy for some reason known only to her, much to the growing concern of the other assumed nutcase in front.
O-kaaaay… You’re starting to creep me out now. Even I would have noticed by now… God. What’s with my bad luck with rodents recently… Stop that, Glasses Shrew. Stop. Now.
In desperation, Nicolas took a few steps forwards, and waved both hands two centimetres away from her face, upon which she finally seemed to wake up.
Ah! Welcome to Earth, my name is Nicolas, an earthling. Did you come in peace, oh bizarre ambassador of planet Nerdia?
The girl’s smile suddenly vanished, her eyes went wide, and she abruptly turned on her heel, rushing out of the store.
Mmmmmh… Interesting. Why would she do that? Although, on second thought, calling out to her before shoving my palms into her nose might have been a better course of action.
Shrugging it off, Nicolas looked back at Henry, an eyebrow raised:
“Did she just leave without paying?”
“Yeah, she did. Leave her. She’ll be back. She’s a regular too. Although not a pathological one like you.”
“Shut up. What’s her problem?”
“Dunno. I don’t pry in my costumers’ private affairs. Rule of the house. Although I can say she’s never been talkative, nor very communicative in any way for that matter.” He shrugged and raised both hands in helplessness. “Maybe she’s mute and hung up about it?”
“Riiight… Well, why not… By the way, how come you never mentioned that little rule of yours when prying into my personal affairs?”
“Haha. But Nic’, you’re not a customer anymore by this point. You’re almost a business partner, you know? That’s research, man. Research, I tell you.”
“Yeah… whatever you say. Anyway see you…”
“…soon.”
Nicolas addressed Henry some vague obscene gesture, and left the shop. On his way to the door, he glanced at Piercing Girl, whose gaze still switched perplexingly back and forth between him and the door, through which Spooky Nerd took off earlier. She seemed to have difficulties understanding what just happened.
Yeah… Steel bars through the brain don’t do much good in accelerating the thought process. Experience talking. Bye bye, morning star <2>. Be careful of Magneto.
And he got out.
*trilililing*
– *** –
Back to his apartment, Nicolas changed into indoor clothes, then entered his room, and took a quick nap. His thoughts still oddly preoccupied by his recent encounter of the nerd kind, he had forgotten to listen to his newly acquired album, and distractedly put it in the backpack he used to for school.
Waking up a few hours later, he noticed there still was some time left before his appointed meeting with the Elder of Kansas. He thus sat down on the couch, pushing the still sleeping McLeon aside, and turned on his laptop. The first thing he did, as usual, was checking out the auction site.
‘Just ask, and Elric will give you anything you want’, ‘The Wandering Knight is all passion for adventure, and no greed’, ‘The Sage of the Wild is a benevolent being without desire for the material world’, those statements were recognized truths amongst the adventurers of the Pandore Continent, contributing to Elric’s fame and popularity.
Yeah… right.
Nicolas chuckled.
True, he was pretty generous, but that didn’t make him an advocate of poverty, nor a saint, for the cause. He often gave away precious items, recipes, or secrets for free, when other would ask quite a lot for them, but that didn’t mean everything he found was gifted away. There was always stuff too dangerous to make public, or simply things the Reckless Imbecile wanted for himself, the latter ranging from useful items and ancient spells, to funny junk and farting cookies.
After this preliminary sorting, Elric would go through his “grocery list”, and fulfil the “orders” he got from various players, placing his friends’ and acquaintances’ demands first, of course. But even then, there always were some leftovers, which Nicolas sold online. After all, he wasn’t one to spit on some pocket money. As a result, and since his only current spending were for food, music, occasional caprices, and divers inconsequential expenses, his bank account had been satisfyingly and steadily filling itself over the past five months.
Next, he browsed the various forums of UT’s official website. Elric hadn’t posted often recently.
Well, there’s only so much people want to know about undead, anyway. Apart from Chess, there still aren’t many noteworthy necros around either. I wonder what the guy’s doing. He’d love Erwyn. Not going to tell him though. That weirdo gives me the creeps.
Spotting a cooking thread, Nicolas wrote a quick warning about the explosive properties of the chicken-onion mix, and then suggested the use of a hang-glider to a newbie in search of a melee weapon.
Beginners’ armoury. Questions, advices… Trolls shall be banned! (Pg. 727 of 727)Kiki Pentakill
XD! Come on, man, don’t be such a troll!
John Wildman
WOOOOOOOOO! He’s gonna send the enemies flying!
Patrick LOLXD
Seriously, it’s not nice to make fun of newbies.
Cesare Roumanian Emperor
Like your one to talk. Moron.
Gram ArNah’zi
*you’re
Cecily Cambell
HEY! Wiat! “Elric Walker”, isn’t that the Wandering Knight?8!!
Luke Ainsworth (OP)
Oh… Right! Elric! Saviour of the Noobs! Thanks again for last time!
…but, seriously? Hang-glider?
Elric Walker
Try being trashed by an ice witch wielding one, and then tell me it can’t be used as a weapon.
(And do I know you?)
Elric’s Follower682
MAAAAAAAAAASTEEEEER!!!!! You got killed again?
Elric’s Follower544
Elric-sama!!!!!!!!!!!!! You’re back!
Should I go beat that witch, or kiss her? Or both? In which order?
Elric’s Follower807
GLORY TO ELRIC! *trumpet*
Elric’s Follower78
Oh, Sage of the Wild, please bestow us with Your word!
Elric’s Follower1
I hear You, my Lord, I shall forsake my sword for a hang-glider right this instant!
Elric’s Follower259
Hail Elric! And hello too you to, High Priest.
Elric’s Follower1
Hello, my son. You too, heed the word of God, and follow the way of hang-glider mastery.
Elric’s Follower259
I shall, High Priest. And I shall also alter my regimen to chicken and onions starting today.
Elric’s Follower1
Thou are a true believer, my son.
Elric’s Follower666
Muhahahahaha!!!! Hang-gliders, chickens and onions shall rule the underworld!
Luke Ainsworth (OP)
You guys are so banned…
The thread was surprisingly lively. Which was a good thing overall. Although, Nicolas wasn’t such a fan of that new function the programmers had added. To “subscribe” to another user, and be informed whenever he posted something was indeed useful. True. However, since its implementation, Elric had been virtually stalked by dozens of fanatics. He really hoped those were just your average organised trolls, because they had started getting creepy as of late, gathering hundreds of members, and turning into some sort of underground cult.
Honestly, I’m a tad scared… but if seeing hordes of players roam the land wielding hang-gliders and smelling like onion is at that price, I think I can endure.
– *** –
Done with his daily compulsory socializing, the modern-times hermit closed his laptop, and glanced at the moon, which was displaying a glowing six o'clock.
Almost time...
“HOY! Rise and shine fatass!”
And he kicked the cat out of his slumber. The wakened humongous beast rolled out of the couch, attempted a mid-air recovery, failed, and – mirroring his kinda-master's earlier feat – facegrounded, with carpet this time. Sneezing and shaking his furry head, McLeaon sat up, assumed an overly dignified pose, and glare fiercely at the human in the room.
“Ya saw nothin'!”
“Nope.”
“Good...”
The threatening feline then looked away, and calmly walked up to the balcony windoor, which Nicolas then opened for him.
McLeon, now Bruce McLeon, always spent all his nights out. He would only show up in the morning, eat, and then slouch around all day.
Honey, I think our son's going down the wrong path... What did we do wrong?
“Young tom, you should know that your imaginary mother and I are utterly discontent about your unbecoming behav- Hey! Come back here! Ungrateful brat! Listen to your not-father when he's nonsensically soliloquizing!! Damn... f'cking ingrate.”
*sigh*
After closing the door, Nicolas strapped himself back in his SM dentist chair.
Now, let's see what that creepy Elder has in store for my idiotically reckless self... Oh. Right. Thinking of creepy... What was WRONG with that girl, again?! Seriously. It bothers me. And I'm sure I saw her somewhere before!
”Well… Probably at the store... probably... Henry did say she was a regular. But I would remember, right? So somewhere else? Mmmmh... That's weird. I'll have to investigate. Yes. Sounds fun. Hehehehe...”
Laughing suspiciously, the aspiring stalk- inspector, laid back on his gaming seat, set it in horizontal mode, and closed his eyes.
“Untold Tales. Log In”.
– ▼▼▼▼▼ –
<1> Osananajimi = childhood friend (Never watched an anime?)
<2> Just for info: morning star.
----------------------------------------
And that’s it for the first IRL episode. Your thoughts? Suggestions are welcomed as always.
Please comment, rate, and go buy a hang-glider.
Really, not much to say here.
As usual, thanks for reading, and see you next chapter.
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