Dead Dog Day

Scene played out on 5th May 2011 between the GM (David-Visage) and Guardian Cerberus' player.

«Scene Starts»

The package, when it arrived, was something of a mystery. It bore all the hallmarks of a normal delivery from Amazon, was the right size and shape for such a thing, but it wasn't something that she could recall ordering. It hardly made things more explicable when one saw that it bore, in place of an address label, just the words "To: Tsureai".

Which is puzzling true, but it doesn't damp my anticipation of finally owning a cookbook dedicated to the arts of mixing eggs and cheese. Sold as a double set with the joy of organ meats! So the packaging hardly gets a second look as the trusty old letter opener, a six inch combat knife, gets applied to it.

The plastic bindings holding the package closed was as frustrating as ever to get through, but a good knife did help cut through it. Oddly enough it had a decoration on the bindings which were obviously once freed from the cardboard. Although why it said 'syesye' repeatedly was another minor mystery.

How the leather covered, brass bound, book inside had fit in the package was a greater mystery and… Something in the wrapping fell out, tinkling against the floor.

This is getting odd, though if this book seller always uses such elaborate packaging it's worth EVERY penny. Because this was just cool. Even neater than the inflatable packages the jewelry came in. A chihuahua runs to investigate the tinkling sound, so the book gets set on the table while I wrestle that away from Rosie.

The small dog sniffed at the object which had fallen then yipped and pulled back from it. A tiny brass key, just the right size for the lock on the book's binding, lay on the floor with the silver chain it was hung on pooled about it. Rosie circled it warily…

Which is worth nothing, since the tiny little three pound bundle of mean is usually fearless. Maybe it smells like mountain lion. I pick up the key and plop down into the dining room easy chair, looking the beautifully bound book over a few times for title or publisher.

The book seemed beautifully made with almost painstaking attention to detail. There was gold leaf on the exposed edges of the pages, the flawlessly smooth black leather cover seemed backed by somthing unyeildingly solid while being cool to the touch, and the brass bindings were smooth without tool mark and slightly hot as if it had been left sitting in the sun.

Yet there was no sign of a title, name, or anything else on the outside of the book.

Even on the shaded porch things get hot. There's no where around here that doesn't get sun blasted. Sooooo, lets see what it is! Key in lock and turn!

The key fit easily in the lock and, as she turned it, there was a brief moment of pain as a previously unnoticed edge somehow drew a single drop of blood. Yet the key had been turned and now the book sprang open, the cover cool against her lap except where the bindings were warm, as the pages ruffled through of their own accord. Suddenly this stopped and, on the revealed page, golden words began to form as though seeping up from the paper itself.

"In The Beginning Was The Dream And In the Dream You Were God."

"This is the coolest freaking thing ever."

I sit back to watch the cleverly disguised tablet run through it's intro, pulling little Rosie up into the chair with me so she can see.

The small canine seemed oddly wary of the tome even as the page turned, entirely of it's own accord, then words began to shape themselves on the next page in black ink, "Good Day To You, Champion. Do You Wish To Realise Your Dream?"

"Shoot, who doesn't?"

It's also not unusual for Rosie to turn around and burrow up between me and the chair arm, smearing eye juice and chihuahua fur on my shirt when she does.

"Warning : Observer Detected!"

The words were as crimson as fresh blood as they appeared although the next were a more normal black,

"Do You Wish To Interdict or Temporarily Excise Detected Observer?"

"Ummm… How the hell… Does this thing have a camera?" I start turning the book this way and that, looking for pinhole web cams and the sort. If I find even a suspiciously shiny spot it's getting electrical tape over it. "And just in case it matters, no. Rosie's a water head, no one's doing anything to her."

There -could- have been something on the cover, but how could a camera have seen anything when it had been pressed against her lap? That was just one more mystery to add to the increasing number, but the text had begun to scroll upwards on the page as the writing continued, "Realisation Will Begin Presently: Do You Wish Passive Or Active Shaping Of Your Realisation?"

I scoff, "I haven't used the recommended instillation settings on anything in 15 years. I'm not gonna just let a wizard decide for me."

The book sat there without responding.

… "Stupid thing. Active Shaping."

"Readying Interactive Active Shaping Mode.

Are You Sure?"

"Yes yes yse."

The pages ruffled for a moment then, briefly, a message appeared in gold: "Returned To The Dream, It Is Time To Build Your Legend."

A second passed then the world exploded.

Rainbows of impossible colors filled her vision, the sound of gold and sour filled her ears, and she lost track of her body. There was too much to feel, to hear, to see, that it was near impossible to do -anything- and no patterns at all. The overload of sensation was -demanding- something of her, but it was unclear what.

Holy shit… All that X in college maybe wasn't a good idea…

It's some sort of assault, it has to be! Some sort of flash bang or neuralizer or SOMETHING! And my first instinct is to protect my home. I try to reach for my letter opener, but nothing happens. My arms don't seem to work anymore. Indeed, they don't seem to exist anymore. Which just makes me wish all that much harder that I at least had a good blade in hand.

Part of the chaos imploded in on itself, a thousand possible knives all competing for reality in the same space before her. She could start to feel something of her own body again as well yet it wasn't her, not quite, but bodies in armor, costumes, or near nothing at all and each of them appropriate to one or more of the knives which struggled to be.

I've always had a fondness for sharp objects. The knife fitted to Alita in Gunm, or my colorful pink Komachi blade with etched flowers, or my wet dream fantasy of a Ken Onion Shun chef's knife.

Hundreds of knives boiled away, ceasing to exist even in potentia, as the thought focused what -could- be. Similarly she found herself shifting through only a few dozen form, or somehow being all at the same time, as only those who would -fit- the knife remained.

Tsureai reaches for the blade that fulfills every dream, more of a very short sword than anything. Shun form with rippled metal and etched with blossoms.

The knife fit her hand perfectly even as her hand shifted, becoming paler, more slender, smaller, larger, and a dozen other changes in turns. For a moment she seemed to have small fangs in her mouth and in the next she was briefly wearing what felt like a kimono.

Ahhhhhh, at last my arm is complete! But god this is a lot of racket! Where'd Rosie go? I hope she's enduring this as stoically as she endures being a twisted little mockery of a dog.

The chaos surronding her shifted, twisting and seeking as though starting to search for the dog which Tsureai had thought of…

I know every detail of that little beast. From her absurdly large ears to the gap in her hydro-cephalic kiwi sized skull. At least since her extra rows of teeth were removed her breath has improved.

More of the chaos subsided, sacrificing itself to itself, and the pet appeared before Tsureai as though frozen in a moment of panic. The colors whirled, offering to improve the pet. Make her larger, smarter, wiser, stronger…

The woman who had opened the book found herself pausing as her own name suddenly seemed distant. Something was needed to help her keep it lets the concept drift away entirely. A Title of some kind…

Maybe not larger, but lord knows the poor little thing could use every other possible form of aid.

Concepts… Concepts that define me? Night, as I stay up all night these days. I've started feeling better in the darkness than the daylight. And defense. Like a momma… ummm… A mother Chihuahua protecting her pups doesn't sound that threatening until you see it.

Velvet blackness enveloped the chaos, forming a backdrop of midnight against which the colors stood out all the brighter even as they lessened to make room, and knowledge of how things were when the sun was absent from the sky imbedded itself in her mind like a spike.

That sudden attack of information makes things crystallize. I want to Protect against this sort of pain, to keep the little ones in my charge safeguarded.

Bracers appeared on her arms, stable despite the shifting, and something jolted along her muscles and nerves as the -how- of motion and guardianship made itself known.

«Scene Pauses»

Notes: I had to stop this because, despite having gotten choices made OOCly before hand, the player decided to ignore such. While I'm happy enough to be accommodating of player choices during normal play I had tried to make clear that the players had to make their selections OOCly beforehand so I could prepare things.