loungelizard | Ryslig Inbox

Color us both surprised, then! Usually people only end up in this neck of the woods when they're looking for me specifically! ...Or Faith.

[Larry reaches up into what can only be described as a cabinet without any doors and fetches a ceramic bowl. He gestures to any number of seating arrangements around the iron hearth, which is also consequently the heat source for the bubbling cauldron of soup stationed firmly above it.]

Have a seat! Make yourself at home.

[Larry ladles out some of that delicious-smelling soup into the bowl, then adds a hand-~~chewed~~ whittled spoon to the mix. In fact, everything around here is pretty obviously hand-made, except maybe the hearth -- and only because it's dinged up enough to be obviously second-hand. Maybe even third-hand.

Anyway, he holds out the bowl for Steve to take once he's found his new favorite chair.]

Here. It's vegetarian -- for now!

[Larry is no classically trained cook in any form, much less Indian specifically, but what he's managed to throw together is savory in a way that would be reminiscent of Indian cuisine, if Steve is at all familiar with it.]

[This is assuredly a combination of spices he's never smelled before, or at least not whilst having the context for it right in front of him. His hometown was nestled just outside of the bible belt, small and lacking in major business chains. That isn't to say there was no cultural diversity, or that it wasn't possible to order chinese food, but shops catering to a certain demographic definitely fared best.

Steve slurps before he thinks, taking several wordless spoonfuls from the bowl starting no sooner than he's sat down. It's piping hot, and it hits the spot. Eventually he lets his spoon slip down into the broth, jabbing himself in the forehead like he's stupid. ]

Hold on, I was supposed to be asking if you had a phone...

[ Steve looks up apologetically at Larry. ]

And... probably saying thank you. [ Manners. ] Thank you. Car trouble's making me miss lunch.

[ Not anymore, of course. ]

[Steve's "thank you" brightens up Larry's face as if it's the best thing that's happened to him today.]

You're very welcome! But no, I don't have the kind of phone you can call people with. But I do have...

[Larry turns around and picks up a purple smartphone that basically looks like an iPhone if Apple's logo were a bit more...yoni.]

...a PiPhone! Hey, Pi, can you help us fix a broken car?

[A small holograph of a blue woman's bust projects a few inches above the PiPhone and she speaks to him cheerfully:

"Certainly, Larry! While I don't have an exhaustive library of the manuals of every car ever made, I do have several articles that can be used as general advisory."

Larry nods and looks at Steve with a big smile. The hologram disappears.]

We could take a crack at it later, after you get something in your belly.

[ So it's not nearly as extreme as showing a caveman his first fire, but let it be said that the hologram has Steve's full, undivided attention for as long as it's present. 20th century SFX, eat your heart out.

Steve blinks at the space Pi's projection was occupying a second ago. ]

Um... sure? Who was that?

[ The manager of his manager is lenient enough that it still sounds better than hiking down the highway to another residence, so Steve is relaxed, fishing up another chunky bite. They're both dudes; Larry can deal with a little talking while chewing. ]

Your assistant?

Edited 2021-02-10 13:05 (UTC)

Yeah, basically! She's a "Smart Phone." They're computer assistants, powered by "A.I."

[there's something about the way he says that makes it sound like he's forgotten, or never learned, what "AI" means.

The air quotes around his ladle don't help.

Speaking of the ladle, he plunks it into the soup and samples some of it. He hums thoughtfully, then reaches behind himself for a salt grinder and puts a few twists of it into the cauldron.]

Anyhoo -- I see you've joined our ranks of rodenthood!

[Might as well address the elephant, right?]

[ And Steve certainly won't be able to help him crack that particular code.

The next time he pulls the spoon free of his mouth, he points it at Larry accusingly. ]

I'm a rabbit, not a rodent.

[ Said very much to the tone of excuse you. But the longer he stares at his gracious host, whose cooking is warming his chilled hands, the further he comes down off his high horse. He swivels the spoon in the air, drawing a circle around the other pooka's incisors from his perspective. ]

I do see a resemblance, but it's only like... slight.

[ No offense, but I'm different. ]

Edited 2021-02-12 04:52 (UTC)

[In the berth of silence between Steve's statements, Larry raises his eyebrows in an oh, is that so? smartass kind of way. But he smiles when Steve acquiesces something about it.]

It's all the same to the family of pooka.

[He reaches up to get a bowl of his own, then scoops some soup into it. He flops backwards into the nearest chair, which means that he's sitting on his own paddle-tail. It looks a lot more uncomfortable than it actually is.]

We're a rare bunch, you know that? We're one of the lucky few!

[ He can think of worse things to be. Rafe's mummified state instantly comes to mind, as does Annie's whole situation. And there was another man with no face at all. It's because of them that he finds himself in agreement with Larry when he says lucky, despite very, very desperately hoping that he isn't also slated to become quite so...

Small.

Of course, he still finds something to wrinkle his nose at. ]

I'd like a word with whoever thought that's what we should be called.

[ Tell him that sounds anywhere near dignified compared to stuff like manticore.

You can't. ]

How rare is rare?

The Irish, I believe!

[Larry forgoes using a spoon in lieu of simply sipping from the edge of the bowl in a way that leaves space for his massive incisors. It's a few seconds after Steve's question that he lowers the bowl and spends a few more chewing the solids. He's taken too big of a mouthful to talk while he eats. After he swallows,]

I don't keep the most active headcount of monsters, but I only know of two others besides us...assuming they're still around.

[ Four, that's nothing. That's a clique. A word that belongs in the trash with several semesters worth of other things he's supposedly sworn off, and yet that seriously kind of titillates him. ]

And are you just really into this... being a little furry guy? Or does this come with perks besides car horns sounding twenty times louder and occasionally feeling like I have to pass out when I smell perfume?

[ He hums around a piece of potato. ]

Other monsters get to fly.

[Larry shrugs a shoulder.]

To be fair...I only lost about a foot. Y'know, just because of the way my legs sit now.

[He waggles his weird webbed feet to the side. He's always been "a little guy", he just has more fur now.]

There's no need to get into a peeing contest with other monsters -- there's lots to love about being a pooka! Sure, some other monsters can fly, but they also have to feel life being squeezed out from someone with their own hands in order to satisfy their hunger.

[Larry gestures to the interior of the lodge.]

I made almost everything here by hand...all because I can swim faster and carry more than I ever have before, hehe.

[ Again, at least fairly compelling point has been made. Steve's eyebrows hitch up at the somewhat vivid description coming from the beaver man's mouth, and he eyes him a bit more critically afterward. ]

So, since changing, you've been more interested in murdering trees than people.

[Larry giggles.]

Yep, that's about right! Oh-- [He waves a hand.] --don't be mistaken, though -- we still have to eat humans. Some go for bones, others drink blood...

[He points to his incisors.]

...I know my teeth get this weird itch to them if I've gone too long between bone-gnawing. I just let my wife do the killing; she actually enjoys doing it.

[ If his cheeks weren't already frost-licked they might have paled. It's not the subject matter; he's heard this a hundred times by now. It's the way Larry admits so casually and complacently that the person he loves is... a sadist, apparently? Preluded by that bubbly laugh.

Slowly, Steve sets his bowl aside. ]

Is this what's going to happen to me?

[ The half-eaten food sitting idly by might ordinarily signal that he's done. It's hard to say whether that's true or if it's just because he needs his hands for something else, namely to lower his head into and rub at his temples in teeth-clenching frustration. ]

Enough time passes, and you just- I'll just... get so used to all this I won't care anymore?

[Larry cringes.] Er, well...no, not necessarily.

[Larry taps his thumb against the edge of his own bowl as he tries to figure out how to address this concern without turning it into yet another "actually put the brakes on this subject and explain to me how you know you're fictional" tangent.]

I was already "used to this" when I woke up here! Y'see -- my wife and I don't come from a world like yours. Death isn't nearly the grave subject to us as it is to you, or most other people around here. You shouldn't use me for an example of a typical experience on that.

[He shrugs.]

I think most people "get used to it"...but that doesn't mean they stop caring. There's a nuance.

Edited 2021-02-14 17:41 (UTC)

[ It doesn't matter that Larry's making a good point. No sooner than it's gone deathly cold, Steve can feel his face getting hot.

It also doesn't matter that he's pretty sure the man in front of him is harmless, or that said man is doing him a great favor, or even that he's promised him another one on top of that. He doesn't want to be so angry, but it's already eaten up any sensible thing he might have said. ]

Nuance, okay. Nice pep talk.

[ He lifts his head again, a cheek lolling heavily into one hand. ]

Do you care, Mister Hunky Dory? Not before. You made that clear, but have you considered starting?

[Steve is met with a stilled silence. By all rights, Larry could ask him to simply leave, on account of him being so rude after being given the most warm welcome someone could be afforded in a world like this. It would be the easier course of action, especially if he wants to keep the whole "video game" thing under wraps.

As Larry looks down at the bowl in his lap and runs his thumb across the edge of it, he heavily considers the option, even if it might look from the outside he looks like he's being sad and thoughtful.

But the problem is that Larry is too honest for his own good. Besides, it might be kind of cathartic to say out loud what's been on his mind ever since day one.

Larry looks back up at Steve, with an even and shockingly intense gaze from a dorky beaver-man.]

I know how to read a room, Steve. ...er. Most of the time. I know that this place isn't like my home, and lives are so much more rare and precious around here. Believe me...I've tried to care. I share my condolences and use a solemn tone when someone dies...but it's just an act.

And that's because I've died more ways than someone can count.

I've been eaten alive by sharks, cut in half with a laser, beaten to death by thugs, tortured to death by the KGB, choked on a hairpin, drowned in the ocean, shot by a rocket, shot, electrocuted, choked, incinerated, and even committed suicide. And those are just the ones that come to the top of my mind, and each of those I've experienced thousands, maybe millions of times over and over again.

All in the name of a punchline.

[Larry's eyebrows steeple apologetically as he closes his eyes. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.]

And that's why I can't help but think it's funny when someone dies.

[ It almost seems like he's being asked for sympathy, or maybe even just his understanding, but both of those things would require him being able to wrap his head around any part of this. To top off a staggering heap of confusion, Larry's closing statement is like a slap across the face. ]

Do you realize what you sound like?

[ Physically, Steve almost even looks like he's been knocked off balance, mouth slightly agape as he white-knuckles an armrest for support, staring back at his host with the disbelief of someone who's just been told a very long, unfunny joke at a funeral. ]

Like what- What is this... What are you telling me, that you were in literal hell before? Full-on fire and brimstone with some seriously creative demons? Because, man... I've heard a lot of shit, but this is pushing it.

Edited 2021-02-17 16:04 (UTC)

Absolutely. I know I sound crazy, but it's true.

[Oh well. Here it goes, then.]

It's not hell, though. The world I come from is a video game. That's just how things work there.

Correction, that is pushing it.

[ But it seems to... not calm him down per se, but it forces his brain down a wildly different track. Luckily he's been running errands for Souda, or else he'd only have Pong, Pac-Man, and Space Invaders for reference at the very best. ]

That would mean you had no say in anything you did, ever.

[Steve is right, technically speaking. He thinks it's mundane -- as mundane as people around here that come from worlds of magic and science fiction, but for some reason, the magic and science fiction seems to go over much better than "I'm fictional and I know it".

Oh well.]

That's not true. Not really. But it's a common misconception.

[He sits forward and stirs the pot as he talks.]

I can't draw any direct parallels with what it's like to be nonfictional. If you've ever paid attention to the decisions you've made in your life, you'll notice that any given moment you are "funnelled" into a series of choices, given the limitations of your situation. In my case, I create the funnel of choices that a player can make for me.

In a way, you could say that I consented to every death a player has ever caused me...but, again, part of that is because I know I have infinite lives. There are some games where I never gave the player that choice.

[He shrugs, then pours himself a new bowl.]

I have autonomy -- it just looks different than you might recognize.

[ He nods slowly. That was... articulate, to say the least. ]

Okay, I'm just saying, if you are what you say you are. There must be others like you, and- Yeah, glad I never fell for the video game craze. I never have to worry about coming face to face with some guy I threw into a spike pit fifty times.

[ The famed yellow pip-eating blob might have some words for him, however. ]

Is... [ He starts to ask another question, realizes what he's doing, and, with a sigh, accepts that he's interested in this. ]

So, is it nice to be free? Of the spike pits, the sharks...

[ Gotta be yes, right? ]

[Larry chuckles.] Don't worry, I don't hold it against the players that killed me. I gave them that choice, after all!

[He sits back in his chair and considers the question. Is it nice? Is it free? Again, there's nuance.]

I can't say living here is any safer. We're brought back every time we die, so this place is kind of the same, but I'm told we lose our memories if we die too many times. That's not something I want to do. I don't want to lose myself.

In the end...it's just as dangerous here, but I don't walk into danger as readily as I used to.

[ Steve eyes the cast-aside bowl, but decides that reclaiming it would be too awkward at this point, so he'll just have to have the rest of this conversation with his arms crossed. It makes it look less like he doesn't know what to do with them. ]

Well— Welcome to life with consequences. Usually it's one and done. Gone, everything. For the people who were already living here it's still one and done, as far as I know, so I'm sorry if I get pissed at you for thinking the way you do.

[ No past tense, because it could very well happen again. ]

For the record, it makes more sense now. I don't like it, but it makes sense.

[Larry pouts.]

You don't need to explain that to me, Steve. My world existed inside a "real" one, like this one. It's...

[Larry trails off in a sigh. He squeezes his eyes shut as he lolls his head to the side, rubbing the upper crest of his snout with his fingers.]

I'm not a hero. I'm a protagonist... but not a hero. I have a litany of flaws. I'm perverse, underhanded, dim-witted, but most importantly: harmless. Not one part of me was built to be a threat in any sense of the word! I'm gentle, and when the credits roll, I just want to leave a positive impact on people -- real and fictional.

I'm not saying I've got it figured out, the one truly moral stance that makes sense of everything. This is just how my world view predispositions me to deal with all of this. This is how I cope.

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