Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [OFFER] What are little boys made of? Message-ID: References: Date: Wed, 25 Aug 1993 20:55:00 GMT [ADMIN] The characters herein are copyright 1993 by Steve Hutchison, and Penny Hutchison, and there are cameo appearances by characters owned by Bernie Hsiung and Andrea Evans. Thanks to everyone who helped pull this together. ===== Jeckt over there, under that fallen-over wall. Cool jeckt. Shiny. Wups. Press comin' in. Do the trick, the switch in the nog. Make the Press slide off, send Charlie go away. Yah. It workin. Charlie goin' off the trail, lost me. Time ta head in. Neg crashin. Sneaks-n-tricks. Back ta the buff. Gard came down carefully off the fever-pitch awareness he always held when he was in the Shun. No good ta slice someone out here in the Buff. He found his way through the Maze to the hidey-hole that the South Side Blue Runners used as 'quarters. "Hey Gard. Howzigo?" Voice was Varga the Liff, she one fem wit' class. Got herself a squeeze though. She be goin' after that Drew masc from t'other side o'the Shun. "Gots lots. This-here novo shiny. Ever see sucha jeckt?" Gard grinned and kept his jecktackle close, flap just open enough so she could see the things inside. "Neg novo. Seen it. Somthin' like it, anyway." "Yah, when?" "Coupla colders back when Krikky got Charlied. Brought 'em with before it took, you 'call he jumped offa Bridge so's he'd neg twist more?" Varga shifted her big 'Liff stick around, nervous even talking about it. "Oh yah. Striker masc, pos noggy. Good runner." He nodded at the hanging-bead curtain. "His grace in court?" "Yah, gwan in." Bonker was Gard's older brother. Leader mostly from bein' older than the rest, but also by havin' the most shinys and jeckts trieved outa the Shun. 'Cept as-may-be those Gard had brought in, but he still was older, three years 'sperience counted here. "Whatcha got, Gardner?" His brother was trying to copy a game that he'd seen Drew doing back at the last Leaders meeting, but he just wasn't as good. He could stand on his head ok, he could throw shivs ok, he could even throw blind, but he just couldn't put it together. Gard could, but he wasn't gonna face his bro off. "Varga sez it be pos same jeckt as what Krikky got. But I ain't got no Charlie-feelin' offa it." He pulled it out of the jecktackle. It was pos pos shiny jeckt. A gold disk with a big shiny hard bubble on top of it, an' inside on the disk was a sort a' house only little, an' there was lots a nervy little sparkles an fuss. There was a lot a spinny jeckts, little gold balls on sticks; a big flat round white disk stuck on the front of the little building, had a buncha runes like on a sundial only all the way 'round. Three big sticks was fastened over the big disk, each was a different shape. Bonker looked it over carefully, leaving it on the makeshift table that they used to display new jeckts on. "Vids the same like. Jeckt that Krikky got was neg so big, had chains on, closed up in a ball. So neg the same, but we do take pos care for 'valuatin' this one. Pos good run, Gard. We gotta make pos lotsa shinies 'n' janglies offa this jeckt. You got crackers comin' to ya." Bonker tossed him a pouch, a couple small, hard disks inside that clicked together. Actual money. "What's dis?" "Go off ta otherside of the Shun, take the long way round, getcher a cuddle girl, maybe." Bonker grinned. "Yours by vote, from alla us." Gard stared, open-mouthed shock. "Why?" "This be run number hunderd fifty, Gard. You carryin the max record on this side a the Shun. Only Drew done more. You's a shaftin hero now." Gard grinned and backflipped in place. "See ya," he called, and ran out the curtain and around the maze to out. - + - It was late night. Ale House was doing the usual business with the tide-turn crowd. Food, drinks, very little in the way of the more time consuming stuff, because work would be coming in soon, or they'd be leaving out on the high tide. Except this one kid. Good looking kid, looked like maybe fifteen or so, way too skinny for his age, acted bigger than he was. He just sat in the beer hall, staring shyly at the girls that came by, not spending any money. Finally one of them sent the word upstairs. "Hello, there, big boy." Gard jumped. He knew this was a mistake most pos. All these fems was way too uptown for him. Creepy Charlie he could handle but this just got him too nervy. Then that voice. He turned, and there was the longest pair of legs he ever vidded. Attached by a curvy bod and an oval, quietly smiling face to a big pair of sparkly grey eyes. He knew he had to do, to say something, not sound like a kid. "Hello there your own self." That was stupid. She didn't seem to be sneering at him though. She was even looking at him through those long eyelashes. "You seem a little nervous. Don't you like my place?" "I like it pos good." "Maybe it's just a little too different from what you're used to." She smiled knowingly, and he felt his face grow hot. She took out a very long handled ivory pipe with a tiny bowl, and put something in the bowl and lit it from a candle. She took a deep drag on the pipe and exhaled the smoke slowly. It smelled spicy and hot and made Gard feel more relaxed. He smiled shyly. "It most neg is not the Shun. Or the Buff." "That it's not. What brings you here?" "My peds. No, I jes got told by my bro, I gots the record 'cept for Drew. A hunderd fifty runs wit' pos jeckts offa each run." "Impressive. This calls for a celebration. Let me buy you a meal and you tell me about all your runs." She waved the pipe at one of the girls with the food trays, and ordered a bottle of wine and something called "Huitre's en croute au gratin" that turned out to just be oysters in a dish made out of hard sourbread with cheese and butter melted all over it. But it was REAL good. After she shared the wine with him, he was feeling lots better. They'd traded names, hers was Ale, and she'd asked him about his family and the stuff he did with the Runners. They started trading stories about folks they knew. She was telling him a story about these two nog-numb richers kids that came outta two max feudin' fams, that got cacked cause they got in love. Sad but stupid. Then this blonde fem with veils and curves came up an' said she'll read futures. Gard figured it wouldn't hurt, but he didn't have pos many coins. She took his smallest tin bit, an' took out a box of rocks with letters on 'em. She had him pull out a handful and she drew a box on the table with a little wine. "First we find out what represents you," she said, and had him drop a rock from his handful into the palm of her hand. It had a little stick figure drawing of a man with a spear and shield under a sun. "The Hero. Auspicious sign." She drew a circle to the left of the box and had him drop another rock from inside his hand. It was a stick figure person standing, arms akimbo, on top of a pointed hill. "Your past. Mastery. Signifies great accomplishment." Another three rocks into the empty space below the box. One was a circle with an eye inside it. Another was a stick figure woman with a big belly, and the third was a stick figure man holding out an open book, with little scribbles in it. "Your most immediate enemies. The Eye. The Engenderer. The Book." She looked up at Ale, who nodded. "Powerful enemies, but all the Shunrunners have powerful enemies." "We don't got enemies, 'cept for the merch's what keeps us from havin' enough place to be, an' the Press." Gard shrugged. "We make do." Three more rocks were placed above the box. One shiny silver, one a solid dull black, and the third with a circle looped over a cross. "Your most immediate friends. The Mirror. The Dark. The Ankh." Ale put a finger to her lips. "This isn't making sense," said the blonde fem, nodding to Ale, "Perhaps we ought not finish?" "What's the next thing?" Gard was insistent. "I neg prend about the friends bit, but the other bits is good." "All right. Give me the ones you have left." He handed the rocks to the lush blond. She showed them: a red rock with a stick-figure of a man with a lightning bolt and a sword. A building with towers and a gate, like Glorshanned Keep. A road, with a small stick figure walking on it. "These go here to the right of the self box. They represent your future. The Destroyer. The Fortress. The Traveller." "What does it mean?" "It could mean a lot of things. It probably means there's some trouble coming to you. Be very careful. Danger may come to you in a way that you would not expect." She bowed, scraped the rocks back into their pouch, and vanished into the crowd. The grey-eyed fem touched his hand gently, her long black hair falling forward off her shoulder as she leaned closer to him. "Gard, if you have any problems, I'll do what I can to help you. I may not be able to come right away, but I, or one of my agents, will reach you in time. Just call my name, someone will hear and I'll know." "Why?" He looked directly in her eyes, but the grey depths showed him nothing. At her signal, a cute cuddle-girl came over, just a little older than he was. "I like you. I don't meet very many real heroes. Now you go on upstairs with my friend Rita, she likes heroic men, and you tell her what you've been up to." She was right, Rita was impressed. -0--0- 'Raf was down with Kardia and the band, playing music. 'Raelf was sitting on the edge of her rest area. It recreated her own place back in their home plane, a sprawling, abandoned town around a small castle. Back home, it always seemed empty, but there were usually one or two of her family in some private place there. They went there for the quiet, for the dark of the faintly moonlit sky, for a place where there was nobody and nothing to reflect. Here, it was deserted, as always, except that 'Raelf was sitting in the doorway. <> <> <> She settled into his arms and let him nip gently at her neck with his lips. Each spot began to give off light. <> He stroked down her back. Light followed the path of his hand, he drew his name on her skin. <> <> He shifted down, began massaging her feet. <> They drew closer together, her luminous hands caressing his tanned face, his blond hair lighting up as she ran her hands through it. After a while he spoke again. <> <> They moved together... *contact* * * ** * A hallway, lined along the sides with statues, heroes and great athletes, their accomplishments written in fulgent words of praise on each pedestal. Men and women, evenly represented. Thirty-nine of each, the ages have worn the oldest smooth. The detail on the last six is most preserved, and the last two have no dust on them. Approaching, the end of the hall, the chamber inside. The two statues at the very end open their eyes and color returns to their limbs and bodies. They step down, giving greeting, then they take up positions outside the entry on either side of the hallway. Four pedestals in the central room, each with a carving of a male humanoid, blurry and indistinct. From this room, three hallways lead off into the distance. At each doorway, two people stand, each flanking the entry to their hallway. From the far hallway, a youngish man comes out, wearing the robes of a priest. Kachin, the brigand who became a priest by the hand of the mystic who is my mate. From the hallway to my left, an old man comes out, wearing the robes of a wizard. Delalle, or rather, that in Delalle which found my mate more enticing, back when we shared his spirit between us and sent on his body with only the remnants of his ka, to be destroyed. From the hallway to my right, a dark-eyed man walks out. Kadrys? Not quite - but all the best bits distilled, it seems. But when did he get in here? His Gioconda smirk gives way to a grin, no fangs, but he covers it up quickly. It's good to see at least a part of him clear of that depressing curse. We all move into the central chamber together. They greet me with a kiss, and I offer them my felicitations in the matter of their impending birth. We admire the roughly hewn forms for mystic and godcaller which they have built together, the coarse outline for the athlete, the halfway begun form of the rogue. They speak to me, with one voice: <> I concur, and they take my measure for the shaping of their self. I offer them a set of weapons and tools, to use when outfitting the warrior/athlete they are building. They confer together, testing the edges, the balance of the tools. The old man selects one of the tools, rejects the rest. The young man agrees, and they turn and speak to me in one voice: <> I smile in joy at the joke on my otherself, and walk out the hallway whence I entered. ** * * 'Raelf withdrew and collapsed, still holding her tight. He was purring and laughing at the same time. <> <> She rose and composed herself, then stepped out along the bridge to air. -0-00-0- Something with long skinny legs like a big spider, a short body, long sharp fingernails, it was giggling hysterically as it jumped into the shadows, Shiny in its long left hand. The maze had been broken open, from the inside, and there was blood and gutts in precise careful spatters at each turning. Gard pushed the last door open, then stood still, trying hard not to get sick. The blood wasn't so bad, the tiny square pieces of flesh nailed to each wooden surface was pretty awful though. They kept twitching. The 'jeckt was gone, and a dull throb passed through the room as the Press reached out just enough, then pulled back. The worst bit was the message it left behind. He looked in the 'jecktacle behind Bonker's bosschair. There it was, the head, eyes blinking, it looked at him and grinned. Varga's nog, but not her inside, he knew that somehow. What was looking out was pure Creepy Charlie and he almost dropped the 'jecktackle. It made a noise then. It started to talk. Bonker bonker had my shiny shouldnae touch my shiny toy. Bonker is a toy now. Play with Bonker, make him pay for stealing my shiny toy. You gonna try to take my toy again? Gard did the trick, the switch in his nog, and the Press went away like the stink when the wind blows. Varga's nog closed its ocks and the blood started to run out it's stubby cut-off gorge. He put it in the firepit, jecktacle and all, and piled the broken wood from the room around into the pit, then struck a fire with his flints. While he nursed the fire he thought about this turn of events. He wasn't a numb-nog. He knew what this meant. Bonker, his very brother, all he had in this world, gone Charlie, and most likely there was still some of HIM left inside the Charlie. He couldn't leave him in there, it would be like leaving him behind on a Run. He waited til Varga's nog was all burnt up, and said goodbye to her ghost, wherever it was. Then he went out the bolt-hole. He went to his hideyplace, and got out his gear. Ten glass throwing blades, ground into shape and sharpened to razors by hours of patient work. And his stick. A polished, carefully preserved stick, taken from the tree that used to grow on the edge of the Shun, that had been pushed over in that last big Storm, the stick that was still hard and not rotted because it was too stubborn to rot here, like the Buffers were too stubborn to rot. This would have to do it. Nobody else knew this place. Not even Bonker. He heard the noise, out in the street, the giggling, and knew it was trouble. Charlie followed him. Then he recognized the voice. He knew from the Press that it was supposed to scare him, but it didn't. He just got cold and mad inside. Bonker was all he had an' he wasn't gonna let Bonker be Charlie. He knew a place, down the street here, where the roofs were too rotten, just inside the Shun, where the walls were high and thick, and the Charlie would have to follow him into ground that he knew, where he had his traps set up. He set the deadfall, knowing that it would just slow the Charlie down. Out the bolthole, not the big one, the little secret one, then off down the street as fast as his peds could motivate. The Press was out there, but he didn't care. Let it watch. He got to his place, and crouched down behind the rubble. It came running up the long street, he heard it, just the thud of its three long legs and the faint rasp of its breath - no giggling, no growling. Gard heard it approaching, FAST, CLOSE, and snapped the stick up and across like knockin at the lead dog in a dogpack. There was a sick c ru nch and a burning line of pain along his left arm. It had cut him with its long thin fingers, a shallow painful gash. The Charlie was down to two legs, the third one had bones all sticky out and it was pulled up. Its back was to him, but it turned its nog around, without turnin' the rest of it, and the greeny-skinned, grinning face was really Bonker. It giggled, and slowly the rest of it turned around. Gently, it put something on the ground - the Shiny jeckt that Gard had brought in that morning. Gard gonna Play with me? It giggled again. He shifted back behind the edge of the wall of rubble, keeping low, and with his concealed hand, he drew out three of his glass blades. The Charlie started to stretch way up on its legs, then crouch down low, like some kind of puppet. It turned its head upside down, and giggled again. Gard we knows where more Shiny toys is, we can share 'em. wanna get _rrriichhhhh?_ It jumped, and Gard rolled backwards and let the daggers fly as he was going. Bonker hadn't ever figured out how to do this one, but Gard had. The daggers flew true. Two were brushed out of the air, the third one went THUNK straight into the round chest. The Charlie looked at it, and pulled it out, and licked the blood off, cutting its tongue. It giggled again. Blood started to well up out of the wound, but then it just stopped. Gard snapped out with his stick, and broke the knee on its leg. It fell over, but it was still giggling. Gonna play wit' shiny Gard be gonna Charlie too ? The shiny 'jeckt on the ground began to make a peculiar sort of music, and the Press pulsed hard, twisty-strange, and Gard felt like his nog was gonna cave in. He pushed back, with an inside sort of push the way he did when he turned the switch to keep away the Charlies, and the 'jeckt made a funny noise and the music stopped. OhNo oh No, Gard, broke shiny? The Charlie began to move towards it, and Gard struck out again with the stick. The Charlie started to glare at him, and the Press got worse, so Gard reached again for the switch, and the Press went away. Gardner what happened where am I gods, it hurts. Gard carefully went in, closer, and the face was Bonker's but not really all him. The red eyes were going dull. "I'm not gonna let ya be a Charlie, Bonker." Varga I kilt her. I can't feel my feet. "It's that spawnin' jeckt, it had the Charlies in it. I shoulda never brought it back." Looked safe. Not you fault. i Din't hafta try ta work it Not you fault, bro Gard saw the light fade in the Charlie's eyes, the face went slack and blood began pouring again from the hole in its chest. He waited til it stopped, then went over to where the jeckt was sittin'. He was gonna smash the thing. The throbbing in his arm suddenly got worse, and he looked at it. There was a line of skin, ripped open, black around the edges and with pulsating, yellow and red streaks running out the edges. He felt dizzy. There was a black-haired runner fem, bendin' over the Charlie that usedta be Bonker. She looked at him and smiled. She had those little looped crosses hangin' off her auds like the ones on the rock that the fortune teller had showed him. His friend. She was his friend, yeah, but when she lifted Bonker up out a the Charlie body, an' he could see right through him, it made the hair on his nog crawl. He swallowed, holdin' off the nervies. "Ale? This be a good time ta help me." He felt dizzy, then there was someone, a guy wearin' priests' robes, standin' next to him. The guy waved a greeting to the black-haired runner fem, an' she smiled an' waved back, an' then the guy looked him in the ocks. His was grey, like Ale had, only they was shiney like mirrors. <> "Sure." His voice sounded funny. The shiny eyes got all big, and he was surrounded by mirrors. Him as a runner, fast, quiet, smart, him fightin' Charlie, strong, cunning, agile, him as a lover, with Rita from the cuddle-crib, him burnin' Varga's nog, sayin' goodbye to her ghost, but this time, he saw her answer him. It felt good, it felt incredibly good, all the shiny, all around. It was better than the time with Rita ... after a while he stopped thinking, and the shiny got into him, and everything went silver-bright. --0-0-- 'Raf knocked on the door in her resting place. He wasn't sure why she asked for him to meet her inside the old tower. The door was opened, by her A'ree aspect, the warrior-woman. 'Raf grinned. This promised to be fun. There was a nice big flat boulder, at an angle. The foreplay might get rough. Good. She picked up a wide leather cuff, and tied his wrists together. He grinned wider, fleming the sharp preserved aroma of tannic acid from the leather, fangs showing slightly in his satyrlion face, eyes becoming a deep red. He flickered, adjusting his shape slightly for the circumstances: his human face and torso were suddenly furred, more animalistic. She tapped one foot, considering, then made a snapping motion with one hand. He nodded and complied, changing his bodies' gender. The female of this form was larger, slightly more powerful, with moderate breasts and a shorter mane. At A'ree's nod of approval, 'Raf locked in shape and waited. The amazon reached inside herself, and another Focus appeared. Kachin, who knelt beside 'Raf and whispered into the round furred curve of right ear: <> A'ree stretched 'Raf out across the rock, face down, hands tied at the top, and then tied feet each to the bottom. All could see with eyes was the rock. Behind a whirl of reflective sparkles (Spirit_Water Pattern_Void) disturbed elemental sense, as Kachin came up behind, and began to nip at neck and back, teasing until roared in frustration. Each pull at fur woke fires in skin that would not abate. The sharp musk of sweat, the tang as it ran down into eyes, the pounding noise of his heart as he lay across back, pressing into the hard stone face, the lines of fire on skin where his nails ran in grooves just hard and sharp enough to draw a bead of blood at either end... moaned and growled as he built on need until could hardly stand it. Then when was at the point of tearing the restraints loose, he entered into , <> roared in ecstasy. He was gone, a third of his Self left inside . From nowhere Delalle-echo (Magic's_Fire, Names_In_Void) approached, older and with greater experience, guiding another did not know into (Living_Earth, Trackless_Void) and coaching him in the Arts. He was clumsy but enthusiastic, bringing an eager pleasure with each touch, each gently rough movement that filled , deeper and fuller, <> writhed and thrashed in the restraints, back arching, tail whipping from side to side. The young eager one had given almost all there was of himself, and was filled, incredibly stretched. Another presence, knew it was there but it was hidden from elemental sense. From nowhere, hands, a mouth, picking out each pleasure point with merciless precision, scratching and stroking and nipping with just the right pressure, just the right rhythm, it was diabolical. Then a voice whispering in ear, husky with passion, breath scented with a hint of blood. "Time for a rematch..." And then, all at once, entering to the depths. << Speed: hands, feet, body, mind. Always enemies. See their weaknesses, use them. When to fight, when to run. Learning the hard lesson that heroes die. Back to a wall, whipping his head aside, the crunch as their fists struck stone, his feet lashing for kneecaps and noses. Later, scaling dizzying tower walls, icy and slick with moss, no rope, just fingers and toes, scanning for the next handhold. Far below, the promise of an agonizing death -- deciding to do this again, soon, for fun. Crossing chasms, spiderlike, the line anchored by a single crossbow bolt. The pride and peril of weapons training, advanced far beyond others his age. Crossbow, blindfold practise for nighttime work. Daggers, whipping from sleeve sheaths, flashing into targets. His first kill, the man who had raised him.>> The older one, sly, began by teasing again, and almost didn't notice when he began to enter , <> was near collapse, breath coming in raspy purring distress. This was almost too much, the last bit had put over the edge, and began to flicker through primary states, but then pleasure subsided for a bit, and added own small gift to the egg growing within , five rings and a whirling balance. All the toughness and durability of stone, and the animal joy of movement, graceful and instinctive. Dimly realized from the that nearby, ar'Elya was blending facets of sagacious wizardry, of mystical transcendence, of pragmatic roguishness with a hint of the bloodthirsty and familiar ... The heat grew sweeter and hotter in and waves of ecstasy mounted for a time, blotting out the surrounding haze. A'ree touched on the shoulder. The restraints had been loosed while was in that other state of mind. <> 'Raf unlocked shape, and a flurry of possible forms flickered around <> while <> gasped with the still-burning pleasure of bonding. Eventually long training and strong will suppressed them, and the furred male form of the satyrlion returned. <> he growled, molten-eyed, and A'ree bared teeth in a smile and struck aside his grasping paw. They erupted into a flurry of fast strikes and counters, ending with him overwhelming her and her pulling him down into close embrace. Her features grew feline; he twisted around, gripping the scruff of her neck in his fangs. They roared together when he emptied the newly forged Warrior into her. * * * * The room of shaping was almost crowded, all her aspects working inside. Four forms: Godcaller; Eyes as blue as the depths of a mountain lake, a spare body disciplined by the rigors of meditation and the arts of the quiet mystic, an idealization of Kachin, but the wise calm learning of the old Sister was imparted and in the eyes it showed. Archmage; red-gold hair and beard, eyes mismatched, one silver and one the golden yellow of a candle flame, an almost lanky wiriness the image of Delalle in his youth, only slightly idealized. Rogue; a surprise here, eyes as black as the wind at night, skin lightly colored by the sun and hair dark as the eyes, angular face, the excessively lean, all but soundless stealth and speed that had made Kadrys able to survive over the long years of his unlife, his quiet sardonic wit and sharp senses alloyed with an eloquent, smooth approach and a romantic flair. Warrior; an image of what Gard might have become, golden-haired, dark-skinned, eyes the color of spring growth, built dense and powerful as though carven from marble, but incredibly lithe, and faster than fast. At the center, a balanced composite, the best features of each of them, joined in a careful equipoise. Short, brown hair sun-bleached red and gold, an angular face with broad cheekbones, large black eyes rimmed one silver, one gold, and a body with the quick efficient build of a gymnast. Around the central form, there was a haze, tying the four outer parts to the inner with a hazy cloud with a soft gold tint, a hint of crystalline facets, as a 'kani identity-twist began to form, binding them. * * * * 'Raf opened his eyes, stroking the red hair of the feline woman who lay across his chest. A rumbling purr rose within her. <> he chuckled. <> <> She stroked the fur on his chest, marvelling at its softness over the hardness beneath. <> <> <> <> he smiled, and licked along the side of her face, his feline tongue scraping gently. <> <> <> <> <>