“we gota date tomorrow, remember?”
Rox’lomde, it was established, was the patron god of showers. Writings of the ancient past stated she had taken this title from one of the other Classical Gods, Strijerk.
Roxy Lalonde, upon first hearing this lore, had cracked up over every single detail of it. It was suspicious that the language had stayed so very similar over 5000 years – but their names had been butchered so. Surely, surely they would know if they weren’t being talked to in English? But also the fact that Dirk’s showers were even known quantity. Around her own childhood home, fresh water had been precious enough the only time one showered was during a natural rain.
Suspiciously, after hearing that, Roxy’s own showers, in what had to be termed ‘the modern day’, did seem to lengthen considerably. Perhaps that was because John – Or was it Jharenber? – Never asked her to get out of the shower – not really needing one, given all the god-tier powers they tried not to rely on too much. Instant cleaning was just too easy not to use sometimes.
But even after experiencing an almost civilian life on Earth C for years, it was a luxury she failed to deny herself.
John took a moment to answer, looking at her wrapped in that towel post-absolution, dripping on the carpet. “a date? like a reservation date, or an appointment one?” He was a little distracted. There was something funny… coming. He didn’t know the shape of it yet, but could start to see it’s outline. Something to do with Toucans. Or two cans. He was poised, ready, over a half-filled sheet of paper, to take it down when it actually formed.
Roxy flung her towel to the floor, and her familiar outline was quickly covered my the more familiar hoodie she wore as of late – oversized, long enough that she probably could have gotten away with wearing nothing else if she was of a mind to.
Was it that sort of two cans? No. Probably not. Would anyone of ‘the modern day’ even think that was a innuendo?
“nuh, the old hag needs her juice. unles yu wann deal with her again- an yu know if i’m going in alone, its ta do one thing.”
“oh. yeah,” John fished out… the device. Functionally, it was a smartphone, but it never felt like a smartphone. It was too… organic. That, and he’d never get used to leaving it in a pot of goo overnight instead of plugging it in. He hoped. But, it did have his to-do list on it, “is it my – our turn already?”
“until eather of dem striders show themselfs again, yep,” She had produced a large comb from the ether and was forming her hair into something more manageable, “its not like ive gotta be there doin it every gingle month or antyfin”
John had no option but to nod. Keeping the Condesce… imprisoned was a harsh word. Contained? Was something he would admit he had inflicted on everybody. Honestly, she probably would have died during that big fight, years ago on Derse, if he hadn’t stooped to draining the air from her lungs. Or maybe one of them would had died. Who was to say.
But that left the victors with a prisoner of war they just couldn’t let loose on the world.
~
It was a long bus ride. Couldn’t the couple just have flown there themselves? The answer, of course, was yes – at least physically. But anybody that reported a god – multiple gods – were flying a certain direction, it would start to raise questions of just what they were heading for.
Which was a small town on… The Desert Desert Desert. Or, at least that’s what it seemed to translate to. It would be such a good joke, except nobody cared. It was just the name the locals had grown up with. The town had a spa. The South Desert Desert Desert Spa. And a few hours beyond that town, hours of flight away from civilization, was a particularly large oasis.
~
The troll previously known as Her Imperious Condescension was never one to count dates. The arid, unchanging horizon provided no reason to, and the horizons viewed from standing on that line were no more hospitable. Some birds alighted on the oasis’ water as they flew north, muddying the water for a few days, and a few months later they would fly the other way, heading south. She’d struggle to catch a few as a bit of variety to her diet.
The more frequent fliers were of human shape. They always came from the same direction – left supplies – and generally made the decision to stay as easy as possible.
There were some meager crops, planted with little skill – more something to occupy the hands with than a source of food. There was a little hut to catch what breeze there was, and blot out the sun during those long blistering days, and a separate “Dry storage” shed beside it on stilts.
The old Isolated Countess had been forced to “agree” to one more condition.
~
The three saw each other at such a distance that it could not be eye to eye – a streak of darkness in the midst of a sky of stars, a dark figure on the edge between moonlit dunes. The two mid-air paused, far out of reach, and the troll strode purposely toward her shack.
John surveyed the area – a few little critters rustling in the brush around the oasis, but mostly silence. Roxy concentrated on what was a paradox – a little syringe filled with some chemical that, when injected in a few moments, would suppress the troll’s psionic powers.
Jade had wanted a sample of concoction to science up – a few injections ago. But that in itself was dangerous talk, given how many trolls with psionics were now living their lives on this planet.
This syringe was caught as soon as it appeared, and handed off to John.
“so it’s still just-“
“she was lying on her mattress thing. Right umm – this one wass the butt, not the arm. dunno xactly what she was doin but yu shud watch yr arm.”
John tried, in vain, to gauge just what she meant by that. It seemed lately that she’d waxed prophetic while using her void production powers – but that didn’t stop her words from not helping one bit.
“n e ways, i’ll handle supplies n yu handle her. meet ya here in fifteen, or im coming in for your ass.”
That was – an extremely intense look Roxy was giving him. He believed her.
~
The shack was dimly lit – more an issue of the only lamps provided being powered by solar panels and batteries than anything else. There wasn’t much in terms of furniture – a few metal bowls, a propane tank and burner. A few boards torn from the walls to make some shelves – those boards replaced months ago.
Roxy had talked about being annoyed about that. But, at least it meant the troll was showing some investment in the shack.
There was also a heap of burlap sacks that, by John’s guess, counted for a prophetic mattress – because the troll was laying on top of it, back to the ceiling, feet to the door.
“Ah… if it’s not the boy who took my breath away.” As soon as she saw who it was, she looked away.
It had been months, but… The troll sounded different, syrupy. Southern-er? She also physically looked… deflated. Old person deflated, like the layer underneath her skin had been melted away.
“you’re, eating enough, i hope… ms. … crocker?”
“)(ergh,” It repeated, “)(ergh )(ergh,” – Oh hell it was a laugh, wasn’t it, “as if it wasn’t your diapers taking my breath away first, Mister Crocker.”
Wait. What?
No, he shouldn’t let himself be distracted. Whatever state the troll’s mind was in currently, it was better if he just got this over with. Her backside was already pointed towards him. A lot of back – those rags hung a lot like one of those a party dresses.
John wondered, momentarily, then decided – there was no ‘right’ position to get the shot in. And if this was supposed to be a ‘butt injection’ anyways – well, there it was.
“ms. crocker,” John had no real idea why he was calling her that this time, “i’m just going to give you your shot, ok?”
The syringe – he popped off the cap. Oh, good, it wasn’t one of those big needle ones. Just the stamp full of little needles. He did the little air-bubble test – a tiny bit of liquid oozed and dripped off – he didn’t need to do any more than that, right? There was nothing to make a big arch of liquid in the air.
She hadn’t responded.
“just stay like that-” he braced his right forearm against her back.
For a moment his arm – she sunk down under it – but somehow she was facing him. He tried to pull away but something was grabbing into his arm – so his next impulse to hide the syringe instead. This was always easy with a sylladex. Retrieving it later was always the hard part.
“Like this?“
John took a moment to ascertain what had just happened – but the quick answer that seemed to be that the troll had folded herself in half, like a towel, and his arm was the towel rack.
She adjusted her arms – one around his, to complete what ever gap there could be in the circle, then interlaced her fingers before a chest that was showing signs of strained breathing.
She rolled her neck as if trying to relax a strained muscle – the fact that he hadn’t even noticed arm-length horns wooshing by was probably an indication that she had been being careful about not spearing him in the process.
“Johnny, I know your girlfriend wants you back posthaste, but won’t you spare your mum a bit of time? What’s happening these days.”
John honestly was feeling himself going crosseyed with her using the word ‘mum’. He had come to terms with ectobiology meaning his … late … dad wasn’t… no, stop that thought. Just in case he hadn’t come to terms with it as much as her thought. No. Just play along, get his arm out of the apparent vice that she could make her spine, give her the injection, and get out of there.
‘heh… i… i don’t remember just what we talked about last. It has been a while,’ His arm had the slightest bit of movement, which was good
“Oh, something about your book. The two cans joke that you couldn’t figure out.”
Wait.
“Shell, I would have given up on that joke before the tour. Oh, did you ever make it up to Mackinac Island? That one cheapstake hotel that wasn’t going to cover the trip over.”
What the shell, as she would put it, was she talking about?
“oh. yeah, no private plane, they said,” A tour? Where was this coming from? “no tired arm jokes without that.”
He felt her dry-mouthed laugh in his wrist this time, “The Grand tried to engage us once – it was a new hotel then, of course, less of a reputation to uphold – but balked at chartering us a boat too. Like I was going to ride the public ferry – But, their loss. “¹
“hey I’ve…” um. Before airplanes? What was some old-timey slang? “… made bank in a lot of other places. Like… Boise.”
She was ok with this statement – at least the grip on his arm didn’t tighten up, “But no cross-dressing up that-a ways, I’m guessing?”
Wahahat. No. Improvise.
“well i didn’t advertise it. but the late show, i’d manage. was um. was there a particular outfit you liked?”
“That bengali flapper one. I don’t know how you made that work, but you did, John. Or… no, what was that name you liked?”
Flapping Bangles? Ok, who was he going to have to ask somebody about this when he got back, because the old google was gone. “shh, none of that – there might be some bourgeoisie around.”
She chuckled. That was fine. He’d though the Boise/bourgeoisie association was a stretch himself. He could hardly even remember what the word meant, middle class people, maybe? But no, he needed to take control of the situation. Whether she was being gentle on his pinned arm or not, he was starting to lose feeling.
“heh… looks like you’ve been keeping up with your- um- evening stretches. Or maybe you’re just going a little flat out here?” Would car tire metaphors work? He’d been avoiding them because they wreaked of being offensive to trolls.
“You know – you were the one that took my breath away. But. you were always the one that gave it back,” It wasn’t a large sigh, but it was a sigh John felt – he winced. The troll stared for a moment at the arm that disappeared between her, then finally straightened out.
John jerked his arm out from the widening gap as quickly as soon as he could safely do so, standing up, stepping back. The circulation returning was it’s own unwelcome sensation – but it would be worse in a moment.
The troll half-flipped over to address him – her butt and legs barely moved, her chest flipped over – like the two things were only held in proximity by a leash – itself now a tangled mess of raged clothing and re-stretched skin.
“Why are you letting them keep me here?” Her voice was still strong, but hollow.
John was trying to be analytical about the situation. Wringing herself like a towel was… theatrical. She was trying to appeal to someone else. Named John. That was mistakable for him. And apparently would not want to run in terror, seeing her tie herself in knots. Feel sympathy, even.
“why am i…? you agreed to this,” Right. He had to be disappointed by the situation too. “what you want me to smuggle you out of here somehow?”
“Hide me in a armbag, like a tiny barkbeast. Feed me little scraps and let me peer out through a hole. I don’t need much.”
Where. The. Hell. Did that line come from. Nothing on Earth would call The Condesce tiny.
“we… i need to give you your medicine. i… i promise i’ll talk to them about it. but we have to do this the right way. or i’m gonna have to be hiding in that bag with you.” He for sure would mention it to Roxy. She was losing herself out here. To the past? Something else? Who knew.
The Condesce clasped her hands, tracing the groves of her midsection with her thumbs for a long moment.
“I don’t want to run away. I want you with me John. I’m doing this for you… I’m…” It looked like she was going to tear up. But no tears came. It could just be more theatrics. But the sound of her voice was very, very believable despite the dryness of her eyes, “Get it over with.”
It was easy to find the syringe again from the wallet modus. There was no long needle to deal with, and the butt was right there – the jab went quickly.
The syringe, emptied, went back into the sylladex immediately – the troll grabbed him up and pulled him close in a hug. Her rags and skin were rough, and smelled of ash… and flour.
“Don’t stay away too long.”
Tentatively, he hugged her back. For a moment. But she quickly released him – a quick wave – and she straightened out again, face down in the burlap.
He slowly backed out the door and flew into the waiting sky.
She had started to shudder.
~
“honesly? two spa days after waitin out here. this plac suks, an i want a ful night sleep.”
It would mean booking another day at The South Desert Desert Desert Spa, re-booking bus tickets. But it wasn’t like he had any reason to run back to civilization, “Sure, hun, in the morning.”
A bit acrobatically, as there were still an hour by air from their destination, John gave Roxy a peck on the cheek. She gave him a little grin back.
“so i suppos she got ya, despite the warning,” the sigh was theatrically loud, to be heard over the rush of air, “yu two talk about much?”
“i’m… still digesting. she definitely worse for wear, isn’t she?”
“no lyf force to suck up out her, youd hop she was. gotdam theif. i sish shed just get over wit and die.”
John’s own sigh in response was masked by the wind.
__
Some “Better ending” John/Condy interaction.
¹ The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island opened 1887, Mackinac Island Airport in 1934. So John lucked out.
For FoeHammer
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