Warm, soft, and perfumed hands held me in iron grips as my mouth was pried open. The funnel was forced to the back of my throat and my nose was pinched to keep me from ejecting the intruding fluid through my sinuses. Bittered honey failed to mask the tart drug as I was forced to gulp or drown.
Their success assured, the funnel was withdrawn. Deceptive hands smoothed the gown I had woken in and adjusted the jewelry so I looked the same as all the others. Hands held my head in position as a wig was fitted on me.
I forced myself to projectile vomit on all of them. Angry words in an incomprehensible language made me laugh brightly. My mouth tingled. My tongue numbed. My throat forgot to open for air. I fell over and passed out before hitting the ground.
~~~
“There is a bowl of water beside you. Don’t spill it.” His words pulled me into an awareness of pain. When I find who drove this spike into my skull, I’m returning the favor, with interest. I peeked an eye open. I’m lying on the ground, unfettered. The wig had fallen off. A bowl of water was indeed near my head. I tried to speak my thanks but my mouth had not recovered from the stupor. So I forced myself to kneel and bowed instead. (Gravity, why do you make it worse?)
I looked around as discreet as I could and noticed the predominance of [color] and [certain precious stones]. The soiled linen gown had been replaced with a clean one. I frowned as I noticed my dream body was reflecting my physical form almost exactly. A low table was between me and the speaker. He sat on a resplendent couch. Stacks of papers and tablets (both stone and digital) occupied the table. Torches illuminated the room just enough for me to see without being blinded. The man sitting on the couch did not hide the utter contempt he held for me. The emotion contorted his face into sharp angles of disapproval. [Other tells] stood out to me, but in the modern setting I could not recognize them. I should know this person.
“You do know of me. Through other people’s eyes.” His finger twitched and all the renditions of [This Fucking Guy] that I had seen in various places in my life poured through my memory with no regard for the sharp increase in pain that came with it. The forced remembrance ended as quickly as it began. I lowered my head back to the ground and whimpered as I trembled from this strange emotion that was keeping me weak. I’m… afraid?
“If you’re [This Fucking Guy], then what the hell was the drugged honey all about? I’ve been in the presence of [This Other Guy] and [Her.] many times before. And I was told I would be meeting you eventually, so the fuck?” I forced myself back upright to a kneeling position. I hate being afraid. I have a reputation to maintain and bravado serves to muzzle the fear.
His eye narrowed the width of a hair. I forgot to breathe as the fear pulled me forward. I caught myself and planted both hands on the ground before I tipped over completely. I shivered and kept my head bowed. My mind blanked into white as panic kept me in place.
“I am not [Her.]. You do not amuse me. I am not [This Other Guy]. I have no sympathy for you. Whatever you think you are in other places is irrelevant. Know that before me, you are nothing more than a pollution of mud and a waste of water. You are unfit to be kicked, and a stain in my sight. Correct that. Now.”
Somehow I knew he meant the wig. It took several deep breaths before I could regain control over myself enough for me to reach and take up the wig. I fumbled with it, biting my lip to keep from bursting into tears, and somehow managed to don it adequately. I tried to force myself to sit upright again, but the moment I lifted my head past 45 degrees, the disemboweling fear returned and I was forced to bow again.
“I know how others have portrayed me to you. Do not base your expectations on other people’s fantasies. Learn more of me, so that when next I summon you, you actually behave better than a spoiled toddler. I care not what your reputation is. Rebellion. In my house, I am Lord. Understand?”
I nodded. I felt his other eye narrow and it was all I could do to keep from pissing myself on the spot. “Yes… Lord.”
“Begone.”
And I was.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and rearrange my day so I can start Rum’o’clock a little early.