What are “Tumbled Dreams”? These are the posts I made to my tumblr during the week because I felt they did not warrant a separate post on this blog. However, these “interstitials” often explain some of the backstory to the larger dream posts. For those readers that only read Three Different Ways, they may help explain some of the characters and sudden changes in plot and direction.
~~~
Those who stole the mud found themselves infected by it. No matter how quickly they washed their hands, no matter how deep they purified themselves, they all rotted and decayed, becoming only more of the very mud they stole.
But the two that were gifted the mud found even as they stood, flowering plants and healing herbs sprouted from their handfuls. The mud never turned against them, but enriched the soil where it was buried.
~~~
“You look angry, girl.”
“I am angry, Rummer John.”
“Let me guess, someone misread your writing.”
“Ha. No. Not that. Someone thinks they can sic angels on my ass.”
“Calling down Ol’Jehovah on your head again, eh?”
“Something like that. Happens every time I mention the abuse I suffered. Really pisses me the fuck off.”
“I’m curious. For what reason?”
“There are the monotheists that use that as proof their favorite usurper is the one and only. After all, I wouldn’t be cringing in the corner if other gods backed me up, therefore there are no other gods. There’s the grimoiric mages that think they have a sure fire weapon in commanding a warrior angel and think I’m easy prey. But at the core it is those that go all hellfire and brimstone. I haven’t forgotten, Rummer John. I haven’t forgotten the beatings I physically received because those holy and pure angels decided to mark my ass as unclean. They took advantage of my open head and poured into me in legions. I haven’t forgotten not one searing second of it, and to be told that even as a child I deserved it because I am unclean, filthy, and sinful, just really pisses me the fuck off. These deluded fuckers hiding behind anonymity [in my inbox] are trying to trigger a fear response. They want to see me hiding in the closet again, confessing to sins I never did. They want me cringing like I was before the angelic lord at the terrace while claiming I deserved to be possessed, raped, and beaten for the sin of being human. And not just for being merely human. Oh, no. I was beaten for not being white, Rummer John. The angels had built on the pastor’s family’s prejudice. My skin, my curves, the very texture of my hair were all evidence of my predisposition to sin. They fluffed his ego by fucking me. And while raping me physically and mentally, they quoted scripture. They forced my mouth to speak scripture justifying what human and angelic hands were doing to me. And, that, dear Rummer John, is why I want to watch the world burn.”
“…”
“…”
“You’ve made progress. You can speak about it now.”
~snort~ “You know how much a mindfuck it was finding out what [my Lord of Air] is? What K* is? It is hard to write of them because they are angels. But when I write ‘angels’, most readers think of Jehovah’s thugs. My language sucks ass, Rummer John. And I am more than a bit pissed for being used as evidence of a sheep-fucker’s superiority again. I had a fear reaction [at the terrace] because having the sensations of all my abuses revisited on me at once is not fucking pleasant by any stretch of the imagination.” I pounded the table and realized a glaring omission. “There is no rum on the table. Who are you and where is Rummer John?”
He laughs heartily and lifts his hidden hand. He is holding the bottle in a firm grip. “You challenge even gods, girl. And you were angry enough to try your luck even against me. Better to let you burn off that ire in a safe place before you wake up pissed off enough to shatter iron.”
He’s right. Now that I vented, my anger is spent. “I reserve the right to record this conversation. If for nothing else, than to show the sheep that I have no fear of them, that I am not cowering, and that their precious god still has Jacque Shitte over me. Yes, angels can take me down. But those angels that are his?” ~spit~ “I am not easy prey.”
He laughs again. A rich and deep timber that tells me I’m okay. “There are those that would disagree with you.” He puts the bottle on the table. “Your time for rum has passed. Go get your coffee, girl, and try not to start the End of the World today.”
I nod my head in respect as I get up from the table, and am rewarded with even more laughter. Why he indulges me, I do not know. But I am thankful for these moments when he just lets me vent. I don’t care how many investigators throw their allegations in my face. He’ll always be Rummer John to me.
~~~
“You have no credentials, no patronage, and no record of even existing. How do I know you are trustworthy and capable?”
“You were referred to me. Do you doubt your contacts that much? How much did you have to pay to get the assurances that brought you to me? That high a price comes with verifications, I’m sure.” I straighten my coat and formally bowed. “I am a Jack of All Trades. As long as your hands are clean, what does it matter?”
“Jill.” I only smiled ferally until he shifted uncomfortably and explained himself. “You are a woman. You are a Jill of All Trades.” I did not answer but stared at him with a now predatory grin. When he glanced away in an insecure moment, I changed gender to male but kept my posture the same. When he glanced back, he blinked furiously in surprise.
“Jack. Like the card.” When he blinked again, I changed appearance to a different ethnicity but made the gender appearance androgynous. “Though some say I’m the Joker as my role depends on the hand I’m dealt.” He tried hard not to blink. When he did, I mimicked his visual appearance and vocal style precisely. “You haven’t begun to pay for the right to tell me who I am.”
In a nervous reaction his hand darted to his pocket. Thought is faster than muscle, however. My Sight revealed an emergency signal was kept there. I covered it with a texture glamour so his hand would only find the cloth of the pocket. Before he could look in the apparently empty pocket, I put my hand in mine and pulled out a visual duplicate of the signal fob. He blanched on seeing it.
“You want to dominate others? Start a cult. I’m not your bitch. Now that we have that settled, who are you?” In his nervousness I threw a glamour over him. He now appeared as me. If he took three steps away from me, it would fail. If he asserted himself, it would fail. If he did anything but panic, it would fail.
He panicked.
As he ran away at speed, I dropped the illusions on me. Reaching forward, I tapped the dark smudge on the iron fence beside me. “Did you enjoy the show?” The shadow did not answer. “I hope he paid you well. I don’t think he’ll be doing business with you again.” The shadow chuckled.
“He will. Men like him always come back to me. And always pay more. Good day to you, Black Jack.” The shadow faded, leaving the fence a little brighter.
I turned and walked across the bridge, fading into shadows myself.
~~~
- Kanna: Wow! That was fun!
- Me: Yea. Too bad we won’t remember any of it.
- Kanna: What do you mean? I’m the one on lockdown. Not you. You should be able to remember it all and write it down for me.
- Me: Heh. Yea, I would. If it were my dream.
- Escort: ~appears behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder~ (To me) Time to go.
- Kanna: But you’re lucid. So we’re sharing the dream. Right?
- Me: ~gets up from table~ No, Kanna. This is /your/ dream. I’ll be lucky to even remember I saw you.
- Escort: (To Kanna) I’ll make sure she remembers seeing you. (To me) Leave now or you won’t.
- ~~ ~~ ~~
- I left. And this is all I remember of it.
~~~
How rich the timbre of your flowing voice! How well you intoned the practiced phrases and memorized adulations! Your choices of words for your enemies needs updating, however. I do not grovel. Nor have I regretted my apostasy. If you are going to speak against me, speak true, lest the rest of your words expose your sins instead.
Did you know I stood behind you? Did you feel me at your neck? You stare too long at light, so that you are blind to the shadows. My breath tickled your ear but you said it were the whispering of angels.
They surrounded us, those angels. They did not begrudge me, nor did they speak against my presence there. They stood apart from us, preventing all others from interfering with anything I would will to do to you.
Any damn thing.
Do you know how amused I was to find you had been placed in my hands? You were an offering to me. A Free Will gift for me to keep boxed if I will, to elevate if I will, to rend if I will. And your precious angels were there to make sure none took you from me.
You were still speaking. To whom, I do not know nor care. You had heard of the angel at the terrace, and was attributing my reaction to proof of my fallen and demonic nature. You think too loud, girl. Your fear that you would be treated the same is evident. You were verbally offering me as scapegoat in your stead. Begging the Powers over you to overlook your magic and your stained hands, pointing out to them that unlike me, you bend the knee and bow the head. Pleading you are worthy of redemption in the same breath that you brag of serving demons. Surely… Verily… you deserve elevation, and I deserve damnation.
You kept mistaking my laughing presence as an angelic aegis. Asking for my enveloping shadows to guard you further. How did you not see!
You had been offered up to me, for reasons I do not know. At any moment, I could spit in your blood. At any moment, I could seize your heart, break your voice, strike you blind, make you my bitch.
So many delights I could visit upon you.
I was almost intoxicated by predatory arousal. Almost.
What kept me from touching you was a single request asked of me some time ago. “Leave her and her’s to me.” As tempting as you are, with your ass presented to me on Saint John’s platter, you are not my morsel to devour.
It would be quite rude of me to take another Power’s toys. Yes, quite rude, indeed. As much as a delectable gift you are, you are stolen goods. Improperly served to me by whom, I do not know.
I do know, as I stand over you, as my shadow holds you in gentle comfort, as you yield to my presence thinking me a drop of the divinity you fear… I do know, that all you have against me now are empty and vacuous words. Vain and self-aggrandizing phrases coddled by the those that know themselves to be insignificant and powerless. You are the Great Leader of your hamstrung state, speaking desperate lies that only you believe, trying to find comfort in the rare correlations between your impotent attempts and my irritations.
You looked me in the eyes for the first and last time. Did you see me just then? Uncertainty crossed your face. Did the light lift long enough for you to see the ever present shadows? Stop lying to yourself. That adornment ill suits you.
What scared you, I wonder. Was it the reflection of your face I had cast back at you? Was it the chill of your fear shifting its grip? Was it the sight of how your precious angels look upon you, oh mortal?
It doesn’t matter now. You are not mine to take. You are spoken for, a stolen gift. You owe me no debts, and your creditor is waiting.
I leave you, then. In the company of those you fear. In the company of those that despise you. I leave you pleading to your captors for mercy. I leave you with the knowledge you keep denying. Not all chains are iron. Not all beatings leave marks.
I leave you. Goodbye.
~~~
“So who are the targets?” Snake shook my belt gently, just enough for the three trinkets to clink against each other.
“No targets. They were strung together after I got Horatio back and I never bothered to separate them.”
“You’re polishing the shield Esse gave you. You were trying to make a axe last week. And now you have two empty skulls on your hip. That doesn’t make for bright and cheery conclusions.”
“No, Snake, but it makes for fun speculations! I’m not going head-hunting.”
“Yet.”
“No comment. By the way, is my test in the smithy?”
“It is. Are you up for the challenge?”
“I am.”
“When you’re ready, it’s there waiting for you, as well as a new stash of coal.”
~~~
“Hi. My name is Malfeasance, and I know a guy that needs a job done. I think you would be the better contractor for him. Would you agree to meet him and discuss the job and/or terms?”
“Your name is… what?”
“Malfeasance.”
“Is your guy a publicly elected official by any chance?”
“Why yes, he is. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. I agree to meet him, however I am not binding myself to any actions or inactions by doing so. Introductions, exchange of names, or any other exchange of information does not bind me into performing any actions nor into any debts, explicit or implied. Understood?”
“I’m not the first broker to approach you, am I.” He spoke it as a statement, not a question.
I say nothing, but smile warily. And away to the bridge I went.
And now you know the name the shadow gave me, but not the name I heard/understood. That one, I’m keeping to myself… for now.
~~~
I am reminded of that time the Cthonic spirits wanted a certain thing from me. And even though I was seeking a safe way to be rid of that thing at the time, I was still quite hesitant to just hand it over to a group of spirits I knew jacque shitte about. But the Cthonic spirits were patient and even told me flat out to go ahead and perform my due diligence if that would soothe me. Because in the end, they said, I would see their way was the best way after all and give them what they wanted of me.
And in the end, they were right. Their way was the best way to be rid of the certain thing and I gave it to them, without any expectations on either side of the transaction. They wanted it. I gave it up. They got what they wanted. I got rid of a problem.
That’s how it is feeling with “Malfeasance”. That is not his name, and I grokked his real name on the very first syllable he introduced himself with. (Rather, the name we humans know him by.) But his class of entities is one I admit I am ignorant about. That is, if he is who he claims to be.
You see, he wants me to announce his name with great desire. And when someone wants that kind of information to be spread like Nutella, that raises flags with me. I don’t know all the games, but I sure as hell am starting to recognize when my game piece is placed on the field. What does it matter to me who the broker was? It doesn’t. (Much.) Which means his name-dropping isn’t for my benefit, it’s to snag the attention of one of y’all.
So now I’m performing my due diligence, trying to find as much about the named entity before I make my final decision to drop his name or not. But the fact that before today, I would see his name maybe twice a week, but now today, I have seen his name at least fifteen times on my dash alone, is a not so subtle hint that “Malfeasance” wants to be announced.
So. Which one of y’all buggers is itching for an information broker, and have you really considered the cost of working with one? You thought CISPA was invasive… ~wags finger~
~~~
“You doubt me.” Outside the booth, time came to a stop. Jill was a few tables away in mid-pour, the steam frozen and still. My ears felt a confining dampening as even the air outside the curtain rod became at still as stone. Across from me appeared a very dark skinned man with sharp Arabic features. His head was covered with a black cloth on which black feathers had been skillfully embroidered. His eyes glowed softly, with the bluest irises I have ever seen. Fascinated by the hue, I wondered if this was the color the Ocean and the Sky fought over. He smiled and waited patiently for my curiosity to indulge itself.
After soaking in each feature, I realized who the complete set of identifiers belonged to. “Oh!” I sat up straight in the booth as his smile only deepened. “You caught me off guard, Malfeasance. I was not expecting a personal visit. And I have only begun my due diligence. I am unprepared for a test. I would offer coffee…” I tapped on the solid air. “But I’m out of time, it seems.”
“Why do you mistrust your understanding, Black Jack? Within an hour of your beginning, you had all you need to know.” Long slender fingers folded over themselves. His body posture indicated he was ready for a flippant answer from me. My research said be formal and allow him to break the wall first.
“Just because the words are recorded doesn’t make them true, Malfeasance. Yes, your name was verified within the hour I set out. And even the question of why you would be involved was answered, and why you would involve me. All that is settled as far as I’m concerned. But you are too eager for me to speak your name publicly, and that runs counter to what I understand about you. You arrange for trumpets, you don’t blow them.”
He smiled and cocked his head in a distinctly corvid gesture. He nodded twice. “What harm would it be, then? If not something to throw to the young and the arrogant?” His smile turned feral. Even though I have not reacted, he knows he has skewered a chief concern.
“The arrogant will always come to you, Malfeasance. They are not my concern. I am worried the naive and the ingenue will try to follow my public footsteps and find themselves in deep shit. But that is not my chief concern for holding back.” His smile cracked, showing gleaming sharp teeth. I felt like I was stepping open eyed into a trap and I could not turn away. “You’re fishing, [Malfeasance], and using me as bait. I want to know who you’re fishing for.” My mouth felt stuffed with cotton.
At saying his name at last, tension broke that I did not know was there. He sat back, suddenly satisfied, with the contentment that comes after a long awaited meal. I checked my self and selves for sudden absences, but I was still intact as far as I could see. He chuckled at my introspection.
“Not fishing, Black Jack. Warning. Your readership grows far beyond what you can measure. I do not expect you to brag. You crow using the names that are important only to you. They are worthless to others, but then again, that is why you brag in that manner. The relationship is more important than the connection. I like that.” He leans forward quickly and interlocks his fingers as he rests his arms on the table. “I want…” He dragged out the word. “… you to merely mention me, by name. That you have seen me. That you have spoken to me. That you have served me, even just for that brief moment on the bridge. That you have been touched by me.” His hand moves faster than thought. He lightly scratches surgically sharp talons against the left side of my face and the top of my left hand. He uses just enough pressure for me to register the touch, but leaves no marks nor wounds behind. It is a show of power, and restraint. “And I have left you, whole.” He interlocks his fingers again and smiles with dangerous eyes. “Would you do that for me, Black Jack?”, he asked with a lover’s voice.
I sat stunned and still. I had felt his talons on my spirit. And with that imperceptible touch my innermost saw a glimpse of the immensity of the entity that sat before me. It took me a short time to recover from the exposure. He sat patiently (so patiently) waiting for me.
When I finally spoke, I knew I was pushing my luck. But that is what I do best. He should know that. “Why ‘Black Jack’? I’ve been deconstructing the name all day. It is not just a reference to the playing card, or the title I gave the suit [the public official], is it.” I kept my voice calm and steady. I was afraid, but like hell was I going to show it.
His eyes narrowed slightly. I was not following the plan. I measured the silence in thundering heartbeats. Thirty-nine shuddering beats later, he answered. “No. It’s not. You’ll find out why in time. I think you’ll like it.” His entire presentation was devoid of emotion, inflection, and patience.
I knew I had pushed my luck enough. I bowed my head in true respect. “May I have permission to record and publicize this conversation, including the writing of your name, Sir?” I kept my head bowed after speaking. The similarity between him and the angel at the terrace struck me as strangely obvious.
I heard him take a deep breath. He was relishing in that satisfying moment when one’s plans unfold just as they were supposed to. Bright emotion and purring inflection returned to his raspy voice. “Yes, Black Jack. You have my permission and my mandate to do so.”
I lifted my head and looked him squarely in his swirling blue eyes. “Thank you. Malphas.”
~~~
Once again I want to keep it close. Once again it demands to be written. Lemme drop the outline here and see if that scratches the itch.
- That’s some black ass iron.
- If I heat it any hotter, the stone will melt!
- Whadya mean, I’m not done yet? I gotta quench it where?
- Hello little girl. You look so pretty today.
- My friends are going to stay and play with you. I need to have a talk with the man that brought you here. And then I’m taking you home.
- Hello photographer. That’s a nice shoot you’re setting up for. Would be a shame if something happened to it. Or to you.
- Quench this, motherfucker!
- Lemme drop dat ass on the Boneyard Express.
- You’re so pretty, little girl. Let’s get you home.
- ~twist ending~
- Hey Snake. Here is my test. I’m not sure I want the grade though. I need to digest what I just did.
This might take a while, writing it down on breaks.
~~~
My intention was to lock my traveling ass down again. After all, the bowl with the mini-lotus plants needed cleaning. Oh wait, Snake did that for me. I guess I could work on the moonstone. Except I wanted to wait until a physical full moon so I could study the light first hand. Yea, science could give me a huge helping hand like it did with the sunstone, but the moonstone project feels more mythic than the sunstone does.
Truth was, I didn’t want to be anywhere near the smithy again. I didn’t want to look to my left and see the giant raven skull mask hanging next to Esse’s shield. It didn’t dawn on me until I was writing up the dream, just how much I looked like a street-punk version of Ravenwoman. That was… unsettling.
I could have gone to the City. But with Malphas’ recent drop-in, I was unsettled being there as well. The terrace? Eh… No. Pick up the search for my Lord of Earth? Bad timing. I am nowhere near the proper headspace for the strict etiquette that will be required of me. (Though being reminded which class of Powers I tend to run into most did make me chuckle.)
My minions peek out of the outer pockets of the satchel. I don’t know how my Nagual Shadow views them, but seeing they are still intact after a day means they at least know to not piss her off.
I’m restless. The stone bench beside the door is inviting, but I’m too antsy to sit. The fire burns steadily behind me. It doesn’t need feeding, but I put a few log wedges in anyway. Above me the stars whirl in a private dance. In the near distance, the River burbles to itself. It is night, and all is still.
Except me.
I’m restless as fuck.
I hang the satchel on the door hook of the lair. I see Snake has modified the door I installed as well. And I sense he had help. Tinkers gonna tinker. Recognizing who made the extra marks brought warmth, making me realize I actually felt cold inside.
“Stay. Do not interfere no matter what you see. You know Snake. He and he alone may touch the satchel. Defend it from all others, to the best of your abilities.” The minions wrapped themselves around the satchel, removing it from human sight, and making themselves a warning to those that see otherwise.
I walked back to the fire, and shuddered. My feathers shook themselves into a multitude of hanging beads and bones that clattered against each other. The restlessness increased, but along with it came a sense of right. Then I understood.
This wasn’t a night for Weaver.
This is her night, the night of [Snake Dancer]. Her Nahuatl name(s) still escapes me. (She has so many, that is why I was stumped before.) But the meanings do not.
There were no drums to accompany me. No flutes of bone or reed. No shakers or voices to follow my lead. There was just me, the fire, and the waiting dust.
I took an intentional stomp. Everything about the movement was carefully placed. The placing of my foot, the bend of my knee and ankle, the grip of my hands and the height they were raised. I planted my foot, and the earth shook. I shook my head and the River silenced. I raised my head, opened my mouth, and rent the sky.
~rattles~
~~ ~~ ~~
“Sleep well?” Fifty feet of cream colored scales isolated me from the lair. “You were… not yourself when I found you by the fire.”
“I was very much myself, Snake. Just not a self that I remember.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
“Dawn approaches. Get some more sleep while you can.”
“Good idea.” I snuggled down in his grip then remembered the satchel and the minions. “Shit. The satchel.”
“Your… minions? They allowed me to take it off the door. I was going to take you to task about how easily they allowed it, then realized how many teeth they had. They could have defended it, but relented by your command, I understand. Do not underestimate them. They are more than they appear.”
“Of course. They’re mine.”
He contracted his muscles, squeezing me gently in a taunting display. “Shut up and sleep you.”
So I did.
~~~
I don’t know why Snake bit me. I only know if there is a hallucinogen in the Waking world that does what his venom does, I do not want to ‘try’ it. There aren’t enough NOPE reaction gifs for that.
Why was I collecting doll house pieces? Why was I in a MMORPG waiting for boss respawns so I could farm them? “Another pink stove. You need it? I’ll trade the pink stove for your black stove. I need that. Here, have the pink sink also.” I knew most of what was around me was illusion. I felt it was imperative I find the real. I felt in danger, but I didn’t know why.
I was a battle-mage (DPS in plate) in a party with a cleric and a warrior. (Warrior was useless. Could not tank for shit.) One of them was illusion. One was not. I didn’t know which was which.
We left the dungeon and was about to walk in guild headquarters when I looked at the bulletin board. I saw a name that should not have been there and it snapped me into lucidity. I realized I was being manipulated again and I started to try to shatter the world.
Four arms grabbed me from behind. Fangs sank into my shoulder. Why is he doing this?
Confusing and contradictory sensations flooded me and when I woke up, it was like I was swimming against a riptide, fighting sedation.
~~~
Make of that, what you may.