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shinonFandom: Johannes Cabal series
Characters: Johannes Cabal, some original weird apparitions
Word count: 800
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "persnickety."
I have been reading Michael Moorcock again. This is not a crossover and isn't intended as canon-compliant with any of Moorcock's ... a review site I used to frequent once termed it "MULTIVERSE BOLLOCKS;" I just thought the Cabal series' sort of kitchen-sink cosmology could accommodate a bit more eldritch bullshit In The Style Of, as well as some light soapboxing about how much the Dungeons and Dragons alignment system confuses me. I understand how people tend to apply it in practice, but is that actually consistent with the theory? If not, is the theory that poorly explained or are people bad at reading? Etc. etc. So you see I am using this prompt on both a literal and a metatextual level. I also put some big words in it.
Johannes Cabal discovered with some irritation that his extracurricular activities had drawn the attention of the Lords of Chaos.
One had appeared as a viscous purple ooze with a million eyes; the other was presently a very tall red-haired woman, and had confined herself on this occasion to a tasteful five. Cabal was not best pleased to find them in his kitchen. He would not have been pleased to find cockroaches, either. The difference was in degree, not in kind.
“Herr Cabal,” said the purple one, in a pleasant if mildly oleaginous baritone.
“Get out.”
The red-haired woman extended a hand toward him for peace. Seven eyes, in fact, if the one in her right armpit had a counterpart on the other side - but perhaps best not to assume. She said nothing, but contorted her face in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a smile. It must be granted that her best effort would have weakened the knees of many, and threatened the bladder control of not a few.
The ooze rolled along: “We have come to commend you -”
“We have nothing to discuss. Get out.” Cabal had no way of enforcing this; bullets would be wasted on creatures like these, and he didn't keep the components for the relevant banishing ritual in his kitchen. However, he speculated that laying into them with a rolled-up newspaper might be sufficiently injurious to their dignity. It would also give him immense satisfaction.
“- on the service you have done for our great Cause,” said the purple one, unbothered.
Cabal, on the contrary, was bothered to a remarkable degree. “The increase of entropy is not a Cause. Besides which, it's completely antithetical to my aims.”
“But look at how much you've done for us simply by the way. People killed before their time, government officials undermined, general confusion and disorder sown wherever you go. You're a disorganizing principle, my boy.”
Cabal bit back a retort that would only have sounded childish, but settled for casting his gaze meaningfully around the room. Observe, that gaze said, The scrupulous tidiness of these shelves. The furnishings were all angled precisely with respect to the window such that the sun would never strike a person of Cabal's height in the face when such a person wanted to eat toast in peace; in summer and in winter he rotated everything fractionally to accommodate the changing day length. Johannes Cabal was an extremely organized person, which is to say: orderly. Or, as this affinity is called in certain ontological frameworks, “lawful” - which any number of enforcement agencies might be amused to hear.
"Now, yes," the creature said, in that conciliatory tone best used for explaining to toddlers that there is no more ice cream, "on paper your aim is to shuffle things at a lower state of organization back up to the higher one they used to occupy, mm? Your ends aren't the same as ours, but your means - delicious. My friend here" - he extruded a sort of pseudopod to the tall woman still gurning hideously beside him - "made a spreadsheet totting up your net effect. Fascinating stuff, really."
Fascinating stuff. Really. Cabal experienced several conflicting impulses at once: first, a desire to personally verify the numbers; second, self-satisfaction at having registered on such a scale that cosmic principles kept a ledger on him; third, contempt. It should be noted, however, that the contempt was a default setting, and not had not particularly changed in pitch with respect to recent aggravations.
"Incidentally, you can't see the spreadsheet. It wasn't consistent with our general aesthetic, so I ate it." The blob sounded abashed. It is left as an exercise for the reader to decide which is least consistent with the ethos of Chaos itself: making spreadsheets, or commitment to an aesthetic.
Cabal said frostily, “I wasn't going to ask.” The very tall woman with six or seven eyes raised four or five eyebrows; the purple one looked away with a polite cough. “I suppose this little visitation is meant to discomfit me. You suppose I'll doubt my own methods and begin behaving erratically. That would be a real acquisition for your side.”
“Not a bit of it!” said the blob. “We don't want to influence you at all. You just keep being yourself, and keep doing what you do, and you'll be plenty of help. In your small-potatoes sort of way, you're one of my personal favorites. Well, toodle-oo” - and then there were no longer any Lords of Chaos in the kitchen.
For a moment Cabal stood in silence, a muscle working in his jaw. Finally he shrugged, and made toast, although he had to draw the curtains against the harsh glare of afternoon sun.
Characters: Johannes Cabal, some original weird apparitions
Word count: 800
Warnings: None
Notes: GYWO Yahtzee, "persnickety."
I have been reading Michael Moorcock again. This is not a crossover and isn't intended as canon-compliant with any of Moorcock's ... a review site I used to frequent once termed it "MULTIVERSE BOLLOCKS;" I just thought the Cabal series' sort of kitchen-sink cosmology could accommodate a bit more eldritch bullshit In The Style Of, as well as some light soapboxing about how much the Dungeons and Dragons alignment system confuses me. I understand how people tend to apply it in practice, but is that actually consistent with the theory? If not, is the theory that poorly explained or are people bad at reading? Etc. etc. So you see I am using this prompt on both a literal and a metatextual level. I also put some big words in it.
Johannes Cabal discovered with some irritation that his extracurricular activities had drawn the attention of the Lords of Chaos.
One had appeared as a viscous purple ooze with a million eyes; the other was presently a very tall red-haired woman, and had confined herself on this occasion to a tasteful five. Cabal was not best pleased to find them in his kitchen. He would not have been pleased to find cockroaches, either. The difference was in degree, not in kind.
“Herr Cabal,” said the purple one, in a pleasant if mildly oleaginous baritone.
“Get out.”
The red-haired woman extended a hand toward him for peace. Seven eyes, in fact, if the one in her right armpit had a counterpart on the other side - but perhaps best not to assume. She said nothing, but contorted her face in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a smile. It must be granted that her best effort would have weakened the knees of many, and threatened the bladder control of not a few.
The ooze rolled along: “We have come to commend you -”
“We have nothing to discuss. Get out.” Cabal had no way of enforcing this; bullets would be wasted on creatures like these, and he didn't keep the components for the relevant banishing ritual in his kitchen. However, he speculated that laying into them with a rolled-up newspaper might be sufficiently injurious to their dignity. It would also give him immense satisfaction.
“- on the service you have done for our great Cause,” said the purple one, unbothered.
Cabal, on the contrary, was bothered to a remarkable degree. “The increase of entropy is not a Cause. Besides which, it's completely antithetical to my aims.”
“But look at how much you've done for us simply by the way. People killed before their time, government officials undermined, general confusion and disorder sown wherever you go. You're a disorganizing principle, my boy.”
Cabal bit back a retort that would only have sounded childish, but settled for casting his gaze meaningfully around the room. Observe, that gaze said, The scrupulous tidiness of these shelves. The furnishings were all angled precisely with respect to the window such that the sun would never strike a person of Cabal's height in the face when such a person wanted to eat toast in peace; in summer and in winter he rotated everything fractionally to accommodate the changing day length. Johannes Cabal was an extremely organized person, which is to say: orderly. Or, as this affinity is called in certain ontological frameworks, “lawful” - which any number of enforcement agencies might be amused to hear.
"Now, yes," the creature said, in that conciliatory tone best used for explaining to toddlers that there is no more ice cream, "on paper your aim is to shuffle things at a lower state of organization back up to the higher one they used to occupy, mm? Your ends aren't the same as ours, but your means - delicious. My friend here" - he extruded a sort of pseudopod to the tall woman still gurning hideously beside him - "made a spreadsheet totting up your net effect. Fascinating stuff, really."
Fascinating stuff. Really. Cabal experienced several conflicting impulses at once: first, a desire to personally verify the numbers; second, self-satisfaction at having registered on such a scale that cosmic principles kept a ledger on him; third, contempt. It should be noted, however, that the contempt was a default setting, and not had not particularly changed in pitch with respect to recent aggravations.
"Incidentally, you can't see the spreadsheet. It wasn't consistent with our general aesthetic, so I ate it." The blob sounded abashed. It is left as an exercise for the reader to decide which is least consistent with the ethos of Chaos itself: making spreadsheets, or commitment to an aesthetic.
Cabal said frostily, “I wasn't going to ask.” The very tall woman with six or seven eyes raised four or five eyebrows; the purple one looked away with a polite cough. “I suppose this little visitation is meant to discomfit me. You suppose I'll doubt my own methods and begin behaving erratically. That would be a real acquisition for your side.”
“Not a bit of it!” said the blob. “We don't want to influence you at all. You just keep being yourself, and keep doing what you do, and you'll be plenty of help. In your small-potatoes sort of way, you're one of my personal favorites. Well, toodle-oo” - and then there were no longer any Lords of Chaos in the kitchen.
For a moment Cabal stood in silence, a muscle working in his jaw. Finally he shrugged, and made toast, although he had to draw the curtains against the harsh glare of afternoon sun.
