- Oct 20, 2018
- 56
- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Posting Status
- Weekly
Madison sat in the dark of her apartment, face down in a musty old pillow, feet dangling over the arm of the couch while the Grimoire sat on the coffee table next to a stack of paper plates coated with a thin layer of pizza grease.
The visions of insects spreading from one person to the next swirled around in the darkness behind her eyelids for a moment longer before swirling into non-existence. Bugs? Is that it? Am I The Insectress now or something?
She asked the book as much. It only repeated itself once more.
Clearly, neither one of them had any idea what was going on.
...Maaaan, that's a thousand bucks I'm never getting back.
Eventually she pried her face off the pillow and slowly sat upright.
"No, it can't be that simple," she slurred, brushing aside an errant lock of void-black hair that fell in front of her face. "Nothing is when dealing with something as needlessly arcane as you, innit?"
Of course it wasn't. Maddy'd read enough of what the uneducated and superstitious and legal authorities would call "Black Books" to know the answer before the Grimoire could pump any scenes of nodding budgies or whatever into her mind. Everything always vague. All sorts of fine print in the pacts to weave your way through. And, of course, the chance that everything blows up in your face and suddenly whoops, you're working the register in the Fifth Circle's equivalent of Wal-Mart, it's always the afternoon rush, and everyone has the "I'd Like To Speak To Your Manager" hairdo.
The necromancer rose to her feet once more. She wanted to try and get to the bottom of the visions the Grimoire had shown her, but first--
"I'm going to get another drink. Alone." She jabbed a finger at whatever eyes decorating the cover were staring at her. "I'll be back in an hour or so."
The visions of insects spreading from one person to the next swirled around in the darkness behind her eyelids for a moment longer before swirling into non-existence. Bugs? Is that it? Am I The Insectress now or something?
She asked the book as much. It only repeated itself once more.
Clearly, neither one of them had any idea what was going on.
...Maaaan, that's a thousand bucks I'm never getting back.
Eventually she pried her face off the pillow and slowly sat upright.
"No, it can't be that simple," she slurred, brushing aside an errant lock of void-black hair that fell in front of her face. "Nothing is when dealing with something as needlessly arcane as you, innit?"
Of course it wasn't. Maddy'd read enough of what the uneducated and superstitious and legal authorities would call "Black Books" to know the answer before the Grimoire could pump any scenes of nodding budgies or whatever into her mind. Everything always vague. All sorts of fine print in the pacts to weave your way through. And, of course, the chance that everything blows up in your face and suddenly whoops, you're working the register in the Fifth Circle's equivalent of Wal-Mart, it's always the afternoon rush, and everyone has the "I'd Like To Speak To Your Manager" hairdo.
The necromancer rose to her feet once more. She wanted to try and get to the bottom of the visions the Grimoire had shown her, but first--
"I'm going to get another drink. Alone." She jabbed a finger at whatever eyes decorating the cover were staring at her. "I'll be back in an hour or so."
