Take Me Away
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: August 12th, 2017
As the tarrasque carved its way through the Fae infantry, I took cover under Baal and braced for inevitable. The inevitable took a long time to get there. I opened my eyes and peeked out. We were no longer on the field of battle, but in the middle of a high school football field and it was no longer the morning. Judging by the darkness of the suburb, it was probably late in the night. I crawled out from under Baal and brushed the dewy grass from my clothes. Standing over me, arms akimbo, shaking his ring of heads in almost parental disappointment, was Dantalion, Hell’s own wet blanket. He always carrying a book he probably never read, and wears a robe with a dopey Shakespeare collar. A real dork always looking for an ass to crawl up.
“What out of hell have you gotten yourself into now, Baal,” Dantalion shook his heads, “And get away from Gary, you don’t know where he’s been.”
“You messed up my glorious death,” I protested.
“It wasn’t by design,” Dantalion said. “I didn’t know you were hiding under Baal. Who, by the way, is suffering from dementia. He’s prone to fugue states. When I heard you were sniffing around, I knew you’d have him off on some ridiculous adventure wearing a tricorn hat.”
“I didn’t put the hat on him.”
“Taking advantage of the infirm. Even for you, Llewellyn, that’s low.”
“He was having the time of his life.”
“He was going to be trampled by a tarrasque.”
“Instead of rotting away in Phoenix.”
“He’s lost his mind.”
“He was fighting for good cause.”
“Good causes? Is that what you do now? When did that start?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on.”
“I know what’s going on. I just don’t care. The Goetics have no stake in this. So stop asking us for favors. Stop asking us to help you.”
“You think they’ll just draw the line with you? Scorch the cosmos, get to your doorstep then call it a day? You're either with them or against them.”
“Spare me the firebrand rhetoric.”
“Get your heads out your ass...es? How does it work? Is there an ass for each head?”
“Fuck you, Gary.”
“No need to get personal.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?”
“I feel bad.”
“You’re right. I feel terrible. Let me make amends by returning that glorious death I took from you earlier.”
Dantalion raised his hand from his book. The midnight suburban football field dissolved into the sprawling French field drenched in crisp morning sun. The battle looked pretty done. The field was littered with splattered Fae folk. Half of something was clawing its way along the gore slicked turf, stuffing all sort of shit into its yawning abdominal cavity. I’m going to eat a trainload of MDMA before bed tonight.
The tarrasque was still there, but it was slumped on its haunches, like an engorged Winnie the Pooh, snoring. To its left was Oberon, chained to a post, looking like someone had been working him a little. In front of him was Stephanie Morgan. Very pissed. Doing that ‘leaning forward, jabbing her finger in your face’ pissed.
One Way Or Another
Byline: Stephanie Morgan
Dateline: August 12th, 2017
Heya, SEG-ers! Have you ever wondered what you would do if you ever found the man that tried to drown you? And he was at your mercy? I have, constantly, for months. I made a plan too. It was perfect. It had high drama, subtle intrigue, it was broken down into three acts with an epiloge where the car battery explodes. Not to go into too much detail, but I had it down to the perfect voltage. But do you know what happens when you’re making plans, SEG-ers? Life. And when life hands you an opportunity, do you grab on and improvise or do you tell life, ‘No thanks, Life. I didn’t bring jumper cables.’? I’ll tell you what you do. You grab that opportunity by its scrawny little neck and chain it to a fucking post and watch your goblin troops work its soft parts for a few hours.
That may be satisfying for the first four hours or so, but then the hollowness sets in. The hollowness of knowing that it can’t really escalate from here without scaring the shit out of myself. Remember; if you seek revenge, dig two graves. One for the asshole that had you executed and one for your enthusiasm.