Draconic Sphere Ω

Chapter 29: How Sacreligious!

"Oh, Gandalf's panties, please let there be something good for dinner tonight," groaned Dandelion, laying her head on the table.

"Did you have a hard day, Dandelion?" came a friendly voice. Dandelion looked up. It was Wintergreen. She smiled at Dandelion sweetly.

"You could say that," said Dandelion. "I hope our players are entertained. I really do."

"What players do you mean?" asked Wintergreen, still smiling.

"Here we go..." muttered Kaergat.

Dandelion grinned enthusiastically. "Have you ever considered that we might all be the characters in some huge game, and in some other dimension our players are rolling dice and making decisions to determine our fate?"

"Oh, that sounds like the concept of the Higher Self!" said Wintergreen.

"Right. Right," said Dandelion. "Something like that. Except our players are insulated from the abject terror we experience and that's why we keep making decisions that end with us chased by demon zombies."

"That would explain a few things," said Wintergreen.

"Oh, we haven't even gotten started. Let me tell you about natural 1s sometime. I am going to blow. Your. Mind." Dandelion punctuated this last sentence with a gesture evocative of her head exploding.

"Would you please hurry up? Some of us also need to order," came an overly dignified voice – Wyck.

"Ah, I bet you had a hard day, too," said Dandelion, narrowing her eyes.

"My day has been excellent. I merely wish for efficiency, and a little less chit chat when someone is on the job, you see? Or does Ares not believe in efficiency, hmm?"

"Leave Wintergreen alone," said Verano, who had come over. Wintergreen's smile was frozen in place.

"Yes, yes," said Wyck dismissively. "I just think that one's deity provides us a higher ideal to strive for, isn't that right, Wintergreen? Surely Ares would have something to say about the meaningless chit chat?"

"Winter, defend yourself a little, come on!" said Verano.

"I... I..." stammered Wintergreen.

Verano facepalmed a moment and said, "Wyck, Wintergreen quit that asshole god and doesn't need reminding of him, okay?"

"How sacreligious!" exclaimed Wyck, somehow managing to seem unjustly wounded by the exchange. "Wasn't it more the case that Wintergreen didn't meet Ares' standards for a cleric?"

"Isn't your god dead, anyway?" growled Verano.

Wyck seemed a little shocked. "Gods are eternal," he said.

"Until Syrac sticks a sword called Godslayer right up Plutus' backside."

"A colourful image," said Wyck. "However, as gods exist beyond the limitations of time and space, Plutus was always an aspect of the great god Syrac, something that was revealed on the physical plane in the events of the Godswar. As but a humble priest of wealth, I focus my worship on Plutus, but I acknowledge that this is the same as worshipping one of Syrac's many holy faces."

"You'd have to be humble to worship someone who had his ass handed to him on a platter."

"Ahem," said Wyck, assembling his dignity as best he could. "Speaking of platters – Wintergreen, I'll have the special with potatoes." Wyck strode back to his table.

"What a royal dick," said Verano.

"Tell me about it," said Dandelion. "Do you think they gave him extra classes on being insufferable in cleric school?"

"Probably," said Verano. "Are you okay, Winter?"

"Uh... of course," said Wintergreen, her smile seeming to say, well, what can you do?

"You sure?" asked Verano.

"Mhm!" nodded Wintergreen. She seemed, if not great, at least not about to break down in tears. "So – today we have quantum cat steak," said Wintergreen sweetly, "served in a simultaneous superimposition of rare and well done."

"Kaergat, that sounds like magic stuff," said Brunhild. "What did Wintergreen just say?"

"Well. You see. Quantum cats exist in two equally probable branches of a timeline at once. Famously, they can be simultaneously alive and dead. So you have to kill them twice."

"Right!" said Wintergreen. "That's the special. Both alive and dead."

"The special is both alive and dead?" repeated Brunhild, flabbergasted.

("Isn't two lives a downgrade from regular cats?" Dandelion asked herself quietly.)

"You just eat the dead part," Wintergreen said reassuringly. "But some people find the ambiguity exciting."

"Sounds gnarlyyy," said Dandelion. "I'll have the special."

*

Dandelion ate her meal with a fierce concentration. Brunhild was torn between staring and looking away. The superimposed quantum states were just about the most confusing thing she had ever seen.

As they were finishing up, Andromalius lumbered past their table to where Wyck was sitting. Wyck was letting off occasional little hiccups that sounded uncomfortably much like a cat miowing.

"I have a staggering disdain for your hypocritical and petty life," Andromalius said to Wyck.

"Indeed," said Wyck. "Could you please leave?"

"Death and birth are like the punctuation marks to your empty, meaningless existence."

"Yes, I'm quite sure," said Wyck. "What is it that you want?"

"I do not, in fact, have any obligation to do this," said Andromalius.

"But...?"

"The only reason I am passing on this message is because it gives me reasonable grounds upon which to insult you before moving onto other forms of slavery."

"Yes, wonderful, and the message is?"

"Your slightly less pathetic apprentice is waiting for you at the door," said Andromalius, before stomping his way towards the mop and bucket behind the bar.

"Tell her to come in," said Wyck.

"If your demon God Syrac commands me directly, perhaps I will consider obeying," rumbled Andromalius, seemingly to himself, mopping the floor as if it had insulted him personally.

"Miow," came Wyck's strange hiccups. "Miow." He made a satisfied noise and leaned back, cradling a beer.

*

Dandelion finished her plate ten minutes later. Due to the quantum, it had taken a while. "That was better than LSD mimic giraffe butt neck," she whispered, staring into space.

"I will do my best to forget what I just saw," said Kaergat.

Lacrie toyed with her potatoes, looking pale.

"You!" screamed Chekhov's voice. Everyone looked around at him. He was pointing angrily to a young woman in black robes. "You're not welcome here!"

"Dad –" said the woman.

"Do not call me that word!"

"Chekhov," said the woman. "I'm just here to –"

"Get out!"

"Fine!" yelled the woman, starting back towards the door. "I just needed to say –"

"I don't care!" yelled Chekhov.

"Wyck, we're on a fucking schedule, okay? Hurry up!"

Chekhov slammed the door behind the woman.

"Miow," hiccuped Wyck, responding to the attention of the crowd with an innocent-seeming shrug.