Black Saturday

VII

Luna felt disappointed.

The colors faded, but the stench remained. Everything looked antiquated and quaint, just as what one would expect to see if they jumped to medieval times. And yet that was the problem. This world looked medieval.

'Captivating, ain't it?' Rahal said, patting her back. 'It's as beautiful as a stallion's watery turd, and smells just as good.'

Over to their right, a peasant was being beaten until dead. To their left, a merchant ignored the fight and instead filled animal intestines with chopped meat. Luna couldn't bear to look at her feet, and should could bear even less when she took a step and heard an unholy "squish!"

Solomon said, 'I can't stand this place. What does Kassandra see in it?'

Rahal replied, 'It's that blasted Romanticism.'

None of them could walk more than a few steps before messing their shoes.

'How can things be this unclean?'

'I've been telling you— the world collapsed hundreds of years ago. No one cares about clean streets. It's every man for himself; everyone wants to get their own bitta satisfaction 'n pleasure in what little time they have on this rock.'

Everything looked the part: timberframed houses, post-Romanesque chapels, thatched taverns, candlelight lamps (clearly unused for decades), the works. Luna recalled the Nostalgics, those witches and wizards who longed for the olden days before modern Muggle engineering dominated the world— she saw everything they wanted.

Except if this is what they wanted, they wanted something awful.

So she asked, 'What happened?'

Rahal smacked her lips, and Luna took that to apologize.

'Nihilism. Misanthropic nihilism. It's kinda cute, ain't it?'

The sky blackened. Rain fell.

'Look alive, O' My Dear Moonshine! This is the gods taking a piss on us.'

Dreamily, Luna said, 'It's really awful here...'

'I've been telling you that for hours, innit. The only reason I thought it a good reason to bring you here is because I know you to be a fan of cryptids.'

Solomon shouted, 'Ship.'

Luna scowled and said, 'You shouldn't swear like that.'

Solomon pulled a fag from a box and lit it, inhaling the smoke and breathing out. 'No, you loon. I said "Ship." That ship's setting sail.'

Luna looked off into the distance, only to be greeted by a castle wall. 'What ship?'

Rahal's response was to fill his gut with her fist. 'She doesn't swing that way, you twat.'

Solomon bent over and used his position and rush Rahal. 'The ship is on the seas.'

Rahal locked her elbow around his neck. 'It takes a modicum of ETK to disintegrate one's neck bones.'

Solomon lifted her off her feet and slammed her to the ground. 'Filth shouldn't bemoan overflowing scum!'

Rahal grabbed his ankles and brought him straight onto an antpile. 'With enough force, squeezed bollocks can cause high-impact heart attacks!'

As they dirtied themselves in the dung, Luna pulled out her wand and shouted, 'Petrificus Totalus.'

They stopped moving, struggling to flex a muscle.

'Loons, deary, you've made your point. Now let us go.'

'Not until you promise to stop abusing each other!'