Tevun-Krus #34 - GothPunk

Smith & Jones

"What day is it?"

"It's All Hallows Eve."

"So, October 31st?"

"Yes."

"What day is it?"

"It's Monday. It's All Hallows Eve."

"So Monday, October 31st?"

"Yes, why?"

"What year is it?"

"Erm... 2016."

"So Monday, October 31st, 2016?"

"Yes, it's All Hallows Eve. Why?"

"Well..."

"Out with it, woman. What appears to be the problem."

"It's just that... It's just..."

"I think she's delirious. Should I slap her?"

"Oh heavens no, she'd enjoy that far too much and then we'd never get anything out of her apart from grunts, groans and the occasional, "Yes, oh yes Daddy. Give it to me, I've been a bad, bad girl," and we really don't have time for that, although..."

"H'ver, I thought I told you not to give Jones the WiFi password..."

"Perhaps a nice, sloppy portion of grilled cheese would help?"

"I doubt it..."

Smith shook his head, slowly. It appeared that he was surrounded by idiots and whilst that was something to which he was entirely accustomed, it was very unusual for him to be able to count Kris in that idiotic number.

"Now come on, Kris... You can do it..." he spoke slowly, deliberately and relatively quietly, as he attempted to coax from her whatever it was that she was trying to say. "We are all friends here, you can tell me..."

"I just... It's that... It's just..." she stammered.

This continued for several hours, during which time Smith grew less and less understanding whilst simultaneously becoming more and more irritated but eventually, Kris blurted, "I DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING SINCE CHRISTMAS!"

"You don't remember anything since Christmas?"

"I DON'T REMEMBER ANYTHING SINCE CHRISTMAS!" she repeated with the volume cranked well and truly to eleven.

"You don't..." Smith stopped himself, thinking better of it, mostly due to the fact his ears may or may not, at that point in time, have been bleeding, and instead he opted for a different tack. "Have you not been reading the issues?"

"OF COURSE I'VE BEEN READING THE ISSUES! AND I'M SORRY... I ALSO SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO SPEAK AT AN ORDINARY VOLUME!"

"Apparently," Smith replied, screwing up his face. "From now on though, until you do remember how to talk in the manner of a civilised individual, how about we just deal in nods and shakes, eh?"

Kris nodded.

"Good. OK, so the last thing you remember is Christmas... After that it was Mythpunk, and something about a fat midget who used to be Dracula?"

Kris nodded slowly in reply, and Smith took that, rightly or wrongly, as confirmation that she did, indeed, remember, and so he continued.

"Then there was Romantic Science Fiction, during which you performed to a level akin to the redheaded 'schoolgirls,' to whom Jones rather enjoys getting his jollies, and after that it was Alternate Universe, which in all fairness was much the same as Romantic Science Fiction as far as you were concerned... With me so far?"

Once again, she nodded.

"All right, now we're cooking on gas... Then it was Fan Fiction, where I'm sure several hundred copyright laws were broken and after that was Theological Science Fiction, and that's where we met God, or something... After that it was that weird thing where we didn't have an episode and everything was white and there was alcohol involved. Then it was Pirate Punk, during which I got exceedingly wet."

"OOOH I REMEMBER THAT!"

Smith had not been quick enough, having made an incredibly futile attempt to put his fingers into his ears, though he suspected that doing so would have made little difference.

"Well if you remember that then you'll probably remember that Dying Earth came after that, and that was like some fucked up video game, or something, I don't really remember myself but I do remember that after Dying Earth it was Atompunk where Jones and I got to wear some very dapper clothes, indeed!"

Kris nodded excitedly. Apparently, that was what did it for her.

"And then finally it was Generation Ship, where, where... OK I want to say that something happened, but I can't recall exactly what that something was."

"Muhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha..."

"What the fuck was that?"

"I dunno', Jonesey, but it sounded pretty fucking demonic."

"State-the-obvious-much."

"Well you did ask."

"Granted. Now... Clearly Kris is out of the picture for the time being and H'ver is too busy making sloppy portions to have so much as a clue what's going on... Where's Boogaloo?"

"Honestly, I've no idea," Smith replied, shrugging his shoulders, as that is generally the general area of one's body one shrugs when one is, indeed, shrugging.

"Did you know your ears are bleeding?"

"Yes," said Smith. "But we've got more important things to worry about, like working out whereabouts we are without the assistance of anyone who normally knows what the fuck is going on."

"Well there's a demon - or y'know, something demonic - so, Demonpunk?"

"Maybe," said Smith. "Maybe Monsterpunk or Horrorpunk?"

"Could be," said Jones, nodding in agreement. "Or..."

At that very moment an enormous stack of speakers - because shutthefuckup I'm writing this story so it can happen if I say so - appeared out of nowhere, directly above their heads, and from said stack of speakers came the most demonic of all sounds.

"Cradle of Filth!" Smith and Jones yelled in unison. "It's Gothpunk!"

"Look Jonesey," Smith yelled, on his own this time. "The speakers appear to be powered by one of those power cubes! Grab the bastard! I'll give you a leg up!"

Jones did just that and as Smith hoisted him speaker-wards, he stretched his arms towards the power cube that was situated in the midst of the stack.

"Quick, Jonesey! It's the white light..!"