draftware

falchion

falchion

"...They're not picking up," Richard said.

The three Retconologists had just spent several minutes trying to track down Emmi, Craggy, Flux, and Scriff, and it seemed like our search was doomed to come up short. Where could they be? I mean, another me is now just wandering around out there? Is she going to get hurt? What if the others are all unconscious and Emmi is the only one remaining? She doesn't know how to get back or call for help or anything!

"Are you doing alright?" Memmi asked.

"I... I think I'll be fine."

"You're definitely lying to me. The entire chapter thus far is you having a panic attack."

I mean, she was right, but she didn't have to put it that way. "What else is there to do?" I asked her.

"Well... we could... there is... hmm... can I get you a drink?"

"Um, what kind of drink?"

"Take your pick."

"I'll just have a glass of iced tea, if you have it."

"Let me see what I've got."

"Lots of sugar, too!"

I don't think I've had iced tea, let alone tea tea. I mean, I did order one, but I took one sip then. Does that count? I just kinda wanted something sweet. That'd take my mind off of all this. Maybe. Hopefully. It's wishful thinking but it's something. "Rough day, how about it?" Simon said.

"Rough week," I replied.

"Yeah... yeah, I'll give you that one. I don't think a single thing's gone right the entire time."

"You know what takes my mind off of stressful things?" James asked.

"Hopefully something that won't bump up the age rating on this thing," Simon replied.

"I vaguely remember playing this game well before showing up here, it was called 'Cheers at a Funeral', and what it was was someone would come up with a name for a person, and everyone would tell that person's life story one piece at a time. So like I'd describe meeting this person in their teen years and the antics that came with them, you'd describe meeting them in their twenties, and so on, and everyone else comes up with the events that happened during that time and you'd incorporate them into your part of the story."

"But if we tell his story, does he then exist?" Richard asked with a knowing smirk.

"Look, there's already something distressingly existentialist about the afterward, your question just makes things so much worse."

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. We looked around at each other for just a second, wondering if we should get Memmi, but then the door opened. It was Emmi and our friends at last. "Memmi! Where is she?"

"She's in the back right now. What'd you need?" Richard asked.

"Oh, there was this person out in the woods asking lots of strange questions. Maybe he has amnesia like me! I wanted them to meet Memmi!"

"Let me see them," Simon replied.

Emmi stepped out of the door frame, and a man approached. He had on the tattered remains of a gray and blue dress shirt, and beneath it a black shirt and frayed pants. The guy's hair was black as coal and so frizzy it gave mine a run for its money. He stared around the room with big, open eyes, and I tried to watch to see if he was actually blinking. I had no idea. Emmi stepped in and gave some sort of hand gesture. "This is... what did you say your name was, sir?"