Chapter 1- Episode 1, A Date with a Lady
Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it...
- Old Proverb
So here I am, the early morning after the phone call from Simon with Kim in tow.
After a couple of cups of coffee and a smoke, I take her on home and drop her off over at her place while I start the wheels turning on my next plan of action. I drop Kim off with the usual "I'll give you a call when I get back.. " shit and kick the old hog in the guts as she watches me roll out. Like I said, I really like tail, but I'm not really something that your girl want to take home to her mom. More often then not, her mom probibly knows me from back in her prime, or else I'll just come over to her house and drink all the beer out of the fridge and chase her, her mom, and her sister around. I'm not greedy, though. I won't want her for any long term stuff, just a good night on the town and a couple of beers, and I'm happy. I might have her make me a sandwitch when we're done, but don't hold that against her.
As I pull on the throttle of the bike, the growl of the engine helps me think and helps get my focus back on the job at hand. It gives me a little time to figure out the next move, before the time of asskicking and hellfire.You see, my thoughts go from appreciating a fine looking ass to thinking about explosives, machineguns, and mayhem at the drop of a hat. Like I said, I really like the ladies, but I really, really like my work. Along with that as I ride, all the while I'm thinking of which friends of mine to call up to get in and get my crew together when I decide on getting tooled up for whatever Simon's little radiation shit party is about and go get his little lost lambs.
I have alot of Friends, Associates, Rogues, and Drooges that I can call on to go out to play with, and each and every one of them absolutly LOVE to inflict mayhem and violence of action on anyone and anything that comes down the pipe. I have my people, and they have thier's too. We have alot in common, and all it takes is that phone call here and there, and I figure out that I will probibly need about five or ten Cats and Kittens for the work. Before the deciding on the who, I have to go see the What, or in this case, The Wight. Miss Rosey the Wight for that matter. Miss Wight is what you could call my own special Oricle of Delphi, my Undead Little Ace in the Hole, or Sight before the site- so to speak.
She could be classified as some sort of Ghost, or Phantom, or hell, Flying fuckin' nun for all I know, but for all intensive purposes, she is my own maniacal little Mary Poppins. When I need her, Miss Wight is always there for me, with everything from stitches and staples, to a few words of wisdom, to a good bottle of scotch, to having all of the answers to questions and can easily go places that people can't when you need to be there fast. ( Kinda like UPS, but for free!) She's the one for me that makes that spoonful of bullshit go down and gets me the real information right from the source. Along with all of that, she's a level headed kinda kid who is good for the thinking business.
One of the old Grotsters failings is that I'm usually a shoot first, and ask for forgiveness later kindsa' guy, and every once inawhile, such as on some of Simons really dangerous shit, I like to get other perspectives and some otherworldly support so to speak. One good thing Agent G man is REALLY good at is being a real bastard who makes it a job of trying to get me and my merry little band of psychos waxed, so in that, I like having the Miss here and there to see what's in store for me.( Yeah, I know its cheating, but fuck it. I can do stuff like that, sometimes.)
On a good day, it takes around a week or so to get my shit together and my kill on, but this one seemed a little bit more special, I don't know why, maybe it was Simon's tone, maybe it was the after thought that when I was giving it up to Kim that my wheels were already turning on the job and developing a plan to get me a team together to go do some damage, what the fuck ever. I know that G man Simon USUALLY knows not to fuck around with me about work, and I was pretty pissed at his interruption, but I decided to let it ride. Something just wasn't quite right about this one, and I thought it prudent to go see a little devine intervention, so to speak.(I could always tell Simon's ass sorry and buy him a six pack later, that bitchy little prick!) So anyway, I decide to start on across town to Halderwood Hills Cemetary, which is Miss Wights place of residence.
Gunning the engine of my 68' Harley Warhog,I roll off down Jupiter Lane tword Halderwood at a high rate of speed. I like going fast, almost as much as I like cold beer, ( Not as much as tail, but pretty damn close!) but things being things, I'm kicking out at forty to fifty on the ones while the air rushes by... Hell, yeah! There's something about being four and a half feet tall while on a large bike with your feet dangling that gets the blood rushing. (Yes, smartass, my feet DO touch the peddles!) Fast is good, and the twin pipes roaring along really gets the goods on you, kinda like all that Mom and Apple Pie stuff, and everything is right in the world, even if it ain't. Rolling it out a little bit more, I can see the trees and the old built up stone wall of the boneyard coming up on the right, and then start the thoughts back to when I'd first met her. Back in those days, things were a bit simplier; Henry Ford was cranking out the Model T's like a pregnant fucking pig, The roads was dirt, and Gas cost a whole whopping 33 cents. ( And yes! People were still bitching about the price!) Shit, times have changed, and being such a fine time to be reminicent, lets just say that the whore houses were probibly almost as cheap. The goddamned 30's... Where does the time go!
Let me digress my tale to a little history...
Miss Rosemary White was one of the more predominant madams in the county, and her girls were more then a match for any man alive. (Pfft, alive.) One day, there was a bit of an issue whith the local sheriff, a bagman from one of the local asshole mobs, and one of Miss White's girls. The long and the short of it had something to do with the girl fooling around with both sides of the law, there being some gunplay,and the next thing you know, Miss White's house of Ill repute ends up turning into one of the greatest bloodbaths in the local area's history. In the end, thirteen girls, and fifty or so assorted Hoods, Sheriff's deputies, local Coppers, G men, and Citizens end up on the mortician's slab. Little did the poor little thing know that she was banging one of the G's glory boys who was playing it under the hood well and under cover. The G men lean on the DA, the DA drags Miss White in in front of twelve pissed off locals, next thing you know- Kentucky Fried Madam takin' a ride on Old Sparkey.
So, anyway, as it turns out, riding the chair for being an asshole is one thing, but then there comes up, from time to time the little issue of taking that ride for good old fasioned, family values. You see, the execution ends up sending you over to the other side alright, but then you go over there and the "Powers That Be", have a little issue of not really knowing what the fuck to do with you. Some folks go down that road to the hot place- born bad, through and through, asshole evil. Still others go down the path of glory and end up with a halo and a harp for thier trouble, Goody, Goody, Two shoes, what do you do?
AND THEN... theres the types of people like Miss White, those that stands right in between. Your through and through dyed in the wool humanitarian hooker with a heart of gold, Rosey took it on the chin for the home team, and shouldered the god awful mess so that the asshole cherry citizens of the Angel City could, as soon as possible, sleep the sleep of the just. There's a little issue with that, as they soon found out. You see, something happened with that goddamn chair from all of those earlier days of roasting assholes for the state, that it down right through and through ends up filling that killing chair with all of those dead ass roasted convicts evil. So after the days of the roaring twenties, and earlier days of the evolution of the prime time of electricity, that it took those damned souls and continued to charge up that chair something fierce with a little something other then some power. ( If you want to know my opinion, you can blame it on that asshole chair, a bad day, or any other fucking thing... It doesn't matter.)
In the end, Miss Rosemery White ending up riding the lightning for a whole four or five seconds to glory, and then disappeared to the ages, or so the prison officials thought. Think of what happens when you put a positive and a negative together. BOOM!! Short's out the fucking house. Now think about what happens when you take a good girl like Rosey, and put her into the evil chair. Thats probibly about it, right there. a fuckin' BOOM on a whole 'nother level of suck.
Miss White ended up hitting that juice and to this day what happened in that execution is still classified as a state secret. I tried to get the dope on it from her once or twice, but after the second time of asking, I learned that some questions are best not asked of a lady, especially when she can shoot fucking lightning out of her hand and across the fucking room. So sometimes things are better left unsaid, and in Miss Wights case, best left alone and never mentioned in her presence... Of course if you feel lucky sometime, you're welcome to try it.
Of course the damn chair is still in use, and on some rainy days, you can still hear the tough guys crying and pissing like bitches in that room over at the Statehouse Prison. Its kinda funny, of course there's no one in there, but those cons really get pissed when you laugh at thier dead asses. The state has a short memory for importaint lessions, especially terminal ones. More then likely, probibly sometime here coming up when they least expect it, the state coolies will do it again, and learn the lession the hard way that they should have learned from Miss Wight. that you shouldn't fuck with mother nature. She's a hard bitch with an attitude.
You see, there's something special in the air in Angel City. It isn't the celebrities, it isn't the fucking asshole studio's, it ain't the celebrity gossip columns, and it sure the hell ain't no fucking Angels.
There's a full tilt boogie issue with the power that courses through that hellbound system. There is something other then electricity that runs in its lines, in its houses, and its in the fucking power sockets. The Power is in its own way...Alive. The City of Night knows a thing or two, or three, or a hundred thousand volts. It knows each and every little fact of the living, the dead, and undead. And in all intensive purposes, the power holds so many countless souls and essence of so much of so many, that it emits its own special soul enriched "POWER". Oh, it's electric, alright...{Fuck around with it, and find out how well you do the electric slide.}
It was in this strange chain of events that Miss Wight was reborn. The celebrity madam from another time, now living in another place, but stuck like chuck dead set in the middle of the fucking Holderwood Hills boneyard. On rainy day's, she's lucky, and gets to reappear for a time and comes around for awhile, and she gets a few hours of life or whatever she gets over to our side and gets to walk the streets of the city. A city that has grown to something a little more then her old school one whores town. (heh heh) Thereby, getting the Grot-boy's firewater, which he then inparts with a tip or two with her while they talks over the bad old times of yesteryear.
As a youngster, the Grotster was a devious git. I wasn't much for fucking around with toys and all that other shit. Maybe it was because of being born in a backseat and raised by a Witch, or because I was taught by a bum named Phil McKracky to fight and kill. But probibly for the honest fuck of it all, it was because I was always just an asshole, and not so much born, as just kinda popping up and took my rightful place as the worlds biggest asshole. BEING that sort of an asshole gives me some special privledges in the game of life. One of those special privies is that I get to see and work with the dead. Zombies, ghosts, wights, ghouls,boogiemen, Liches, witches, flaming fucking bums, undead new wave fucking banchees...even a fucking mummy or two. You name them, I tame them.
That was just one of those things, and you can just kinda TRY to grasp the way of things as they move and work for me.( I DON'T fucking know how that shit works, all I do know is that it does!) I met her fine electric ass when I picked the girl up for a ride on one of her little walks long ago and gave her her first Motorcycle ride. She really got a kick out of that shit and paid me back with a bottle of Old Scratch Number 7 and an open invitation to visit her whenever I wanted, so I've been taking her up on that since as long as I can remember.
Now, as I rev down on the throttle, bringing the old hog to a slowdown and rolling stop, I kick down the jackstands and drop off the back in a cool guy Steve McQueen stop. I flip open my old Zippo and light me up another Lucky Strike that I have to cover from the drizzling rain and look around the Hills as daylight starts to strain out through the cloudy dawn and watch it begin to try and creep out. I hobble on up over through the rows of the well manicured green of the cemetary, and cross over into another world. The world of darkness, eternal sufferings and regrets, the world of the dead. Above, the sky has to fight itself to try to get some light over the boneyard, but it does so in a half hearted manner like it knows that this place is supposed to be perpetually gloom, because the light and everything else is unwelcome here.
Picture, if you will, my cruddy little goblin looking ass making my way over through rows and rows of the dead. They kinda look like what you would expect, and even though you normal looking fucks out there in the "Real World" don't really see them when your visiting that crusty, old dead ass Aunt Sally, they see you...
Generally, the dead look kinda like some of the best fucked up looking old special effect dead assholes with sloppy old shit dribbling, eye sockets empty and hollow,and flesh rot that you can think of... and then you can forget about it. ( NOTHING on TV can top these dead fuckers!) THINK about it! Accidents, suicides, murders, kills, burnin' car
accidents,domestic wacked, war killed, starved or over ate, diseases, drowning, chewed up by cats, flayed, spaded, padded, splatted, etc, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah... Every and any way that the livings gets fucked up and dropped into the sod is what you get to expect.
In my earlier years, it was something to see, and the "Wow oh Wow" of it took a little bit to get over, but after seeing these screwed up mugs over and over throughout so much time gone by, it becomes something of a novelty,or job hazard, or some sort of shit that you really can't describe. I don't get over to Halderwood as much as I once did, so's theres always some fresh faces, so to speak when I come for my visits. Of course, me being me, I've probibly fucked with or hacked on about half of those old dead assholes, so they really LOVE my ass. They more often then not tell the new arrivals about my old days and evil ways. ( Ha Ha... Honestly, these fuckers could care less. They hate my guts, through and through.) It's a good thing for them though that I haven't come by to fuck around, and I have more games to play with living assholes, as opposed to dead ones.
No, they ain't fucking Romero's shitty ass pogue wannabe zombies, these dead fucks are more of looking like normal fucked up dead peoples, and as you walk through the rows and rows of them, they kinda pick thier own sweet time and pop up to fuck with you because they can. You too can get the pleasure of thier company in the yards with little tricks of the trade like the old tickling of your nose, the slight smell of something from thier days on top, a shiver or two down your spine and little silly shit that lets you know that thier around still. Boo! When you see them out of the corner of your eye, or you get that feeling of being watched, don't worry... you are.
Little by little, for those in the know, these poor sloppers can do shit like jump around like a fucking pogo stick, disappearing here and there, or phase in and out, or fly around, or damn near, anything pretty much anywhere they want to. They can't leave the cemetary, though. I guess because of all of that hollowed ground shit or somethin'. They know that they can't leave, so think how shitty that shit is?
(Damned distracting, stinky bastards!) They do this all the while because you are in thier turf, now. You come in with your smug assed self assured breathing ass, and think you're paying them respect? Oh Shit, NO. All you are really doing is pissing them off. You see, they want what you got. A chance to go to the movie, an ice cream, cold beer, shot of ass, whatever... These poor bastards want to be alive, again. So amid cries, and calls and whinin' and bullshit, they go on and on and fuck around in thier own special little ways.
If you ever get a chance to get in on some of that action, a word of warning- walking through that shit can really put the clamps on you if you ain't ready for it, so buyer beware!
I continue on the familier way throughout the shambling, overgrown thorns, weeds and overgrowth crossing in between the headstones, the spirits of the past, and the rows and rows on through the middle of the cemetery, to the older, less recognisable shit that is pretty much forgotten of. The next area is more overgrown, unkempt, and hard to get through as you have to fight your way through in shambles. These are the cities way long long forgotten. The cowboy's, the gamblers, the silly assed shit kickers from the boomtown days, the sailors, the dredges, and the rest of the past. War-heros, Scumbags, Grifters, Roadkill, and those of days long since gone. You name it, they're there. And throughout all of this vast madness, I finally get to my destination Miss Wights Crypt. One time I asked old Digger, the grounds keeper about that shit, but a long time before, before him and Digger senior, and all the way to Digger the first. The long and the short of it was that the old Digger's was kinda' kicked out of the middle parts of the Hills in a sort of a power grab sort of thing. They're forbidden from fucking around with the middle grounds... The special grounds. Old Digger has a set of balls on him the size of baseballs alright, but they ain't big enough to try and stand up to a few thousand pissed off dead fucks who have it in for him and his, so the grounds stay fucked up, and they are left to thier own. It's just as well I guess. His crazy old ass would just end up running those dead fucks over with his old lawnmower, anyway. He's a city worker, anyway. His health plan probibly don't cover getting ripped to shreads for being stupid.
I make my way though to the overgrow and work my way in and find a worn path that I use every now and then and visit my girl in her place of rest. I cover some ground, alright. I move past some gamblers, playing five card stud, a couple of old office girl types that start giggling as I walk by (Did them, of course.) and pass by a couple of other residents until I get to my destination. As I pass, they watch me with mild interest, then go back to thier bullshit. In all of her glory in the largest crypt in the area is my wonder girl, Miss Wight.
Back in it's day, the middle of Halderwood used to be one of the best. And the famous and infamous were laid side by side, and in thier own, they were some of the first. Somewhere amongst them, this is where the shit started...
Those creepy fucks and thier crazy shit began back then, and then it began snowballing to its current uncontroled pitch.
Because of the situation of her demise, the old girl gained quite a notorious fanclub, and a few months after the execution, she was transferred from her paupers grave over in the prison cemetary into one of the fanciest of crypts, bought and payed for by the same load of fuckers that did her in. The Cops, the Mob, hell, even the fat assed fucking District Attorney ponied up the fucking green to put the old girl to rest in style. Of course it wasn't what SHE wanted, and about a month or two after the fact, she started in on doing what she did best, she began her routine as Casper, the avenging ghost of christmas past. The Crypt is about two stories high with the usual array of grate, masonry, and glamor that only the money of regret and the guilty conscious can buy. Exceptionally gaudy, with a flare for the dramatic, the crypt sits amongst the graves like a giant overgrown castle in the middle of a battlefield. Alone, and silent, It gives off an air of menace, as well as the fragrence of long rotted flowers and long dead flesh. Sometimes, bums, stupid kids on a dare, or wannabe devil worshippers like to try thier luck on the place, and every once inawhile, they lose thier luck and don't come out, just another victim to the game, I guess. Everyones gotta eat, and they make tasty, stupid, dog treats to the dead.
As I approach, I catch the flash of a greenish-grey glow coming from within, a sure sign that the old girl is home. I approach and wisely I announce my presence, so as to not get the usual shit welcome from the old school ghosts and ghoulies, and the kind of shit brought on myself for being the asshole that decided to impose themself on them. They really hate that shit, you know. They think that you're trying to rub thier dead ass dicks in it. Not only the attitude of the Want, but they have sort of evolved, (or devolved) an unquenchable sort of hunger for the live essence that emits off of the living, just because of being alive. Of course, I'm not such an easy cat to relate to, either, so I sometimes have to unimpose myself on them, especially as how I've made it a point all of those years that I instigated a hell of alot of shit with them. When back in my earlier days, the shit that made me how I am kinda inbalanced that shit out of my system, and filled me with a little something... different. Meanness, Go-Go juice, Bad Mo-Jo Kickass, hell, I wouldn't even know what the fuck to call it. Like I said before, I just know that the shit works right for me, I don't know how it works. All I know is that they don't fuck with me all that much, and they know to give me my space.
As I stumble on over to Wight's Crypt, I can see the shambled hollow of what was once one of the asshole mook mobsters that long ago had been given a ballbat sandwich, and lost its lower jaw in a homerun for the ages. " Yo, Asshole, How's it hangin'?" The specter floats above the ground a couple of inches and gives me a really pissed off look, like he really wants to tell me. I give him a two finger salute, and stop in front of Miss Wight's door. "Is she home?" I ask the toothless wonder, " She around?" Without a word, the gunsel points with a half of a shredded forearm, pointing the stump twords the door. I stand there and I can here the shuffling from within and the crypt door rattle as it unlatches.
I can glimps her scarred head within as I bang on the steel grating covering the door and call out to her, "Hey, Rosey! Are you good? I've come for a drink, and some conversation!"
The shuffling from the right takes my attention from her door as one of the longtime residents steps into view. " She's not seeing company, right now. Please kindly piss off." whispers out a long dead lady of the night, dressed in one of them old flapper girl dress of the day. I look over her transperent glowing ass and shake my head. "She always has time for me there, Rigor More-tits." I take a drag off my smoke, blowing the cloud in her direction "Who the fuck are you again, anyway?" She waves a hand through the smoke, "I work with the Miss, and I know who you are..."
The door of the crypt shutters and shakes as it opens, "Come along dear." A shimmering greenish glow becons in with an etheral glowing hand,"We have much to discuss..." The undead lass looks as though she is about to speak when the glowing hand ushers her away, "Will you kindly go make us some tea and fetch us some refreshment, dear? He is expected." The dead girl shrugs and turns away, "As you wish, but I still think he's unpleasant, and an oaf." I watch her ghostly ass shimmy a little as she hovered and swayed as she disappears around the corner, "Shit, I didn't know that I was starting a fan club." The door creaks open enough for me to enter, which I do. "You arn't. She and a few of the others don't really all like you that much. You make then a little, how shall we put it? Lets just say... skittish." Inside, her electricity infused form crackled with the smell of ozone and flowers, my girl Rosey... Miss Wight.
"So..." she begins as she gestures over to a chair that was probibly fine dining furniture once, a million years ago and had seen better days, "You've returned for another visit, no doubt on another foolish simplton quest, or some such venture?" I sit my ass down in the frayed old chair and lean back. "You know me that well, don't you?" Gliding over to her own sitting room chair, she relaxes and waves her gowns back and picks at an invisible thread, "Of course, my dear Grot. How long have we known of each other? Has it been three or four hundred years?" I shrug and think," I don't know." Looking around for an ashtray I find an old piece of skull and put out my cig. "I've come for your opinion on this next job that The Man gave me. He called me and something about this one's got me a case of the ass. Theres something wrong with this one, Rosey, so I came by to see what you had on it."
The gate door creaks as the old Flapper Girl returns with a steaming, cracked china teapot from somewhere back when China was new, and a couple of cups with mismatched saucers."There's a good dear..." Rosey says as her saucer begins to rattle and levitate above the tray and hovers in mid air over to her, coming to rest on a small table, next to her. I reach over and take my time so as to not crush the little cup and small spoon that the girl hands me with an undead, cold hand that seems to be missing a couple of fingers."Thanks, kid." the girl looks across at me, and then back to Miss Wight, who lets her go with a wave."That will be all for now, my dear. Please don't wait up on my account." As the ghostly flapper makes her way to the door again, she glances over her shoulder as she leaves, "I really don't see why you entertain this one. he's foul looking and makes us ill." Miss Wight smiles and shakes her head, "Don't worry, my dear. He's harmless to the likes of us. Besides, I've grown quite attached to his special ways. Otherwise, I would have easily dispatched him and his unkept carcass to the four winds long ago." Looking over me like a cat that has a nice fat mouse to bat around and amuse itself with, she gives me a Cheshire Cat grin," Besides this one is different, and has his uses as amusement. He makes me feel as I once was."
Taking a sip from the cup, the tea has a hint of Mint and Black Rose flavor. The stuff ain't to bad, but everything tastes better with a shot of Old Scratch. "So, like I said, I thought I''d come by and say hi, and see what you think." Shifting over I reach into my leather jacket and pull out a bottle of the good stuff and offer her a touch."You want some?" Rosey smiles as she shakes her head and sips her tea, which disappears within the glow. "You know I don't drink before noon." She reaches over and holds the saucer with a crackle of electricity from her hand. "Thank you, anyway."
There the two of us sit in silence after that, as the hum of the unearthly and smell of ozone, drinking tea and Old Scratch. The quiet hum and crackle being the only sound as we enjoy our visit, on one side sitting, an old scruffy looking trashed out gremlin looking thing. In the other, an electricity enveloped cloak of glowing beauty hidden within a pall of green.
"You have a reason to be uneasy, Grot." Rosey eventually broke the silence."There is something ahead that only one such as you has even a chance to face." The cup and saucer floated and came to a rest onto a nearby coffin, sitting haphazardly against one of the walls within."There is an evil of an age of the great wars, an evil of countless sufferings and of limitless proportions. I see that you will be traveling to places far, far from here, and yet this evil is very, very familier to you. It has its roots in the ages of the ancient past..." Leaning forward I take another swig of my firewater and screw the cap back on and put it away again into my jacket, and I wash it down with the tea. "Thats all well and good Kitten, but what the fuck does that mean?" The shape within the glow shifted a bit and the color began to change its shade."You wanted my learned opinion, Grot. I gave it. The "What it Means " bit is for you to figure out, as per our arrangement. I've seen what you came here to ask me of, and I've told you of its nature. You have reason to be concerned... Shouldn't that be enough?"
I could see by the answer that I could have handled that question a little more diplomatic."I'm sorry, Rosey. I didn't mean to pop off like a top. I just was hoping for something a little more kinda' specific, thats all." Sitting back in the chair, I scratch the top of my scruffy head and lean forward again. "I'm not here to test your good will and all from ya, I came by for some answers, thats all. The riddle stuff is just kinda a bit more then I expected."
As Miss Wight's colors begin to shift again, her eyes glow in a strange color of yellow, "Grot, You know of which I speak... You are going to a place where evil is a constant, and The Man's minions are finding it even quite the chore to hold sway over the emissaries of the old ways... A moment of reason against an eternity of regrets..."
Of course, what was I thinking... I should know the answers to her musings without so much as a secret decoder ring! Damn women! I couldn't put that to her though, on account of her really starting to get super critical on me. Her colors were beginning to change to a slightly different shade of greenish blue, as about this time her messages started getting alittle more specific," A great red flag, and the cross of iron..." She continued and chimed in as the messages continued."There will be tanks, guns, and violence for all.."
By now, Rosey was even getting a bit more indepth then usual, and aside from her babbling and cryptic swill, was getting a bit out there, even for an undead fortune teller. "Rosey, are you doing ok?" I reacted and stood up and reached across in attempt to reach over and give her a shake. ZZZAAAPP!!!! A glowing crackle of electricty prompted me to withdraw my hand as the snap and crackle of ozone began to overpower the smell of the flowers.
"Rosey, come on back ..."
The Flapper Girl rattled and opened the door. "As I expected." Floating over to Rosey, she tried to reach out and take the electricity infused hand. BZZZT!! She flew back, taking a full charge of electricity that would have dropped her, if she wasn't dead already. "Rosey." I said as I took a step forward,"Snap out of it, kiddo."
I knew that this Seeing stuff had a little more to it then just looking at something on T.V. Some of the stuff had a strange way of looking back at you, and for poor Rosey, something was getting to her in a bad way.
"I..I'm ok, my dear." Jerking herself back in the chair, Miss Wight strained and pulled out of the whatever it was she did.
"Oh my.." She reached down to the girl. "Are you alright,my Annie?"
The pile of flapper girl sat up and shook her head, "I'll be fine when that one leaves. You really have to stop trying to reach out like that. It's.. not safe."
I kinda felt bad. Here I was with one of my oldest pals, and ended up almost putting the old girl into overload. "Shit, Rosey, I'm sorry about that one." The Glowing form got up out of the old chair, "That's quite alright, Grot. It wasn't your fault." Looking over me as she helps up her fallen friend, she pulled the dead girl up to her feet. "Just remember what price I must pay for information, and that it doesn't come cheaply."
I can take a hint, so I stand up and reach down to help the girl, as well. "You know I wouldn't have come without really needing to." I reach down and take the dead girls hand, letting her steady herself as she stands up and shakes her head. "What happened, anyway?"
Rosey the Wight floats over to another doorway, of course, leaving me to stand there like a doof. "Grot, please be careful. I felt a strong menace in that read, and it wasn't something to play around with. I... I must... rest, now."
Looking over at the two, I couldn't help but feel like someone kicked me in the nuts. "Like I said, Sorry about that."
Before leaving the room, and leaving me in the small sitting room alone. Rosey smiled and waves me away." You have nothing to be sorry about. Just remember to do be careful."
"Annie, will you please go with young Grot, and help him in his excursion?" The girl shrugs my hand off of her and takes a step back, "You know my feelings about this one, Miss...That he is uncouth and slovenly, and most likely, a bore. but I will help this one, even if my better nature tells me to drive him away." Looking her over, Annie's looking a bit rough from the tumble and needs few stitches, and one of her arms seemed a bit broken off at the wrist. "Lets get you cleaned up, and see how this goes."
I reach over and attempt to take her by the hand. Of course she pulls back and backpeddles a few steps back.
"You will not!" Rosey comes back and puts an arm around her, gently at first, but in a flash, grasping the poor thing by the neck like an old rag doll, and then roughly leading the pissed off dead girl into the back, "Grot, will you please wait for Annie, outside? She will need to be cleaned up and needs to pack a few things before she comes with you."
Annie then becomes a bit agitated, flailing wildly as her body is dragged throught that back door " But! but...MISS! Please!!" At this Rosey becomes even more firm, and practically drags the poor girl into the back." Get your little decaying ass back here and get ready...Now Bitch!" Rosey looks over at me, "Please dear, go wait outside while she packs."
I figured around then that it was my turn to do the farewells..
"Rosey... If I don't see you again, Thanks."
Rosey the Wight looks over at me as the two leave the room. "We shall see, Grot. We shall see. Just you remember what this is costing us and try to not get my girl or yourself hurt too badly."
"Us?" What the fuck did that mean? .
I left the crypt and noticed a breeze starting up and beginning to blow and stirr up the dead leaves around the tombstones outside as I hear Rosey giving the poor little Flapper Girl a couple of loud heavy smacks and "Getting her ready for traveling." What exactly that means, or How she was doing that...Hell, I could only guess.
Remember what I told you about them not being able to leave?
I lied.
- Old Proverb
So here I am, the early morning after the phone call from Simon with Kim in tow.
After a couple of cups of coffee and a smoke, I take her on home and drop her off over at her place while I start the wheels turning on my next plan of action. I drop Kim off with the usual "I'll give you a call when I get back.. " shit and kick the old hog in the guts as she watches me roll out. Like I said, I really like tail, but I'm not really something that your girl want to take home to her mom. More often then not, her mom probibly knows me from back in her prime, or else I'll just come over to her house and drink all the beer out of the fridge and chase her, her mom, and her sister around. I'm not greedy, though. I won't want her for any long term stuff, just a good night on the town and a couple of beers, and I'm happy. I might have her make me a sandwitch when we're done, but don't hold that against her.
As I pull on the throttle of the bike, the growl of the engine helps me think and helps get my focus back on the job at hand. It gives me a little time to figure out the next move, before the time of asskicking and hellfire.You see, my thoughts go from appreciating a fine looking ass to thinking about explosives, machineguns, and mayhem at the drop of a hat. Like I said, I really like the ladies, but I really, really like my work. Along with that as I ride, all the while I'm thinking of which friends of mine to call up to get in and get my crew together when I decide on getting tooled up for whatever Simon's little radiation shit party is about and go get his little lost lambs.
I have alot of Friends, Associates, Rogues, and Drooges that I can call on to go out to play with, and each and every one of them absolutly LOVE to inflict mayhem and violence of action on anyone and anything that comes down the pipe. I have my people, and they have thier's too. We have alot in common, and all it takes is that phone call here and there, and I figure out that I will probibly need about five or ten Cats and Kittens for the work. Before the deciding on the who, I have to go see the What, or in this case, The Wight. Miss Rosey the Wight for that matter. Miss Wight is what you could call my own special Oricle of Delphi, my Undead Little Ace in the Hole, or Sight before the site- so to speak.
She could be classified as some sort of Ghost, or Phantom, or hell, Flying fuckin' nun for all I know, but for all intensive purposes, she is my own maniacal little Mary Poppins. When I need her, Miss Wight is always there for me, with everything from stitches and staples, to a few words of wisdom, to a good bottle of scotch, to having all of the answers to questions and can easily go places that people can't when you need to be there fast. ( Kinda like UPS, but for free!) She's the one for me that makes that spoonful of bullshit go down and gets me the real information right from the source. Along with all of that, she's a level headed kinda kid who is good for the thinking business.
One of the old Grotsters failings is that I'm usually a shoot first, and ask for forgiveness later kindsa' guy, and every once inawhile, such as on some of Simons really dangerous shit, I like to get other perspectives and some otherworldly support so to speak. One good thing Agent G man is REALLY good at is being a real bastard who makes it a job of trying to get me and my merry little band of psychos waxed, so in that, I like having the Miss here and there to see what's in store for me.( Yeah, I know its cheating, but fuck it. I can do stuff like that, sometimes.)
On a good day, it takes around a week or so to get my shit together and my kill on, but this one seemed a little bit more special, I don't know why, maybe it was Simon's tone, maybe it was the after thought that when I was giving it up to Kim that my wheels were already turning on the job and developing a plan to get me a team together to go do some damage, what the fuck ever. I know that G man Simon USUALLY knows not to fuck around with me about work, and I was pretty pissed at his interruption, but I decided to let it ride. Something just wasn't quite right about this one, and I thought it prudent to go see a little devine intervention, so to speak.(I could always tell Simon's ass sorry and buy him a six pack later, that bitchy little prick!) So anyway, I decide to start on across town to Halderwood Hills Cemetary, which is Miss Wights place of residence.
Gunning the engine of my 68' Harley Warhog,I roll off down Jupiter Lane tword Halderwood at a high rate of speed. I like going fast, almost as much as I like cold beer, ( Not as much as tail, but pretty damn close!) but things being things, I'm kicking out at forty to fifty on the ones while the air rushes by... Hell, yeah! There's something about being four and a half feet tall while on a large bike with your feet dangling that gets the blood rushing. (Yes, smartass, my feet DO touch the peddles!) Fast is good, and the twin pipes roaring along really gets the goods on you, kinda like all that Mom and Apple Pie stuff, and everything is right in the world, even if it ain't. Rolling it out a little bit more, I can see the trees and the old built up stone wall of the boneyard coming up on the right, and then start the thoughts back to when I'd first met her. Back in those days, things were a bit simplier; Henry Ford was cranking out the Model T's like a pregnant fucking pig, The roads was dirt, and Gas cost a whole whopping 33 cents. ( And yes! People were still bitching about the price!) Shit, times have changed, and being such a fine time to be reminicent, lets just say that the whore houses were probibly almost as cheap. The goddamned 30's... Where does the time go!
Let me digress my tale to a little history...
Miss Rosemary White was one of the more predominant madams in the county, and her girls were more then a match for any man alive. (Pfft, alive.) One day, there was a bit of an issue whith the local sheriff, a bagman from one of the local asshole mobs, and one of Miss White's girls. The long and the short of it had something to do with the girl fooling around with both sides of the law, there being some gunplay,and the next thing you know, Miss White's house of Ill repute ends up turning into one of the greatest bloodbaths in the local area's history. In the end, thirteen girls, and fifty or so assorted Hoods, Sheriff's deputies, local Coppers, G men, and Citizens end up on the mortician's slab. Little did the poor little thing know that she was banging one of the G's glory boys who was playing it under the hood well and under cover. The G men lean on the DA, the DA drags Miss White in in front of twelve pissed off locals, next thing you know- Kentucky Fried Madam takin' a ride on Old Sparkey.
So, anyway, as it turns out, riding the chair for being an asshole is one thing, but then there comes up, from time to time the little issue of taking that ride for good old fasioned, family values. You see, the execution ends up sending you over to the other side alright, but then you go over there and the "Powers That Be", have a little issue of not really knowing what the fuck to do with you. Some folks go down that road to the hot place- born bad, through and through, asshole evil. Still others go down the path of glory and end up with a halo and a harp for thier trouble, Goody, Goody, Two shoes, what do you do?
AND THEN... theres the types of people like Miss White, those that stands right in between. Your through and through dyed in the wool humanitarian hooker with a heart of gold, Rosey took it on the chin for the home team, and shouldered the god awful mess so that the asshole cherry citizens of the Angel City could, as soon as possible, sleep the sleep of the just. There's a little issue with that, as they soon found out. You see, something happened with that goddamn chair from all of those earlier days of roasting assholes for the state, that it down right through and through ends up filling that killing chair with all of those dead ass roasted convicts evil. So after the days of the roaring twenties, and earlier days of the evolution of the prime time of electricity, that it took those damned souls and continued to charge up that chair something fierce with a little something other then some power. ( If you want to know my opinion, you can blame it on that asshole chair, a bad day, or any other fucking thing... It doesn't matter.)
In the end, Miss Rosemery White ending up riding the lightning for a whole four or five seconds to glory, and then disappeared to the ages, or so the prison officials thought. Think of what happens when you put a positive and a negative together. BOOM!! Short's out the fucking house. Now think about what happens when you take a good girl like Rosey, and put her into the evil chair. Thats probibly about it, right there. a fuckin' BOOM on a whole 'nother level of suck.
Miss White ended up hitting that juice and to this day what happened in that execution is still classified as a state secret. I tried to get the dope on it from her once or twice, but after the second time of asking, I learned that some questions are best not asked of a lady, especially when she can shoot fucking lightning out of her hand and across the fucking room. So sometimes things are better left unsaid, and in Miss Wights case, best left alone and never mentioned in her presence... Of course if you feel lucky sometime, you're welcome to try it.
Of course the damn chair is still in use, and on some rainy days, you can still hear the tough guys crying and pissing like bitches in that room over at the Statehouse Prison. Its kinda funny, of course there's no one in there, but those cons really get pissed when you laugh at thier dead asses. The state has a short memory for importaint lessions, especially terminal ones. More then likely, probibly sometime here coming up when they least expect it, the state coolies will do it again, and learn the lession the hard way that they should have learned from Miss Wight. that you shouldn't fuck with mother nature. She's a hard bitch with an attitude.
You see, there's something special in the air in Angel City. It isn't the celebrities, it isn't the fucking asshole studio's, it ain't the celebrity gossip columns, and it sure the hell ain't no fucking Angels.
There's a full tilt boogie issue with the power that courses through that hellbound system. There is something other then electricity that runs in its lines, in its houses, and its in the fucking power sockets. The Power is in its own way...Alive. The City of Night knows a thing or two, or three, or a hundred thousand volts. It knows each and every little fact of the living, the dead, and undead. And in all intensive purposes, the power holds so many countless souls and essence of so much of so many, that it emits its own special soul enriched "POWER". Oh, it's electric, alright...{Fuck around with it, and find out how well you do the electric slide.}
It was in this strange chain of events that Miss Wight was reborn. The celebrity madam from another time, now living in another place, but stuck like chuck dead set in the middle of the fucking Holderwood Hills boneyard. On rainy day's, she's lucky, and gets to reappear for a time and comes around for awhile, and she gets a few hours of life or whatever she gets over to our side and gets to walk the streets of the city. A city that has grown to something a little more then her old school one whores town. (heh heh) Thereby, getting the Grot-boy's firewater, which he then inparts with a tip or two with her while they talks over the bad old times of yesteryear.
As a youngster, the Grotster was a devious git. I wasn't much for fucking around with toys and all that other shit. Maybe it was because of being born in a backseat and raised by a Witch, or because I was taught by a bum named Phil McKracky to fight and kill. But probibly for the honest fuck of it all, it was because I was always just an asshole, and not so much born, as just kinda popping up and took my rightful place as the worlds biggest asshole. BEING that sort of an asshole gives me some special privledges in the game of life. One of those special privies is that I get to see and work with the dead. Zombies, ghosts, wights, ghouls,boogiemen, Liches, witches, flaming fucking bums, undead new wave fucking banchees...even a fucking mummy or two. You name them, I tame them.
That was just one of those things, and you can just kinda TRY to grasp the way of things as they move and work for me.( I DON'T fucking know how that shit works, all I do know is that it does!) I met her fine electric ass when I picked the girl up for a ride on one of her little walks long ago and gave her her first Motorcycle ride. She really got a kick out of that shit and paid me back with a bottle of Old Scratch Number 7 and an open invitation to visit her whenever I wanted, so I've been taking her up on that since as long as I can remember.
Now, as I rev down on the throttle, bringing the old hog to a slowdown and rolling stop, I kick down the jackstands and drop off the back in a cool guy Steve McQueen stop. I flip open my old Zippo and light me up another Lucky Strike that I have to cover from the drizzling rain and look around the Hills as daylight starts to strain out through the cloudy dawn and watch it begin to try and creep out. I hobble on up over through the rows of the well manicured green of the cemetary, and cross over into another world. The world of darkness, eternal sufferings and regrets, the world of the dead. Above, the sky has to fight itself to try to get some light over the boneyard, but it does so in a half hearted manner like it knows that this place is supposed to be perpetually gloom, because the light and everything else is unwelcome here.
Picture, if you will, my cruddy little goblin looking ass making my way over through rows and rows of the dead. They kinda look like what you would expect, and even though you normal looking fucks out there in the "Real World" don't really see them when your visiting that crusty, old dead ass Aunt Sally, they see you...
Generally, the dead look kinda like some of the best fucked up looking old special effect dead assholes with sloppy old shit dribbling, eye sockets empty and hollow,and flesh rot that you can think of... and then you can forget about it. ( NOTHING on TV can top these dead fuckers!) THINK about it! Accidents, suicides, murders, kills, burnin' car
accidents,domestic wacked, war killed, starved or over ate, diseases, drowning, chewed up by cats, flayed, spaded, padded, splatted, etc, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah... Every and any way that the livings gets fucked up and dropped into the sod is what you get to expect.
In my earlier years, it was something to see, and the "Wow oh Wow" of it took a little bit to get over, but after seeing these screwed up mugs over and over throughout so much time gone by, it becomes something of a novelty,or job hazard, or some sort of shit that you really can't describe. I don't get over to Halderwood as much as I once did, so's theres always some fresh faces, so to speak when I come for my visits. Of course, me being me, I've probibly fucked with or hacked on about half of those old dead assholes, so they really LOVE my ass. They more often then not tell the new arrivals about my old days and evil ways. ( Ha Ha... Honestly, these fuckers could care less. They hate my guts, through and through.) It's a good thing for them though that I haven't come by to fuck around, and I have more games to play with living assholes, as opposed to dead ones.
No, they ain't fucking Romero's shitty ass pogue wannabe zombies, these dead fucks are more of looking like normal fucked up dead peoples, and as you walk through the rows and rows of them, they kinda pick thier own sweet time and pop up to fuck with you because they can. You too can get the pleasure of thier company in the yards with little tricks of the trade like the old tickling of your nose, the slight smell of something from thier days on top, a shiver or two down your spine and little silly shit that lets you know that thier around still. Boo! When you see them out of the corner of your eye, or you get that feeling of being watched, don't worry... you are.
Little by little, for those in the know, these poor sloppers can do shit like jump around like a fucking pogo stick, disappearing here and there, or phase in and out, or fly around, or damn near, anything pretty much anywhere they want to. They can't leave the cemetary, though. I guess because of all of that hollowed ground shit or somethin'. They know that they can't leave, so think how shitty that shit is?
(Damned distracting, stinky bastards!) They do this all the while because you are in thier turf, now. You come in with your smug assed self assured breathing ass, and think you're paying them respect? Oh Shit, NO. All you are really doing is pissing them off. You see, they want what you got. A chance to go to the movie, an ice cream, cold beer, shot of ass, whatever... These poor bastards want to be alive, again. So amid cries, and calls and whinin' and bullshit, they go on and on and fuck around in thier own special little ways.
If you ever get a chance to get in on some of that action, a word of warning- walking through that shit can really put the clamps on you if you ain't ready for it, so buyer beware!
I continue on the familier way throughout the shambling, overgrown thorns, weeds and overgrowth crossing in between the headstones, the spirits of the past, and the rows and rows on through the middle of the cemetery, to the older, less recognisable shit that is pretty much forgotten of. The next area is more overgrown, unkempt, and hard to get through as you have to fight your way through in shambles. These are the cities way long long forgotten. The cowboy's, the gamblers, the silly assed shit kickers from the boomtown days, the sailors, the dredges, and the rest of the past. War-heros, Scumbags, Grifters, Roadkill, and those of days long since gone. You name it, they're there. And throughout all of this vast madness, I finally get to my destination Miss Wights Crypt. One time I asked old Digger, the grounds keeper about that shit, but a long time before, before him and Digger senior, and all the way to Digger the first. The long and the short of it was that the old Digger's was kinda' kicked out of the middle parts of the Hills in a sort of a power grab sort of thing. They're forbidden from fucking around with the middle grounds... The special grounds. Old Digger has a set of balls on him the size of baseballs alright, but they ain't big enough to try and stand up to a few thousand pissed off dead fucks who have it in for him and his, so the grounds stay fucked up, and they are left to thier own. It's just as well I guess. His crazy old ass would just end up running those dead fucks over with his old lawnmower, anyway. He's a city worker, anyway. His health plan probibly don't cover getting ripped to shreads for being stupid.
I make my way though to the overgrow and work my way in and find a worn path that I use every now and then and visit my girl in her place of rest. I cover some ground, alright. I move past some gamblers, playing five card stud, a couple of old office girl types that start giggling as I walk by (Did them, of course.) and pass by a couple of other residents until I get to my destination. As I pass, they watch me with mild interest, then go back to thier bullshit. In all of her glory in the largest crypt in the area is my wonder girl, Miss Wight.
Back in it's day, the middle of Halderwood used to be one of the best. And the famous and infamous were laid side by side, and in thier own, they were some of the first. Somewhere amongst them, this is where the shit started...
Those creepy fucks and thier crazy shit began back then, and then it began snowballing to its current uncontroled pitch.
Because of the situation of her demise, the old girl gained quite a notorious fanclub, and a few months after the execution, she was transferred from her paupers grave over in the prison cemetary into one of the fanciest of crypts, bought and payed for by the same load of fuckers that did her in. The Cops, the Mob, hell, even the fat assed fucking District Attorney ponied up the fucking green to put the old girl to rest in style. Of course it wasn't what SHE wanted, and about a month or two after the fact, she started in on doing what she did best, she began her routine as Casper, the avenging ghost of christmas past. The Crypt is about two stories high with the usual array of grate, masonry, and glamor that only the money of regret and the guilty conscious can buy. Exceptionally gaudy, with a flare for the dramatic, the crypt sits amongst the graves like a giant overgrown castle in the middle of a battlefield. Alone, and silent, It gives off an air of menace, as well as the fragrence of long rotted flowers and long dead flesh. Sometimes, bums, stupid kids on a dare, or wannabe devil worshippers like to try thier luck on the place, and every once inawhile, they lose thier luck and don't come out, just another victim to the game, I guess. Everyones gotta eat, and they make tasty, stupid, dog treats to the dead.
As I approach, I catch the flash of a greenish-grey glow coming from within, a sure sign that the old girl is home. I approach and wisely I announce my presence, so as to not get the usual shit welcome from the old school ghosts and ghoulies, and the kind of shit brought on myself for being the asshole that decided to impose themself on them. They really hate that shit, you know. They think that you're trying to rub thier dead ass dicks in it. Not only the attitude of the Want, but they have sort of evolved, (or devolved) an unquenchable sort of hunger for the live essence that emits off of the living, just because of being alive. Of course, I'm not such an easy cat to relate to, either, so I sometimes have to unimpose myself on them, especially as how I've made it a point all of those years that I instigated a hell of alot of shit with them. When back in my earlier days, the shit that made me how I am kinda inbalanced that shit out of my system, and filled me with a little something... different. Meanness, Go-Go juice, Bad Mo-Jo Kickass, hell, I wouldn't even know what the fuck to call it. Like I said before, I just know that the shit works right for me, I don't know how it works. All I know is that they don't fuck with me all that much, and they know to give me my space.
As I stumble on over to Wight's Crypt, I can see the shambled hollow of what was once one of the asshole mook mobsters that long ago had been given a ballbat sandwich, and lost its lower jaw in a homerun for the ages. " Yo, Asshole, How's it hangin'?" The specter floats above the ground a couple of inches and gives me a really pissed off look, like he really wants to tell me. I give him a two finger salute, and stop in front of Miss Wight's door. "Is she home?" I ask the toothless wonder, " She around?" Without a word, the gunsel points with a half of a shredded forearm, pointing the stump twords the door. I stand there and I can here the shuffling from within and the crypt door rattle as it unlatches.
I can glimps her scarred head within as I bang on the steel grating covering the door and call out to her, "Hey, Rosey! Are you good? I've come for a drink, and some conversation!"
The shuffling from the right takes my attention from her door as one of the longtime residents steps into view. " She's not seeing company, right now. Please kindly piss off." whispers out a long dead lady of the night, dressed in one of them old flapper girl dress of the day. I look over her transperent glowing ass and shake my head. "She always has time for me there, Rigor More-tits." I take a drag off my smoke, blowing the cloud in her direction "Who the fuck are you again, anyway?" She waves a hand through the smoke, "I work with the Miss, and I know who you are..."
The door of the crypt shutters and shakes as it opens, "Come along dear." A shimmering greenish glow becons in with an etheral glowing hand,"We have much to discuss..." The undead lass looks as though she is about to speak when the glowing hand ushers her away, "Will you kindly go make us some tea and fetch us some refreshment, dear? He is expected." The dead girl shrugs and turns away, "As you wish, but I still think he's unpleasant, and an oaf." I watch her ghostly ass shimmy a little as she hovered and swayed as she disappears around the corner, "Shit, I didn't know that I was starting a fan club." The door creaks open enough for me to enter, which I do. "You arn't. She and a few of the others don't really all like you that much. You make then a little, how shall we put it? Lets just say... skittish." Inside, her electricity infused form crackled with the smell of ozone and flowers, my girl Rosey... Miss Wight.
"So..." she begins as she gestures over to a chair that was probibly fine dining furniture once, a million years ago and had seen better days, "You've returned for another visit, no doubt on another foolish simplton quest, or some such venture?" I sit my ass down in the frayed old chair and lean back. "You know me that well, don't you?" Gliding over to her own sitting room chair, she relaxes and waves her gowns back and picks at an invisible thread, "Of course, my dear Grot. How long have we known of each other? Has it been three or four hundred years?" I shrug and think," I don't know." Looking around for an ashtray I find an old piece of skull and put out my cig. "I've come for your opinion on this next job that The Man gave me. He called me and something about this one's got me a case of the ass. Theres something wrong with this one, Rosey, so I came by to see what you had on it."
The gate door creaks as the old Flapper Girl returns with a steaming, cracked china teapot from somewhere back when China was new, and a couple of cups with mismatched saucers."There's a good dear..." Rosey says as her saucer begins to rattle and levitate above the tray and hovers in mid air over to her, coming to rest on a small table, next to her. I reach over and take my time so as to not crush the little cup and small spoon that the girl hands me with an undead, cold hand that seems to be missing a couple of fingers."Thanks, kid." the girl looks across at me, and then back to Miss Wight, who lets her go with a wave."That will be all for now, my dear. Please don't wait up on my account." As the ghostly flapper makes her way to the door again, she glances over her shoulder as she leaves, "I really don't see why you entertain this one. he's foul looking and makes us ill." Miss Wight smiles and shakes her head, "Don't worry, my dear. He's harmless to the likes of us. Besides, I've grown quite attached to his special ways. Otherwise, I would have easily dispatched him and his unkept carcass to the four winds long ago." Looking over me like a cat that has a nice fat mouse to bat around and amuse itself with, she gives me a Cheshire Cat grin," Besides this one is different, and has his uses as amusement. He makes me feel as I once was."
Taking a sip from the cup, the tea has a hint of Mint and Black Rose flavor. The stuff ain't to bad, but everything tastes better with a shot of Old Scratch. "So, like I said, I thought I''d come by and say hi, and see what you think." Shifting over I reach into my leather jacket and pull out a bottle of the good stuff and offer her a touch."You want some?" Rosey smiles as she shakes her head and sips her tea, which disappears within the glow. "You know I don't drink before noon." She reaches over and holds the saucer with a crackle of electricity from her hand. "Thank you, anyway."
There the two of us sit in silence after that, as the hum of the unearthly and smell of ozone, drinking tea and Old Scratch. The quiet hum and crackle being the only sound as we enjoy our visit, on one side sitting, an old scruffy looking trashed out gremlin looking thing. In the other, an electricity enveloped cloak of glowing beauty hidden within a pall of green.
"You have a reason to be uneasy, Grot." Rosey eventually broke the silence."There is something ahead that only one such as you has even a chance to face." The cup and saucer floated and came to a rest onto a nearby coffin, sitting haphazardly against one of the walls within."There is an evil of an age of the great wars, an evil of countless sufferings and of limitless proportions. I see that you will be traveling to places far, far from here, and yet this evil is very, very familier to you. It has its roots in the ages of the ancient past..." Leaning forward I take another swig of my firewater and screw the cap back on and put it away again into my jacket, and I wash it down with the tea. "Thats all well and good Kitten, but what the fuck does that mean?" The shape within the glow shifted a bit and the color began to change its shade."You wanted my learned opinion, Grot. I gave it. The "What it Means " bit is for you to figure out, as per our arrangement. I've seen what you came here to ask me of, and I've told you of its nature. You have reason to be concerned... Shouldn't that be enough?"
I could see by the answer that I could have handled that question a little more diplomatic."I'm sorry, Rosey. I didn't mean to pop off like a top. I just was hoping for something a little more kinda' specific, thats all." Sitting back in the chair, I scratch the top of my scruffy head and lean forward again. "I'm not here to test your good will and all from ya, I came by for some answers, thats all. The riddle stuff is just kinda a bit more then I expected."
As Miss Wight's colors begin to shift again, her eyes glow in a strange color of yellow, "Grot, You know of which I speak... You are going to a place where evil is a constant, and The Man's minions are finding it even quite the chore to hold sway over the emissaries of the old ways... A moment of reason against an eternity of regrets..."
Of course, what was I thinking... I should know the answers to her musings without so much as a secret decoder ring! Damn women! I couldn't put that to her though, on account of her really starting to get super critical on me. Her colors were beginning to change to a slightly different shade of greenish blue, as about this time her messages started getting alittle more specific," A great red flag, and the cross of iron..." She continued and chimed in as the messages continued."There will be tanks, guns, and violence for all.."
By now, Rosey was even getting a bit more indepth then usual, and aside from her babbling and cryptic swill, was getting a bit out there, even for an undead fortune teller. "Rosey, are you doing ok?" I reacted and stood up and reached across in attempt to reach over and give her a shake. ZZZAAAPP!!!! A glowing crackle of electricty prompted me to withdraw my hand as the snap and crackle of ozone began to overpower the smell of the flowers.
"Rosey, come on back ..."
The Flapper Girl rattled and opened the door. "As I expected." Floating over to Rosey, she tried to reach out and take the electricity infused hand. BZZZT!! She flew back, taking a full charge of electricity that would have dropped her, if she wasn't dead already. "Rosey." I said as I took a step forward,"Snap out of it, kiddo."
I knew that this Seeing stuff had a little more to it then just looking at something on T.V. Some of the stuff had a strange way of looking back at you, and for poor Rosey, something was getting to her in a bad way.
"I..I'm ok, my dear." Jerking herself back in the chair, Miss Wight strained and pulled out of the whatever it was she did.
"Oh my.." She reached down to the girl. "Are you alright,my Annie?"
The pile of flapper girl sat up and shook her head, "I'll be fine when that one leaves. You really have to stop trying to reach out like that. It's.. not safe."
I kinda felt bad. Here I was with one of my oldest pals, and ended up almost putting the old girl into overload. "Shit, Rosey, I'm sorry about that one." The Glowing form got up out of the old chair, "That's quite alright, Grot. It wasn't your fault." Looking over me as she helps up her fallen friend, she pulled the dead girl up to her feet. "Just remember what price I must pay for information, and that it doesn't come cheaply."
I can take a hint, so I stand up and reach down to help the girl, as well. "You know I wouldn't have come without really needing to." I reach down and take the dead girls hand, letting her steady herself as she stands up and shakes her head. "What happened, anyway?"
Rosey the Wight floats over to another doorway, of course, leaving me to stand there like a doof. "Grot, please be careful. I felt a strong menace in that read, and it wasn't something to play around with. I... I must... rest, now."
Looking over at the two, I couldn't help but feel like someone kicked me in the nuts. "Like I said, Sorry about that."
Before leaving the room, and leaving me in the small sitting room alone. Rosey smiled and waves me away." You have nothing to be sorry about. Just remember to do be careful."
"Annie, will you please go with young Grot, and help him in his excursion?" The girl shrugs my hand off of her and takes a step back, "You know my feelings about this one, Miss...That he is uncouth and slovenly, and most likely, a bore. but I will help this one, even if my better nature tells me to drive him away." Looking her over, Annie's looking a bit rough from the tumble and needs few stitches, and one of her arms seemed a bit broken off at the wrist. "Lets get you cleaned up, and see how this goes."
I reach over and attempt to take her by the hand. Of course she pulls back and backpeddles a few steps back.
"You will not!" Rosey comes back and puts an arm around her, gently at first, but in a flash, grasping the poor thing by the neck like an old rag doll, and then roughly leading the pissed off dead girl into the back, "Grot, will you please wait for Annie, outside? She will need to be cleaned up and needs to pack a few things before she comes with you."
Annie then becomes a bit agitated, flailing wildly as her body is dragged throught that back door " But! but...MISS! Please!!" At this Rosey becomes even more firm, and practically drags the poor girl into the back." Get your little decaying ass back here and get ready...Now Bitch!" Rosey looks over at me, "Please dear, go wait outside while she packs."
I figured around then that it was my turn to do the farewells..
"Rosey... If I don't see you again, Thanks."
Rosey the Wight looks over at me as the two leave the room. "We shall see, Grot. We shall see. Just you remember what this is costing us and try to not get my girl or yourself hurt too badly."
"Us?" What the fuck did that mean? .
I left the crypt and noticed a breeze starting up and beginning to blow and stirr up the dead leaves around the tombstones outside as I hear Rosey giving the poor little Flapper Girl a couple of loud heavy smacks and "Getting her ready for traveling." What exactly that means, or How she was doing that...Hell, I could only guess.
Remember what I told you about them not being able to leave?
I lied.
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