Viridis meets dwey by the river.

[Viridis]

In which two singular characters happen to meet and suffer from a failure to communicate.

[Viridis]

Cerastes River - Shimmering Falls(#122R)
The serpent of a river widens here considerably, the current slowing to its most docile point in all its travels. It's at this lull that the land drops off sharply to form several tiered shelves of exposed rock. The water cascades down from one tier to the next in crystal clear curtains, throwing an opalescent vapor into the air to curl and flow down along with the river, feather-light and ghostly. At the bottom of the falls the water gathers into a tranquil pool. Alongside the northern side of the pool grows an old cherry tree which, when the season is right, sends a snowy shower of white petals floating down to dance on the river's gently-swirling surface.
Frogs are often heard singing here, and a fair few brilliant silver fish occupy the pool as well, along with the resident white crane who frequently calls this place home. Several large boulders surround the southern bank, providing convenient seats for those who have come to relax in the serene ambience of the falls.

[ Obvious Exits: <West>, <East>, <South>, <Northwest>, <Southwest> ]
[ <Southeast> ]
[ Sleepers: Blood(#1633PBC), dwey(#1460PB), Alanthia(#1450PBC), ]
[ Sammy(#1572PBC) ]


There's a stink to this quintessentially clean place. It's not hard to detect for those with a good sense of smell...or presence...or drama. This stretch of beautiful river, ordinarily fragrant, has been the scene of travelers recently, and a confrontation...and the funny thing is that conflict draws conflict...presence draws presence...the scent of fear leads to the causes of fear.

dwey saunters into the area with a sony walkman on, doing what could only be described as an odd hip hop strut to the music. he stops by the river, lifts a leg and deposits a tributary of his own to the rushing waters.

And here it is--the personification of fear. The gremlin left over by that which is made by all that comprises emotional experience. The twit in the machine. This little guy. As the stream of urine is coming to an end, a green bicycle emerges from the woods, hopping over obstacles clumsily. Its back wheel is missing, and in its place is a tiny wheel that you might find on a wagon, ineptly hammered into place. The machine has no rider.

dwey turns around, his head cocking forwards to the music like a rooster's as it parades around a barnyard. He eyes the bicycle with unchanged eyes, still nodding to the music, taking it all in. he doesn't say anything; why assume it can talk, too?

The bicycle can talk, though, and it does. Its handlebars rotate slowly to follow the furry little figure. Its front reflector shines red, and in a hushed voice it asks: "Are you someone important? Are you powerful?"

dwey stares at the bicycle, still standing right in front of it and nodding to the scratchy, 1992-radio-shack-quality sound from his cassette player. After a noticeable pause, he responds. "Man, I'm the most powerful motherf**ker in the world. Word up, homey." He makes a shaka sign with one little orange paw and dips to the left. "Say your prayers, cuz you just met god."

The bicycle jerks, and a grinding sound suggests that some interior parts just slipped a groove, or crunched where they should have glid. "Then you will prove it," says the vaguely echoing voice, only showing a little twinge of fear.

The little fox-thing's groove becomes considerably more smooth. He holds up a paw. "Stand back and watch." He does a bit of fancy footwork along to the song he's listening to, plants a palm on the ground and pulls into a backspin. Standing back up, he grins a sharp-fanged grin and remarks, "I'm all juiced up today. Say, what kinda bicycle are you? Enchanted? ...Halloucinated?"

"I'm one of the few who know," answers the bicycle cryptically. It vibrates at the sight of the dancing fox-thing, but barely moves on its own part, even though it seems to want to both do and say more. Caution is called for when a potential god is so close.

dwey looks put-off at this. He even halts dancing for a moment. "You...know? Uhhh..." He thinks, then cautiously asks, "How much d'you know about? D'you know abouuuut...a dimebag?" His ear flicks tentatively, his posture defensive and hunched, breath bated: clearly dreams from the bottom of his little furry heart rest upon the answer to this question.

The bicycle's pedals start to revolve slowly, nearly silently. The red patch in the reflector shines suddenly. "Do you want me to?" asks the voice.

dwey erects himself, confounded. A pause. "Ummm." Pause. "What?"

"Do you want me to know about a dimebag?" repeats the bicycle with heightened intensity.

dwey sighs and looks at the ground, placing a paw over his heart. "I guess deep down, I wanted you to. Do you not? Cause I might know about one. Depending on a guy."

"How much I know depends upon how much you permit me to know. But there is a risk. If I do find out about a dimebag, I may find out who you really are by accident. And if I do...well." The bicycle humps forward a few inches, the little back wheel squeaking.

dwey stares for a moment, then holds up both paws. "Hey man, no worries. it's all good under, on top of, and in areas immediately surrounding, the hood. i was just asking. look, uh, but you didn't really answer my question from before. what makes a bike talk?" he asked, motioning with a hand gestures at the bicycle in case it thought he meant in general.

The bicycle turns slightly, and while it's not easy to say how, it seems evident that it's in thought, perhaps that its soul is occupied elsewhere. The front joint swings loosely for a few seconds and the reflector goes dark. Then, several seconds later, the headlight comes on, shining a bright white. "A dimebag is the quantity of a controlled substance that can be purchased for ten units of currency," the bicycle reports in a passionate monotone. "The closest dimebag to this spot is, theoretically, you. Practically speaking, it depends on what makes you tick...dwey." The light dims for an instant, which looks oddly like a blink.

dwey holds up his paws again and shakes his head. "Look, I'm real bad at remembering, and stuff...who're you again? D'you know my dad?"

"I'm one of the few who knows," repeats the bicycle. "And you..." Its pedals start turning more speedily now, although it's stationary, since they're not attached to any chain. "...You are not god."

dwey's posture flops, and he gives the bike a poisonously apathetic 'f**k you, buddy!' look. In one liquid motion, he shows the bicycle his middle finger and whirls around, walking away the way he'd come. "Whatever man, you couldn't even bring it. So looks like you got no right to be sayin' that. Peace."

The bicycle kerchunk-kerchunks loudly along behind dwey for a few meters, then stops. "Because you lied to me, you are one of my people now, dwey" it says. "You may as well as least take advantage of that."

dwey doesn't turn around, but is visibly agitated. "Jesus man, bite a dick! I says I ain't remember you!" He waves his paw behind him as if driving away a fly. "I didn't lie bout nothin!"

"You did. You said you were god. Because of that lie, I held back from learning about you and your father. Because I held back, you saw more than you should have been allowed to see." The headlight flashes again, bright enough to reflect off the leaves on the trees. "And if I just had my ****ing wheel back, you'd be able to -watch- me bring it."

dwey covers his ears with both paws, pressing his headphones closer and drowning out the sound, muttering under his breath, "Damn this dude's annoying."

The annoying bicycle dude finally thrusts forward, awkwardly balancing itself on its front wheel, and then pivots around. It flops back into the woods then, having delivered its message, and the light goes out bit by bit.