ArchivedLogs:Vignette - A Dragon and a God

Vignette - A Dragon and a God
Thor and Fin Fang Foom have a frank talk.
Dramatis Personae Henry, Kai	2013-03-07 Shortly after/during Pit Stop (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location Some godforsaken Walmart parking lot
In some godforsaken Walmart parking lot, there is a van. Filled with mutants. All of them nursing their injuries, licking their wounds, and gasping for air. At some point, from this van, a small Korean boy -- 13, 14, 15? -- emerges. He is wearing black sweatpants one size too large for him and a pile of towels over his shoulders. He doesn't go far. He is terrified to go anywhere that isn't in the light. He settles for a nearby lamp post, not many yards from the van -- sitting on the edge of the cement cylinder that encases its base, sinking his head between his knees. A few seconds later and he proceeds to retch. No food, just bile. And not much at that. From inside the van, there is a brief ruckus -- and then an old, absurdly thin man with an extraordinarily shaggy beard (peppered with salt) stumbles out. He is wearing a LED ZEPPELIN t-shirt and sweat pants that also seem one or two sizes too large. His left forearm is wrapped in bandages; blood has seeped through. He scans the scene in the parking lot before honing in on the boy. Approaching him. Warily. "I have been instructed by the man-cat to speak with you, changeling," the old man informs the boy. "He tells me that he is working to... keep my head clear. But it is... hard. He tells me that speaking with others may help." The words, as they are spoken, swell into the boy's mind -- concepts, fuzzy-yet-clear, rising up behind them. Parley's unseen presence carefully translating. The boy sits up, stiffening. This is the first time someone has said anything to him that he can actually understand. Well, since DRAGON, anyway. "Also," the old man continues, "he is concerned for your welfare. You are terrified, guilt-stricken, and alone. He would send another to speak with you, but the others are too exhausted to offer you comfort; you have slain their allies, and some still see you with fear and anger." The boy straightens as he stares at the old man. He looks like he is about to start crying. /Again/. "Also," the old man adds, eyebrows crumpling as if he has just now received some very /stern/ correction, "I was not supposed to tell you that." "{Aren't you afraid of me?}" Again, Parley's influence -- concepts swell behind the boy's words, replacing them in the old man's mind. The old man snorts: "Of course not. I fear /no/ man. I am Th--" He stops, now. A puzzled expression overcomes him. He steps forward, moving to sit beside the boy, staring at the van. "...I think my name is Henry." The boy nibbles on his bottom lip. And stares at the pile of vomit that's rapidly cooling on the concrete. "{Kai.}" He sniffles. "{Sometimes I turn into a dragon. And eat people.}" "That is... unfortunate," Henry states, after considerable pause -- he has racked his brain to make sure that this is the correct word. Yes, unfortunate. That seems right. "Sometimes, I turn into a God of Lightning. But I am not actually a God of Lightning." Then, more distantly: "I used to teach, I think. Then my brain got sick. I have not been thinking right for some time." "{Can they cure your brain?}" "No. He is expending effort to do this. He needs me clear, because he needs me to behave. But he cannot do this for long." The boy nods: "{I am sorry your brain is sick.}" The old man nods back: "Thank you. I am sorry you are sometimes a dragon." The boy looks back to the vomit, again. Clenching and unclenching his toes. "{What will happen to me?}" "I do not know. They have tried to explain to me, but I do not understand. It is hard for me to understand. But -- I believe things will be better for you. I believe they are trying to help." "{They won't make me turn into a dragon?}" "No." "{How can you be sure?}" "Because if they do, /I/ will turn into /Thor/." "{What is a Thor?}" Henry's eyes glaze, as if relating some distant, cherished story: "He is like a dragon, but in the shape of a man. He wields lightning and carries a hammer -- Mjolnir -- that only the worthy can lift. He is strong and swift and wise and --" He stops, suddenly. Looking back to the van. "I am being told that when I speak of this, it becomes harder to hold my mind together." "{Oh,}" the boy says. And then: "{I'm... really hungry.}" "Yes," Henry says, eyes narrowing as he stares at the glowing light of the Walmart in the distance. "So am I. I shall procure us... rations."