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[Remember that one Spectre randomly accosting people for interviews on fuck all? Looks like some teenage D-bag in shades actually saw fit to entertain her questions. Oh dear. The brief interview doesn't get nearly as much unreal air as li'l Miss Invidia of poisonous fame, but it's playing here and there today. The brief clip might not merit any attention at all, except...]
...local establishment you think more Invidians should know about?
[The kid lights up suddenly without actually smiling, rising up a little on the balls of his feet with his hands still jammed in his pockets.]
Shit, dawgs, you have no idea. You got yourselves a national--or, like--at least a municipal treasure sitting like a bereft and sack-clothed widow at the corner of Ignored and Abandoned. You assholes don't know what you're missing. It's a downright indignation, the lack of patronage enjoyed by this magnificently unironic piece of shit business modeling. Hold on to your asses because I'mma need you to get 'em parked pronto-mundo in the chairs at Mr. Dudeguy's BBQ and Foot Massage-While-You-Wait.
[He takes a breath, and it's at this point the interviewer really should have moved on, but it's too late. It's always already too late.]
Got a long-standing nation in my imagination
All staycationing in line at the bee-bee-queue,
Awaitin' pork and grilled onions while Granny get her bunions
Caressed lovingly in the hands of a master in toe-fu,
By which I mean podia-shiatsu-jutsu-fu,
Though you could probably order tofu, too, I mean, I ain't the boss of you
If that's the shit you want to order smoked and spice-rubbed for you.
Uh, anyway,
All I'm sayin' is it's the sweetest jerk-and-rub of a release
Your mortal soul can experience post-cease.
[...Did he just--]
You know, if that's how you feel about it. Anyway, yeah. Check it. Cat does a sweet kebab.
[In any case, business is now booming at BBQ and Foot Massage-While-U-Wait. Lines are out the door and around the block. A full street away, a hunched, furtive-looking blond is bargaining in desperate, hissed tones with a seller of hoodies.]
Please, no, I'm begging--no. I can't give you the sunglasses, I'm on a strictly no shades-trades platform. Can't you just--holy shit.
[Sensing someone looking at him, he stiffens and turns away further. He will ollie off this entire layer if he has to, Jesus.]
...local establishment you think more Invidians should know about?
[The kid lights up suddenly without actually smiling, rising up a little on the balls of his feet with his hands still jammed in his pockets.]
Shit, dawgs, you have no idea. You got yourselves a national--or, like--at least a municipal treasure sitting like a bereft and sack-clothed widow at the corner of Ignored and Abandoned. You assholes don't know what you're missing. It's a downright indignation, the lack of patronage enjoyed by this magnificently unironic piece of shit business modeling. Hold on to your asses because I'mma need you to get 'em parked pronto-mundo in the chairs at Mr. Dudeguy's BBQ and Foot Massage-While-You-Wait.
[He takes a breath, and it's at this point the interviewer really should have moved on, but it's too late. It's always already too late.]
Got a long-standing nation in my imagination
All staycationing in line at the bee-bee-queue,
Awaitin' pork and grilled onions while Granny get her bunions
Caressed lovingly in the hands of a master in toe-fu,
By which I mean podia-shiatsu-jutsu-fu,
Though you could probably order tofu, too, I mean, I ain't the boss of you
If that's the shit you want to order smoked and spice-rubbed for you.
Uh, anyway,
All I'm sayin' is it's the sweetest jerk-and-rub of a release
Your mortal soul can experience post-cease.
[...Did he just--]
You know, if that's how you feel about it. Anyway, yeah. Check it. Cat does a sweet kebab.
[In any case, business is now booming at BBQ and Foot Massage-While-U-Wait. Lines are out the door and around the block. A full street away, a hunched, furtive-looking blond is bargaining in desperate, hissed tones with a seller of hoodies.]
Please, no, I'm begging--no. I can't give you the sunglasses, I'm on a strictly no shades-trades platform. Can't you just--holy shit.
[Sensing someone looking at him, he stiffens and turns away further. He will ollie off this entire layer if he has to, Jesus.]
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If you're feeling a deep and unrelenting sense that something is extremely wrong, it's because the mechanism for allowing those dead to reincarnate is busted, and if you agree to it, you'll get powers to fight monsters that were once souls stuck here too long so you can help us fix it and get Purgatory flowing the way it apparently is supposed to again.
The young lady in charge of this city does not, in fact, want to reincarnate.
And I have noted your clown comment. [*Chiron will remember that.]
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...
They're some slick shoes.
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But the shoes are nice. And the patterns are, hm, familiar and pleasing.
In any event, we're not clowns. We're...hm...we transform into new appearances, can perform magic and superhuman feats, and are the only ones capable of fighting monsters. [does eos have anime and if so would he know what anime is, questions I never thought I'd be asking myself]
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[Anyway. No. There are important things what got said. He shakes his head and looks away, finding some spot of sidewalk to the side to fixate on.]
You're right. It doesn't feel right for shit to be stopped up like this. Can't say I'm hype to hop into combat with messed-up monster souls, but... I mean, if that's what it takes to get things working again. [Shrug.] Maybe. I don't know. Guess I don't have anything better to do.
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What moniker have you been supplied with? I awoke with a title of Your Majesty, but that...has felt less like a true name, so now I currently go by Chiron.
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Is there a way to feel underdressed but, like, with your fake ghost handle.
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You'll also find memories coming back to you as you go, so that feeling of something you can't place and have no desire to examine will keep happening, unfortunately.
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[...Clocks actually doesn't look too jazzed about that. Hard to read these things off him in a first conversation, but there's a sense he's stepped back a bit to absorb this information.]
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[Slowly and uneasily, he shifts his weight before finally just shaking his head.]
I don't know. Seems like it might cause problems later on. I get that this place is a nonfunctional piece of shit right now, but if it weren't, wouldn't forgetting... kind of be the point?
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[Clocks' own certainty on that front takes him by surprise. He pauses, then says more slowly:]
It... shouldn't? Not in the way that we...
[With no memories to back it up, the attempt to explain quickly peters out.]
Uh, can we forget I said anything. Seems my ass got it in mind to play at farting out vowels and consonants in a saddening facsimile of coherent speech and I ended up talking out of it.
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I wish I could say you get used to that.
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