Inebriated Escapement

                                              Inebriated Escapement

"Ah, come'yuh quickly, let us wu'k haa'd', Da grav' es not finish'd, him'own h'aa't es not yet col'!"

The skies were dark that day in Nether City, the rain pouring in a steady drizzle with the skies threatening worse. The city lights were all on, illuminating it into sections of shadow. The rain brought with it a chill that would make most mortals uncomfortable though many of the less mortal creatures might not much mind; nonetheless it was a dreary sort of day that slows down even the Nether. None of this meant that the city was dead, that was for sure. There was a faint noise that echoed through the city, it was a falsetto signing of some incomprehensible tune. Each of the bits of singing were accompanied by the sound of splashing steps however by the time anyone looked to see where the sounds came from the source was gone once again, only a momentary shadow ever visible.

"Ah come'yuh quickly, let us wu'k haa'd,"  the voice continued through the streets, following a rhythm of its own. "Da grav' es not finish'd, may'n 'is h'aa't fin' peace!" Though the words were sad in nature, the tone of the voice carried a touch of glee. "Sud'n de't cut down da' trees, burrohs dem, da ra'mains gone'away slow."

Splish splash

"Sud'n de't cut down da' trees, burrohs dem, may'n it be sattify'd, may'n it be sattify'd, now at once. Sud'n de't cut down da tr-"

A slap echoed through the city for a brief moment followed by the cursing complaints of the singer. A youngish man, somewhat dirty despite the rain, squatted on his tip toes and rubbed his head in pain. "Whatcha had'n ta go 'en do dat for Blud?! I was right near finish'd wit da song!" His green eyes stared from below his hat, boring holes into his walking companion.

Said companion stood over him, scowling only the way she could. Dead white hair, skin painted to resemble a skeleton, eyes the color gangrene, and a dress whose deep red could be attributed to the amount of blood stained upon it, Antoinette Bludworth The Lady of a Thousand Deaths, a great star in the grand carnival of Nether City and perhaps one of Nether's greatest cons. Having actually died once didn't stop her from continuing the job she loved. She screwed up her face in annoyance and moaned at her opposite in her cockney, "Oi, it be ye sing'n' dats rattl'n' wots left o' me skull! Und Boris ain't a big fan when her home gits all crazeh lok 'at!" Right on cue, Boris the Tarantula crawled out from under the undead performer's eyepatch and gave the singer a mildly annoyed hiss.

"It canna be in da fault fer y'all's lack o' appreciation fer me music, critics! All alike y'all be!" The man threw his arms up into the air before trailing off into a fit of drunken giggles and hiccups.

Bludworth fumed, tugging the noose that hung from her neck in annoyance. "Dammit D'aak, Ay've got a show inna jus' a 'our! Ye can't be on stage und lok like 'at! Ye canna even stand straight yew oaf!"

Sticking out his tongue from between his nicotine stained teeth, the man called D'aak rocked himself back into a stand position and steadied himself with his cane. Though not quite sobered from the slap, the previously joyful drunkenness of the man seemed to have descended into a mire. Somewhat sourly and somewhat dourly, he mumbled, " I jus' don't have eet in me t'night Blud, da show can go on wit'out da Bokor....."

"Aye, sure, sure tha show's gotta go on! But 'ow in tha bloody fook'n 'ell do ya t'ink Imma go'n to 'ave another show without yew to sew me up? Tha Lady O' a Thousan' Death ain't as impressive when tha fook'n crowd knows yew are a zombie, for fook's sake!"

"Ye can do da show wit'out me, Blud," sighed the drunkard, "Jus' get Sal or one o' da clowns ta introduce ye, den I'd be along by 'n by ta fix ye up. Promise on me black Bokor heart dat I be meet'n ye after ta show ta stitch ye up okay? Jus' leave me ta me drink and ta me business fer now." He looked up to Bludworth with a desperate puppy dog look that in days past would have made her melt in his arms.

Instead she released a furious sigh before nodding sternly. Blud grabbed him by the arm and started trotting forward in her boots that gave her the slightest height advantage over D'aak. "Yew know wot, fine! Fine, fine, fine! Yew want yew bloody drink un' ay want ta git ta me show!  Un' ay ken't fookink deal wit yew gett'n h'rt! So yew better git ta fook beck when it ends fer me career hands on 'at voodoo healink o' yers."

Slightly jostled and stumbling, D'aak replied, "Ho-kay, but where ye be tak'n me?!"

"To the pub! At least yew won't get a fook'n cold."

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The so called final days shattered the world but did not destroy it. The trumpets were blown, the seals were broken, and the plagues were unleashed, Revelations had come. However, it did not go quite as planned. While Jehovah and Lucifer had been preparing for this one on one war for many a millennia, they had not counted on a third force intervening. The myriad things born of the minds of Man were unwittingly given life when the end came: evils greater than the devil, justice more harsh than any gods', and madness of a most unbridled variety. The War devastated the nooshpere and wreaked havoc upon reality, Heaven and Hell became shells of their former selves and the material world was a devastated wreckage…

One could not truly call the world a human civilization any longer, with angels, demons, and far stranger things intermixing and interbreeding it became hard to tell what was what. Nonetheless, the City stood strong even in this desolate landscape. There were other Cities of course: Blood City with its manic vampyric lords, New Jerusalem where those still hoping for rapture fester, the city of Behemot where its inhabitants live within the massive rotted away corpse of the Beast of the Apocalypse. These were a few of the surviving Cities, but none were truly thriving. None of them except the City, the City of Nether.

Sitting within the four walls of the Festering Finger pub, one would not quite think "thriving" was quite an accurate word. Thriving came with a positive connotation normally and the patrons of the Festering Finger made one consider that another Plague might do the world some good...

"Keep! I need anudda Scream'n Jesus! I t'ink dat da burn is start'n to go away!"

A radiant being full of light and beauty turned behind the wooden bar to face D'aak, giving him a smile worthy of a saint despite the missing teeth. In his dainty, glowing hands, the Angel washed cleaned a cup with an old rag. "I really wish you wouldn't call it that sir," he spoke with patience and kindness, "That sort of language feels like a slur against my people, sir."

"Shuddup an' get me one ye bleed'n heart fuck! Ye get paid ta serve drink an' ta list'n ta people bitch, not ta bitch yerself!"

With a thud, D'aak slammed his head back upon the bar and wondered how many more drinks it would take to kill a quarter or so of his brain cells. It wasn't so much that he wished himself dead as he wished to remove a nice chunk of his memory. In Nether he could probably go to Dr. Fogg to get that done, but after going toe to talon against Nether's Minister of Medicine on more than one occasion, the Voodoo man thought it best to go with the slightly less terminal direction. Then again, everything was terminal in Nether City...

A hand the size of a serving platter slammed on the bar, violently rattling D'aak in his drunken state. The hand was attached to an inhumanly large arm which in turn was attached to something could have only been identified as human if it were put through a sieve a few times. It grunted a laugh between knife-like teeth.

"Jerahmeel, a round of pints for me and my men, put it on the Carnie's tab!" From behind the creature, several more mutated messes roared with laughter.

D'aak furrowed his brow, first at the creature then at the Angel. "Jerry, ye keep yer 'and wash'n," he drawled before facing the towering hulk of flesh, "An' ye can keep yer ugly dang face out o' mine an' back ta da b'aanyaa'd wit da otha' piggies."

With little warning, the beast grabbed D'aak up out of his seat with that massive hand. "Listen, Bud, we're Lord Hakr's men and this is our territory. You're going to pay for our drink willingly like the nice chap you are, or me and the boy will have to rough you up a little. And I tell you, my associates are not nearly as eloquent as I happen to be."

D'aak grumbled sourly as he struggled against the mutant. The mutant leader laughed again, "Whats that you're saying little man? Got a complaint to file?"

Getting a grip on his cane, D'aak gave a strong wack to the mutant's crotch. "I said, Mista Freak, ta watch da hat," D'aak said with a smile as he adjusted his ragged tophat.

Before turning to the other mutants, the drunk lit two cigarettes and took a long drag on them both. "Ye wanna piece o' da Bokor?! Well den!? Ancestral Warriors, Light'n me fe-" And thats about as far as his chant went before his previous victim sucker punched him in the back.

"Men! Get rid of this drunk!"

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Bloodied, bruised, and back in the rain, D'aak wallowed in a puddle across the street from the Festering Finger. He felt something between anger, stupidity, and endless self pity. So mostly he felt like shit. The young couple feeling each other up in the alleyway next to him didn't help his mood any. Growling with all the sour bile he could muster, he yelled, "Fuck yer faces, ye Gods damned mushy haa'ts! Can't ye see I'm wallow'n in me misery 'ere?! 'Ard enough ta do wit'out ya'll mak'n a nasty scene like dat!"

The couple, thoroughly sickened by the now obvious and opressive sight of D'aak, skedaddled off to someplace surely warmer and dryer, leaving D'aak to bemoan his fate. "Damn thugs, damn kids...." Thunder blasted the sky and the rain burst into a torrent. "....Damn rain."

He hauled himself up, thanking all his spirits that his cane hadn't been taken from him, and dragged himself to the alley. At least there, the rain wouldn't be nearly as bad. D'aak knew that Blud's show would be concluding soon, but now he was neither in the mood to move nor motivated enough to get through the rain.

"Yo boy! What you doing just sitting in the rain and being pitiful. Least you ain't dead!" The familiar voice cackled in the back of D'aak's head as a misty spirit formed before him. "I mean, hey! There's nothing wrong with Death, its quite the party, but you kid have a long way to those crossroads."

"Go back ta party'n wit' yer Ghede. I dun wanna put up wit' ye 'ere Croix, and perhaps'n I like ta wallow, dat eva' cross yer mind? "

"Nah Kid, I know fun, wallowing ain't fun lest you be a pig."

Snidely, D'aak replied, "Den I be a pig, oink oink."

"Okay, okay, kid, I see you need to be cheered up," the spirit called Croix laughed slightly as he pulled a gold pocket watch from his impeccable suit, giving it a quick check. "You'll be reaching a crossroads soon kid, and don't argue, I am the Baron of the Cross and I know these things, and my advice is, there is an escape in the escapement."

"Ar' ye sudd'nly? Some kin' o' oracle? Spout'n cryptic advice? Git back ta yer crossroad, ye plateye, an' git off me back!"

"Hehehe, I get it when I'm not wanted, but boy, " the spirit flashed a white grin as he dissipated into mist, "I be watching you."

D'aak waved his hat at the mist, clearing it quicker out of his view. "All y'all are watch'n me...not like no one else be giv'n da sacrifices ta y'all no more but me...."

And that much was true now. The supernatural was now more or less neighbors with the rest of the populace, leaving little room for faith or belief. Lesser spirits dissipated quickly after the failed Apocalypse, hardier ones were reduced to little more than mortals-with-benefits like the Angel and Demon remnants, but the real casualties were the major gods. It took a lot of faith to power major deities, a lot of faith that was now completely absent from the world. Creators, Destroyers, All-Seers, those that didn't die in the crossfire of the Apocalypse were soon starved of faith. Even the Big Two who instigated the war were now minuscule in their strength and only held up at all by the faith of their non-human creations.

The spirits of Voodoo, the Loa, however were brought along with D'aak into this time. While they no longer had the influence and power they once had, they did have something no other spirits had any longer: a true faithful. Every bit of alcohol D'aak drank and every cigarette he smoked was a sacrifice to the Loa. Each day he poured a libation to his spirits, each day he made an offering of tobacco, and when he could he sacrificed a stray chicken as an added thanks. Though still as rascally and still as prone to party instead of listening to prayers, the Loa knew that it was only D'aak holding them up now. Their time was slowly coming to an end, as do all things that march forward in the cosmos...

As D'aak mused about the mortality of Gods, he huddled between two large trash bins for extra protection from the rain. The Carnival and Bludworth were on the other side of the City and not even "divine" intervention could get him to wade through that rain now. Now in a relatively dry spot, D'aak slowly fell into unconsciousness, the wear and tear of the day finally taking its toll.

He dreamed....