Raymond Stantz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gone_byebye) wrote2005-09-14 11:59 pm
gone_byebye) wrote2005-09-14 11:59 pm
(no subject)
55 Central Park West
Manhattan
Central Stairwell
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Pete?"
"Next time-"
"If there is a next time-"
"Thank you, Egon... next time this happens? And you have a lightsaber?"
"Yeah?"
"USE IT TO MAKE THE COPS TURN THE ELEVATORS BACK ON."
55 Central Park West
Corner Penthouse
"Okay, I'll grant you that was an impressive use of the saber, but I think your girlfriend-"
"She's not my girlfriend."
"-is gonna be upset about her wall-"
"You assume the building's still going to be standing when all of this is over."
"Egon, put a sock in it."
55 Central Park West
Rooftop
There was no door to open at the top of those stairs, only masonry to crouch behind. Ray hadn't minded before, but somehow it just didn't feel right now. There ought to be a door. Lord knew they were crossing a threshold, given how vile the air felt around him. . .
For all that he'd labored months over his saber, for all that it meant and stood for, he still suddenly found himself wishing he could trade the thing for one more working proton pack. Those were his babies.
Behind him he could hear Peter's feet, and Egon's, but he scarcely listened. Ahead, he could hear voices, and they were speaking in Sumerian.
"My mistress waits." It was a voice like a sock full of gravel, belonging to someone who sounded as if he ought to be choking on his own spittle. "I would not keep her longer."
"Nor would I, dread one," soothed the other voice, and oh, it was all too healthy, all too human. Accented, too, though in Sumerian it was hard to say how Ray could really tell.
"Ray," Peter whispered, "what are they saying?"
"Sssh!" That was Egon.
"The nasty voice's mistress is waiting for something," Ray translated. "The other guy's sucking up to him."
"How can you tell?"
"'Dread one' isn't really a marker of casual conversation in any language," Ray answered. "Now quiet!"
"I have waited long enough in this frail frame," the second voice continued, as gentle and mellifluous as any might imagine. "The great Queen does not need to wait one moment longer."
"Oh, that isn't good," Ray whispered, and Egon nodded furiously.
"I GOTTA TELL YOU, MISTER, I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT YOU'RE MAKING A REALLY BIG MISTAKE, IT ISN'T A GOOD IDEA TO-"
"Oh dear God that's Louis Tully!" Ray blurted, his voice nearly lost in the rooftop winds.
"Who?"
"OW OW OW THAT'S MY HAIR, NOT A TOUPEE, COULD YOU MAYBE CONSIDER LETTING GO OF THAT-"
"My accountant! He lives in this building! What the heck are they going to do?"
He stuck his head up, just enough to get a look at the tableau- Tully, his arms pinned behind his back by some kind of unwholesomely purplish energy-bond, was being pushed forward by a man a head taller than him. That man was dressed in dusty greys and browns- were those robes? No, not quite- a kilt, maybe? Yeah, it looked like one- and his long hair and beard alike were twisted into many individual coiling braids. There was a faint flicker of the same purple light about him as he looked to the third being: a presence too tall, too un-subtle, to be anything human. It was a man-shaped mass of seething shadows some seven feet tall, and merely looking at it put the sound of wriggling things and dripping dampness in the back of Ray's skull. He shivered.
The shadow being coughed- a wet, horrible sound, and yet one of no particular compulsion. If an end-stage consumptive were even capable of coughing once, politely, it would sound like that. The bearded man nodded and let go of Tully's hair. "As you wish," he said.
The accountant staggered, wheezing a little himself. "Oh, man, that was no fun at- eeep!"
From high above him, the shadow being crossed its arms. Tully cowered- though really, he could not have physically done much else without running into the thing.
"Quiet him for me, would you, Shandor?" the shadow-being said, voice writhing with vileness. "I would not carry him kicking through the Seven Gates."
Shandor?
Ray's eyes flicked to what he and Egon had decided was a sarcophagus complex. The stones were shoved aside- broken-
If you're going to invite a pantheon in, you're going to have to do it through a priest, aren't you? And if you're going to start with Ereshkigal, goddess of the dead...
Ivo Shandor never left this building, did he?
The kilted, bearded man had a club in his right hand and a sickle at his belt. Ray saw him raising the club as Tully tried to turn around-
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" he shouted, saber blade blazing green as he leapt to his feet.
Manhattan
Central Stairwell
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Pete?"
"Next time-"
"If there is a next time-"
"Thank you, Egon... next time this happens? And you have a lightsaber?"
"Yeah?"
"USE IT TO MAKE THE COPS TURN THE ELEVATORS BACK ON."
55 Central Park West
Corner Penthouse
"Okay, I'll grant you that was an impressive use of the saber, but I think your girlfriend-"
"She's not my girlfriend."
"-is gonna be upset about her wall-"
"You assume the building's still going to be standing when all of this is over."
"Egon, put a sock in it."
55 Central Park West
Rooftop
There was no door to open at the top of those stairs, only masonry to crouch behind. Ray hadn't minded before, but somehow it just didn't feel right now. There ought to be a door. Lord knew they were crossing a threshold, given how vile the air felt around him. . .
For all that he'd labored months over his saber, for all that it meant and stood for, he still suddenly found himself wishing he could trade the thing for one more working proton pack. Those were his babies.
Behind him he could hear Peter's feet, and Egon's, but he scarcely listened. Ahead, he could hear voices, and they were speaking in Sumerian.
"My mistress waits." It was a voice like a sock full of gravel, belonging to someone who sounded as if he ought to be choking on his own spittle. "I would not keep her longer."
"Nor would I, dread one," soothed the other voice, and oh, it was all too healthy, all too human. Accented, too, though in Sumerian it was hard to say how Ray could really tell.
"Ray," Peter whispered, "what are they saying?"
"Sssh!" That was Egon.
"The nasty voice's mistress is waiting for something," Ray translated. "The other guy's sucking up to him."
"How can you tell?"
"'Dread one' isn't really a marker of casual conversation in any language," Ray answered. "Now quiet!"
"I have waited long enough in this frail frame," the second voice continued, as gentle and mellifluous as any might imagine. "The great Queen does not need to wait one moment longer."
"Oh, that isn't good," Ray whispered, and Egon nodded furiously.
"I GOTTA TELL YOU, MISTER, I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT YOU'RE MAKING A REALLY BIG MISTAKE, IT ISN'T A GOOD IDEA TO-"
"Oh dear God that's Louis Tully!" Ray blurted, his voice nearly lost in the rooftop winds.
"Who?"
"OW OW OW THAT'S MY HAIR, NOT A TOUPEE, COULD YOU MAYBE CONSIDER LETTING GO OF THAT-"
"My accountant! He lives in this building! What the heck are they going to do?"
He stuck his head up, just enough to get a look at the tableau- Tully, his arms pinned behind his back by some kind of unwholesomely purplish energy-bond, was being pushed forward by a man a head taller than him. That man was dressed in dusty greys and browns- were those robes? No, not quite- a kilt, maybe? Yeah, it looked like one- and his long hair and beard alike were twisted into many individual coiling braids. There was a faint flicker of the same purple light about him as he looked to the third being: a presence too tall, too un-subtle, to be anything human. It was a man-shaped mass of seething shadows some seven feet tall, and merely looking at it put the sound of wriggling things and dripping dampness in the back of Ray's skull. He shivered.
The shadow being coughed- a wet, horrible sound, and yet one of no particular compulsion. If an end-stage consumptive were even capable of coughing once, politely, it would sound like that. The bearded man nodded and let go of Tully's hair. "As you wish," he said.
The accountant staggered, wheezing a little himself. "Oh, man, that was no fun at- eeep!"
From high above him, the shadow being crossed its arms. Tully cowered- though really, he could not have physically done much else without running into the thing.
"Quiet him for me, would you, Shandor?" the shadow-being said, voice writhing with vileness. "I would not carry him kicking through the Seven Gates."
Shandor?
Ray's eyes flicked to what he and Egon had decided was a sarcophagus complex. The stones were shoved aside- broken-
If you're going to invite a pantheon in, you're going to have to do it through a priest, aren't you? And if you're going to start with Ereshkigal, goddess of the dead...
Ivo Shandor never left this building, did he?
The kilted, bearded man had a club in his right hand and a sickle at his belt. Ray saw him raising the club as Tully tried to turn around-
"OH NO YOU DON'T!" he shouted, saber blade blazing green as he leapt to his feet.