FFM31: Godlings
The barbarian stared, a mix between flabbergasted and pure disbelief clouding all judgement. What had once been a beautiful three bean salad (complete with carrots, celery and the unplanned addition of shredded mystery meat), was now an amorphous bowl of sludge. It struck out in all directions at random, a semi-sentient multi headed beast attempting to both form eyes and eat everything in sight.
Such a hellbeast had been summoned- and then transformed into the moist, goo-like form by none other than Horus. The godling was currently sprawled out on the couch- in only a codpiece, and must have either had the largest spike of dauntless-ness in his coffee, or had absolutely no sort of self preservation at all. He idly picked at a corner of a stray pillow, pulling bits of exelsior from it's insides in a similar way to a small child gutting it's first kill of the spring.
If Barg Taalg was to be absolutely honest, he was pretty sure there was a reason that a pretty girl had called a catalyst a while earlier, that spearheaded the godling's current affliction. He tried to remember what she had told him.
The... uh. Catalyst- yea. for such an "unnecessary act" had been the uhm. eldritch ending to his day (and night) job, ruling Purgatory alongside Heh. There had been a unanimous... ana.. anagnorisis among the godlings- Horus was found to be too facetious to be allowed to deal with the welfare of mortal souls in any form. He had been defenestrated, with the terminus of the moon calendar's cycle.
Now, Horus was... she had called it pulchritudinous yet ennui, but if Barg was to be honest, the godling was being a generally pretty looking depressive asshole. He spend his afternoons in the nude, destroying Barg's food and reforming the chromosomes of living (and nonliving, in the case of Barg's spoon) things into different, sentient beings.
Barg was nice. He had learned to google things, and while the google did not tell him how to deal with cicatrized wounds from multi-headed spoon bites, or how ethanol plus fire was not what the lady had meant by "chiaroscuro in art"- it did tell him things about depressive episodes.
Barg was not very good with words, or feelings. But the godling was a legend, and probably a "skank", from what he heard, but people believed in the godling. And Barg wanted his food to be able to eat.
Now, all Barg had to do was convince the godling that unfurling may have been natural, but maybe pants needed to be in the godling's future. And then maybe they'd get to talking about elemental twinkles, and how the other godlings would forgive him eventually.
But first, pants. And non-sentient food. Barg had made up his mind, and went off in search of materials. One did not simply speak to a godling, after all. There was work to be done, blood to spill, and then talking would start.
Comments