Ramifications... was made by anonymous on 4/24/2003 at 10:11:32 PM.
The Chronicler of Stories was in a good mood, considering the fact that, for the sake of argument, and the intelligence of laypersons, his corner of the universe had survived a restructuring.
Now when one mentions universal restructuring, we’re not talking about insignificant things like adding extensions to a bridge or stars going supernova or anything like that.
The Parodyverse was more of a patchwork collection of universes fashioned from differing points of view and differing intellects; sort of an ideological quilt gone terribly, terribly wrong.
In the best of times, the Parodyverse was designed to mutate and warp according to the desires of its handlers.
It so happened that recent events sparked the worst of times.
Stretched far beyond its means, the Parodyverse shattered into a million pieces, kind of like a shard of glass that had been struck by a high velocity rifle.
The Chronicler hadn’t really been able to discern the perpetrator of the shattering, as he’d been busy rushing around the cosmos trying to pierce everything back together.
If he hadn’t been a lifetime member of Starbucks’ Club, he would’ve possibly been more stressed out than he was right now.
To envision this, imagine a Joe Pesci mobster character trying to go cold turkey from nicotine and alcohol all in the same night.
“Bollocks.”
The Third Person, if we’re being technical (as technical as one can be when discussing cosmic beings) had a propensity for ripping off British slang, butchering it badly, and drinking excessive amounts of caffeine.
It served to calm him and direct his thoughts in a more or less lucid manner.
It also served to keep him from harming others, particularly when he felt that they deserved it.
“You’re telling me that you allowed the center of the Parodyverse, in this manifestation, a girl named Courtney, leave our perceived universe because you felt badly for her imprisoned state.”
Nevermore gulped.
Annoying the Chronicler was kind of like trying to outwit the federal government—there were some amusing moments to be had, but ultimately, the sheer power that the individual in question had usually led to painful moments.
While the Chronicler didn’t require taxes, per se, the analogy held up in the fact that in the Library, beings under his jurisdiction did nothing that he was unaware of.
Usually.
There were a few backup plans, for certain circumstances… but having his concentration ruffled by having the Shaper hit on him usually worked.
In his previous life, Nevermore had kind of a thing for women.
So, naturally, he’d be empathetic towards the imprisoned Courtney.
Courtney was never imprisoned in the Chronicler’s lair physically, per se, nor was it a psychological imprisonment.
In order to effectively be the center of the Parodyverse, Courtney had to never know love…to never have anyone proclaim their love for her.
Nevermore, even in his ravenly state, certainly had tried… but lustful advances by avian types are generally not well received by anyone, no matter how gentle a soul they are.
After attempting to…console the portion of Courtney that existed in The Library, Nevermore discovered that if he couldn’t seduce her, he could allow this tiny portion to return to Earth.
This came with a kind of a cost, however—as he was about to learn.
“You never thought to ask why her aspect was here.”
Nevermore, in response, gulped.
“Do stop doing that. I’m already getting a headache from this toxic excrement they want me to think of as coffee.
If The Library’s coffee budget wasn’t so ridiculously low…anyway.
Have you noticed the ramifications of your actions?”
“It’s kinda hard to not notice the universe having a coronary.”
“The universe actually spontaneously imploded, but that’s beside the point.
You don’t happen to see Quoth around anywhere, do you?”
Nevermore froze.
“I thought not.
Do you have the SLIGHTEST idea of what the energy cost is in reanimating a Raven? Do you have any idea?”
“I’m not getting an allowance any time soon, am I?”
“They’ll take it out of my sodding coffee fund. And this sludge already doesn’t alleviate my bad mood.”
“Have you ever tried dating?”
Nevermore automatically regretted his earlier life as a standup comedian… having The Quill jammed through his carotid artery was not entirely his idea of a pleasant evening. Yes, The Quill is intended to be capitalized—if held by mortal hands, The Quill would be capable of bringing their deepest desires and even their silliest thoughts to life. There were reasons why mortals were not allowed near The Library, after all.
Well, save the once… but that was Visionary. The jury was still out on whether he was…
“Is that really, entirely necessary?”
The Shaper of Worlds shook her head at her partner, and released the avian punching bag.
“Is your coffee really that awful?”
A coffee cup slid her way. She wisely took it. Wincing, she returned it.
“You’re right. The budget for coffee here really is awful. This is like having to read a Finny story.”
Nevermore chose this moment to unobtrusively become one with the wall.
“You do realize he must be punished for this”, the apparently non-living embodiment of the Dark Knight’s soul hissed as he poured the coffee cup into the sink.
“He was acting according to his genetic prerogative. You should take notes.”
The Chronicler wrapped himself in his cloak. “I should go to Earth to grab coffee and observe. You are welcome to join me.”
“I really ought to see if that wretched Hood is about, oughtn’t I?”
The Shaper wrapped herself in her own cloak and touched the
Chronicler’s arm just as they both vanished. “For guidance, you understand…”
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Sarah Sheperdson was used to odd beings in the Bean and Donut Coffee Shop. Having cosmic beings suddenly alight out of nowhere took getting used to.
“I’ll have coffee that doesn’t taste like industrial sludge, please.”
“I’ll have a method of making sure that infuriating, scheming fool Winkelweald is really dead.”
“Done, and done.”
“Really?”
“If I were to know who Mr Winkelweald was, I’d be more inclined to understand where you were coming from, my dear…”
“Sarah. You know.”
“You’re…you’re one of them, aren’t you? It explains the glow…”
Inexplicably, in the midst of all this, the Chronicler hissed again, this time sounding like a tire going flat.
He pointed, gesticulating towards the darkened corner where neither Shaper or Sarah could see.
“A Raven. Here.”
An apparently unnamed raven trotted out, a bit mollified.
“Yes. A Raven. Here. Even with the entire catastrophe accomplished towards the universe, lately. I mean, honestly. Have you DRUNK that wretched coffee they offer there? Besides, the scenery here is lovely.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure customers might have something to say about sentient corpse-munchers.”
“My dear woman. I am an avian of wealth and taste. And if you’d be so kind, I am in dire need of a double cappuccino.”
The Chronicler regarded Sarah. “I will have one of those as well, then.”
“You need a break, my good man.”
“I need a universe that understands the concept of sanity.”
“I’m sure that life’s not that bad.”
“You’ve never tried to fraction multiversal algebraic logarithms.”
Sarah returned to her waitress duties. Stressed-out, antisocial, stimulant-addicted cosmic office holders were bad enough… but those that quoted universal mathetmatics reminded her of every nightmare she’d had in her schoolgirl days.
She noticed with relief that the customers had by and large ignored the cosmic beings and the apparently horny raven, and continued serving drinks and smacking men who didn’t behave themselves, giving out a cheery “Men are scum” refrain in return. She wondered if this applied to ravens as well as one with a surprisingly thick Scottish accent climbed atop a table and began drunkenly singing inappropriate limericks…