2 Cylus 701
Unsurprisingly, there was nothing in the beginning. Or almost nothing. Ted and Didi had been there since the start, although Didi is quick to remind anyone (but mostly Ted) that she was first.
She’d ripped out a few of her ribs and, as she tells it, crafted Ted in her image. Didi had wanted a partner, equal in power and skill; this was, obviously, her mistake. She’d spent her first few millennium alone and there was only so many different variations of cat she could muster into existence.
The big issue with Ted, besides literally everything else, was her fault. She hadn’t meant to limit herself, but making deities was complicated and mistakes are easy and she’d rushed him and -- well, to be fucking honest, she screwed up. Now neither of them could do anything without the other’s approval.
She hadn’t made a cat in centuries and all the others had gone extinct long ago.
“Fine. No cats, Ted. No fucking cats, that you’ve never seen by the way, but fine,” Didi huffed, stardust and radiation, all the fucking power in the universe and no way to use it. In her desperation for companionship, she’d sacrificed her independence. “Can we agree to a planet? Or a sun? Are we doing life?”
“Life?” he scoffed, “You did such a swell job of that the first runaround, hey?” With a wide, sweeping gesture, his - quite literally - boney hands gestured to his pathetically diminished form that emanated godhood like some sort of half-hearted joke. “Maybe you should start a little... less complicated.”
“The cats turned out just fine,” It was a sore spot, Ted’s existence. She’d wanted to add flesh and eyes and even a halo, but Ted wouldn’t agree to anything and so he was skeleton. Divine, but literally just bones.
If he’d had had eyebrows, he would have raised them. “They were inside out, Didi.”
“Because fur is fucking disgusting,” Didi shivered, remembering what the first cats had looked like -- too big eyes and vomit-pink noses. True, they didn’t survive long without those things, but she had a short attention span. “We can build up to life, Ted. That’s the fucking point, but whatever. Let’s start big and then work our ways towards biology.” She sighed, her fingers massaging her temples, “Solar systems, stars, space, the whole show. Any thoughts?”
Ted’s blank faced skull stared back at her with all the vim and vigor of… well, a corpse. “I think the last time we did that, you blew up Teduptune because it ‘didn’t fit the aesthetic’.” Boney fingers tapped idly on a pearly and pristine femur. “And then proceeded to blow everything else up because it was easier than manipulating space time to congeal into physical matter.”
Her lips curled into a quick smile, “I’m an artist, Ted,” my self he just couldn’t let anything go. “You were supposed to be artistic as well, but wow, can you go on about the necessities of gravity or oxygen. Like, we can make it work anyway we want to. That’s the point -- and if it doesn’t fit, you’re fucking right I’ll blow it up,” Bright lights and colors danced around her head, forming into planets of all shapes and colors. “We’re striving for perfection, here, nothing else.”
“And perfection requires detail, not just wildly throwing paint onto a canvas and seeing what sticks.” Having no lungs, he didn’t have to put much effort into his dry tone. “And until you’re ready to adhere to my very simple, very manageable,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Very reasonable measures,” leaning back once more, he folded his hands behind his skull, “Then you won’t be making anything at all for quite some time.”
Smug bastard.
She laughed and the whole of creation, or lack thereof, shook, “Reasonable? Reasonable?” Shrill, Ted thought, the word suddenly inside her mind and thus born for all of the universe to use. “Ted, darling, my one and only -- you fucking expect me --,” she snapped her fingers and piles of forms, templates, approvals popped into existence, “To fill these out for every little thing? To --,” a form flew into her hand, “Think out the natural systems one by one? To --,” another form “Consider the viability of reproduction or --,” and suddenly everything was on fire.
Catching some of the ashes on the tips of his phalanges, Ted quietly muttered, “That was my favorite one…”
“What the fuck, Ted? Who even thinks of the ultimate species impact?” She wouldn’t admit it, never to Ted, but that one might have merit. She hadn’t told him but the cats had really fucked up one of her planets up.
“Who?” If his voice had had the ability to rise beyond a set decibel that was only possible due to him being a god, it would have. “Who? Quite literally the only other being in existence, that’s who.”
“My eternal womb, Ted. Sacrifice my child and bring the fucker back,” a chair materialized behind her and she collapsed on top of it. “Fine. Fine. What are your ideas. What do we fucking need to start the bureaucratic process of creation.”
The skull seemed to perk up. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted. Maybe not. “Well, first, I’ll need you to sign this grand oath swearing on your own divinity that you will forever abandon your human-animal hybrids. I assure you there will never, in any situation of any reality, be a time when you will not regret creating those… things.” An elegant ivory writing desk replete with a stack of impressive and neatly filed documents appeared in a lazy haze of shadowy smoke. He plucked a quill out of nothing and handed it to her, as a bottle of ink that was filled with what they both knew to be her own blood gradually materialized.
Unsurprisingly, there was nothing in the beginning. Or almost nothing. Ted and Didi had been there since the start, although Didi is quick to remind anyone (but mostly Ted) that she was first.
She’d ripped out a few of her ribs and, as she tells it, crafted Ted in her image. Didi had wanted a partner, equal in power and skill; this was, obviously, her mistake. She’d spent her first few millennium alone and there was only so many different variations of cat she could muster into existence.
The big issue with Ted, besides literally everything else, was her fault. She hadn’t meant to limit herself, but making deities was complicated and mistakes are easy and she’d rushed him and -- well, to be fucking honest, she screwed up. Now neither of them could do anything without the other’s approval.
She hadn’t made a cat in centuries and all the others had gone extinct long ago.
“Fine. No cats, Ted. No fucking cats, that you’ve never seen by the way, but fine,” Didi huffed, stardust and radiation, all the fucking power in the universe and no way to use it. In her desperation for companionship, she’d sacrificed her independence. “Can we agree to a planet? Or a sun? Are we doing life?”
“Life?” he scoffed, “You did such a swell job of that the first runaround, hey?” With a wide, sweeping gesture, his - quite literally - boney hands gestured to his pathetically diminished form that emanated godhood like some sort of half-hearted joke. “Maybe you should start a little... less complicated.”
“The cats turned out just fine,” It was a sore spot, Ted’s existence. She’d wanted to add flesh and eyes and even a halo, but Ted wouldn’t agree to anything and so he was skeleton. Divine, but literally just bones.
If he’d had had eyebrows, he would have raised them. “They were inside out, Didi.”
“Because fur is fucking disgusting,” Didi shivered, remembering what the first cats had looked like -- too big eyes and vomit-pink noses. True, they didn’t survive long without those things, but she had a short attention span. “We can build up to life, Ted. That’s the fucking point, but whatever. Let’s start big and then work our ways towards biology.” She sighed, her fingers massaging her temples, “Solar systems, stars, space, the whole show. Any thoughts?”
Ted’s blank faced skull stared back at her with all the vim and vigor of… well, a corpse. “I think the last time we did that, you blew up Teduptune because it ‘didn’t fit the aesthetic’.” Boney fingers tapped idly on a pearly and pristine femur. “And then proceeded to blow everything else up because it was easier than manipulating space time to congeal into physical matter.”
Her lips curled into a quick smile, “I’m an artist, Ted,” my self he just couldn’t let anything go. “You were supposed to be artistic as well, but wow, can you go on about the necessities of gravity or oxygen. Like, we can make it work anyway we want to. That’s the point -- and if it doesn’t fit, you’re fucking right I’ll blow it up,” Bright lights and colors danced around her head, forming into planets of all shapes and colors. “We’re striving for perfection, here, nothing else.”
“And perfection requires detail, not just wildly throwing paint onto a canvas and seeing what sticks.” Having no lungs, he didn’t have to put much effort into his dry tone. “And until you’re ready to adhere to my very simple, very manageable,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Very reasonable measures,” leaning back once more, he folded his hands behind his skull, “Then you won’t be making anything at all for quite some time.”
Smug bastard.
She laughed and the whole of creation, or lack thereof, shook, “Reasonable? Reasonable?” Shrill, Ted thought, the word suddenly inside her mind and thus born for all of the universe to use. “Ted, darling, my one and only -- you fucking expect me --,” she snapped her fingers and piles of forms, templates, approvals popped into existence, “To fill these out for every little thing? To --,” a form flew into her hand, “Think out the natural systems one by one? To --,” another form “Consider the viability of reproduction or --,” and suddenly everything was on fire.
Catching some of the ashes on the tips of his phalanges, Ted quietly muttered, “That was my favorite one…”
“What the fuck, Ted? Who even thinks of the ultimate species impact?” She wouldn’t admit it, never to Ted, but that one might have merit. She hadn’t told him but the cats had really fucked up one of her planets up.
“Who?” If his voice had had the ability to rise beyond a set decibel that was only possible due to him being a god, it would have. “Who? Quite literally the only other being in existence, that’s who.”
“My eternal womb, Ted. Sacrifice my child and bring the fucker back,” a chair materialized behind her and she collapsed on top of it. “Fine. Fine. What are your ideas. What do we fucking need to start the bureaucratic process of creation.”
The skull seemed to perk up. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted. Maybe not. “Well, first, I’ll need you to sign this grand oath swearing on your own divinity that you will forever abandon your human-animal hybrids. I assure you there will never, in any situation of any reality, be a time when you will not regret creating those… things.” An elegant ivory writing desk replete with a stack of impressive and neatly filed documents appeared in a lazy haze of shadowy smoke. He plucked a quill out of nothing and handed it to her, as a bottle of ink that was filled with what they both knew to be her own blood gradually materialized.
