29 Ashan 700
"Congratulations, you've died." The pale white face of a man in his late fifties smiled professionally, thin-fingered hands folded neatly in his lap. "Is this your first time?"
"Erm... yes?"
A bushy black brow arced into a surprisingly tasteful arch of reproach, "Well, that doesn't sound very decisive." The pale man adjusted one of the crisp, white cuffs - the left one - of his shirt where it protruded from his jacket before returned his attention to young, bloodied, green-eyed man who still lay sprawled out on the floor before him, leaning forward just a tad. "When you're dead, you need to be decisive."
"Yes." Marvin tried again. "Yes, this is decisively my first time." He paused, realizing - or remembering? - he could move his body. "Being... dead." He glanced downwards and spied the toes of his right foot peeking through a rabid-dog's bite-sized hole in his boot. He wiggled them.
"Your first time!" chuckled the pale man, clapping his hands together and grinning like a pale white faced man in his fifties. "I don't usually get the fresh ones."
Glancing up from his toes, Marvin frowned, his voice teetering on the edge of concern. "Fresh ones?"
"Oh, you know," the pale man dismissively waved one of his thin fingered hands. "Just a little bit of workplace lingo." He rose to his feet, neatly dusting himself off. "Nothing to fret over." He stooped to offer Marvin a hand, who still lay on the ground in the same fashion he'd now doubt arrived in.
With some effort, Marvin managed to contort himself back into the semblance of a functioning human body and, with some more effort, managed to clasp the pale man's hand in his. The sensation was something akin to the sharp shock that came with dry weather and furs. It was surprising enough that Marvin drew in a quick, sharp breath of air out of surprise.
"Not to worry," reassured the pale man, giving Marvin's hand a slight squeeze before helping him to his feet. "Just your un-fleshy bits getting reacquainted with the astral laws of tangedynamics."
Though they went through the motion of walking, Marvin had the creeping suspicion that it was entirely unnecessary, as rather than their bodies moving through space as he had grown accustomed to during his - now apparently ended - life, space seemed to move through them. He assumed the pale man only went through the motions to assuage any potential self-consciousness on his part; a theory that proved true the moment he decided to stop awkwardly swinging his arms and legs and simply stand their while their surroundings shifted: the pale man did the same while their progress was entirely unimpeded.
Free to focus on the whirling colors rather than his own disconcertingly useless body, he soon discovered that they were actually images, all things he remembered. He recalled a time when someone had told him that, when one perishes, one's life flashes before one's eyes. Standing there beside the pale man in what was a pleasantly comfortable silence, he wondered if that was what was happening.
Fortunately, the pale man chose that very moment to offer a short explanation, tone conversational but polite. "I bet you're wondering if this the 'life flashing before your eyes' moment?" Marvin nodded, more focused on a particular scene from his childhood that he vaguely remembered. "You don't remember, but that already happened. It's an in-process phenomenon." He nodded, mostly to himself, before he continued. "This here is what we call a 'consolidation of cosmic circumstantia'. The universe," his thin fingered hands splayed wide as he moved both arms outward in a grand, sweeping motion, "Is storing your life's events inside of your new proto-chasis."
"My... body?"
"Well," The pale man clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "I suppose for most intents and purposes, you could call it that, if you find that term more amendable."
"Proto-chasis." The word felt foreign, but it wasn't as uncomfortable to say as he'd been expecting.
"Yes!" grinned the pale man as a stream of scenes from Marvin's adolescence that would have been enough to make even the most confident of grown men flush red with embarrassment streamed by. "Your proto-chasis is woven out of counter-substance," he gently nudged Marvin in the side with his elbow, "Much more sturdy than that old bag of blood and bone you had before."
Without warning, their surroundings suddenly went black. Marvin could still see the pale man in perfect clarity, though he was certain there was not a speck of light around to illuminate him, but otherwise everything was simply... not. The pale man didn't seem concerned in the least.
"Alright, looks like that's all taken care of," he mumbled to himself as he quickly slipped one of his thin fingered hands into his pocket. He withdrew a slender silver rod and extended it towards Marvin with a smile. "Swallow this."
It was at least twice as long as his own throat was wide, but Marvin, already curious about what his new counter-substance proto-chasis was capable, didn't hesitate for a tick as he plucked the rod from the pale man's slender-fingered hand and popped the silver implement into his mouth. Before he could completely swallow it, he was struck by the taste of it: the exact flavor of the feeling when one just barely avoids a very unfortunate accident.
The pale man seemed keen on Marvin's widened eyes, and his smile grew into a jolly grin. "Coagulated luck," he explained.
It slid down his throat with ease, leaving behind a delightful tingling sensation. "It is quite nice," Marvin acknowledged quietly, just now noticing that his hand was covered in what was now dried and flaking blood.
"Oh, yes, right." The pale man's slender-fingered hands rummaged about in his jacket for a trill or two before one of them produced a small, silken handkerchief. "You'd best clean yourself up now. I apologize about the mess, but 'consolidation' works best with a proto-chasis that is most closely representative of your body at the time of death."
Marvin received the handkerchief with a respectful nod of his head and began dabbing away at his face. "I... see."
"Oh!" The pale man quickly snatched the handkerchief out of Marvin's now quite literally glistening hands, "Two pats is usually quite enough." His pale cheeks flushed a slightly darker rouge. "Like I said, not really used to getting fresh ones."
"Are we... going somewhere?" Marvin was certain the word "going" no longer applied to however it was they traveled from place to place, but his vocabulary hadn't had much time to adjust.
"We're here, in fact!" Whether the pale man had just happened to speak the moment they arrived or if their arrival had been triggered by him speaking, the blackness was replaced with a sparsely decorated, plain white room. There was single white door with no knob that stood in the very center of the room and a small piece of square parchment framed in pale cedar and glass that had the words You can do it. neatly handwritten in a soft, grey ink.
"Where is... here?" Marvin ventured slowly, gazing around the otherwise empty room for a trill or two only to realize that he was now alone.
The pale man wasn't there any longer. Whether he'd left or disappeared or had never actually been there at all to begin with, Marvin wasn't certain of, but before he could spent any more time contemplating, there came three swift, sharp raps from the door.
tack tack tack
At first, he didn't move. But the raps came again, a bit more incessant this time.
tack tack tack
He knew that doors were, traditionally, meant for two things: to keep something in and to keep something out. What he didn't know, as the raps sounded a third time, was whether that particular door had been constructed with the latter or the prior in mind.
tack tack tack
If it had been to keep something in, that something would have, by all logical assumptions, been his very self, suggesting that he was some sort of prisoner and, perhaps, opening the door would lead to his freedom.
tack tack tack
If it had been to keep something out... he supposed that scenario suggested the something on the other other side of the door - as he could see both the front and back of it, but was certain if he opened it there would be a different space in the frame - might be something dangerous.
tack tack tack
Then there was the possibility that the door had been constructed to both keep something out and keep something in. He didn't really know what to make of that.
tack tack tack
The rapping had become much more insistent, to the point where each time one of the raps sounded, it was almost deafening. Armed with a silver rod of coagulated luck that he could still feel floating about in his stomach and a proto-chasis woven out of counter-substance, Marvin crossed over the floor to the door, drew a deep breath and-
"Congratulations, you've died." The pale white face of a man in his late fifties smiled professionally, thin-fingered hands folded neatly in his lap. "Is this your first time?"
"Erm... yes?"
A bushy black brow arced into a surprisingly tasteful arch of reproach, "Well, that doesn't sound very decisive." The pale man adjusted one of the crisp, white cuffs - the left one - of his shirt where it protruded from his jacket before returned his attention to young, bloodied, green-eyed man who still lay sprawled out on the floor before him, leaning forward just a tad. "When you're dead, you need to be decisive."
"Yes." Marvin tried again. "Yes, this is decisively my first time." He paused, realizing - or remembering? - he could move his body. "Being... dead." He glanced downwards and spied the toes of his right foot peeking through a rabid-dog's bite-sized hole in his boot. He wiggled them.
"Your first time!" chuckled the pale man, clapping his hands together and grinning like a pale white faced man in his fifties. "I don't usually get the fresh ones."
Glancing up from his toes, Marvin frowned, his voice teetering on the edge of concern. "Fresh ones?"
"Oh, you know," the pale man dismissively waved one of his thin fingered hands. "Just a little bit of workplace lingo." He rose to his feet, neatly dusting himself off. "Nothing to fret over." He stooped to offer Marvin a hand, who still lay on the ground in the same fashion he'd now doubt arrived in.
With some effort, Marvin managed to contort himself back into the semblance of a functioning human body and, with some more effort, managed to clasp the pale man's hand in his. The sensation was something akin to the sharp shock that came with dry weather and furs. It was surprising enough that Marvin drew in a quick, sharp breath of air out of surprise.
"Not to worry," reassured the pale man, giving Marvin's hand a slight squeeze before helping him to his feet. "Just your un-fleshy bits getting reacquainted with the astral laws of tangedynamics."
Though they went through the motion of walking, Marvin had the creeping suspicion that it was entirely unnecessary, as rather than their bodies moving through space as he had grown accustomed to during his - now apparently ended - life, space seemed to move through them. He assumed the pale man only went through the motions to assuage any potential self-consciousness on his part; a theory that proved true the moment he decided to stop awkwardly swinging his arms and legs and simply stand their while their surroundings shifted: the pale man did the same while their progress was entirely unimpeded.
Free to focus on the whirling colors rather than his own disconcertingly useless body, he soon discovered that they were actually images, all things he remembered. He recalled a time when someone had told him that, when one perishes, one's life flashes before one's eyes. Standing there beside the pale man in what was a pleasantly comfortable silence, he wondered if that was what was happening.
Fortunately, the pale man chose that very moment to offer a short explanation, tone conversational but polite. "I bet you're wondering if this the 'life flashing before your eyes' moment?" Marvin nodded, more focused on a particular scene from his childhood that he vaguely remembered. "You don't remember, but that already happened. It's an in-process phenomenon." He nodded, mostly to himself, before he continued. "This here is what we call a 'consolidation of cosmic circumstantia'. The universe," his thin fingered hands splayed wide as he moved both arms outward in a grand, sweeping motion, "Is storing your life's events inside of your new proto-chasis."
"My... body?"
"Well," The pale man clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "I suppose for most intents and purposes, you could call it that, if you find that term more amendable."
"Proto-chasis." The word felt foreign, but it wasn't as uncomfortable to say as he'd been expecting.
"Yes!" grinned the pale man as a stream of scenes from Marvin's adolescence that would have been enough to make even the most confident of grown men flush red with embarrassment streamed by. "Your proto-chasis is woven out of counter-substance," he gently nudged Marvin in the side with his elbow, "Much more sturdy than that old bag of blood and bone you had before."
Without warning, their surroundings suddenly went black. Marvin could still see the pale man in perfect clarity, though he was certain there was not a speck of light around to illuminate him, but otherwise everything was simply... not. The pale man didn't seem concerned in the least.
"Alright, looks like that's all taken care of," he mumbled to himself as he quickly slipped one of his thin fingered hands into his pocket. He withdrew a slender silver rod and extended it towards Marvin with a smile. "Swallow this."
It was at least twice as long as his own throat was wide, but Marvin, already curious about what his new counter-substance proto-chasis was capable, didn't hesitate for a tick as he plucked the rod from the pale man's slender-fingered hand and popped the silver implement into his mouth. Before he could completely swallow it, he was struck by the taste of it: the exact flavor of the feeling when one just barely avoids a very unfortunate accident.
The pale man seemed keen on Marvin's widened eyes, and his smile grew into a jolly grin. "Coagulated luck," he explained.
It slid down his throat with ease, leaving behind a delightful tingling sensation. "It is quite nice," Marvin acknowledged quietly, just now noticing that his hand was covered in what was now dried and flaking blood.
"Oh, yes, right." The pale man's slender-fingered hands rummaged about in his jacket for a trill or two before one of them produced a small, silken handkerchief. "You'd best clean yourself up now. I apologize about the mess, but 'consolidation' works best with a proto-chasis that is most closely representative of your body at the time of death."
Marvin received the handkerchief with a respectful nod of his head and began dabbing away at his face. "I... see."
"Oh!" The pale man quickly snatched the handkerchief out of Marvin's now quite literally glistening hands, "Two pats is usually quite enough." His pale cheeks flushed a slightly darker rouge. "Like I said, not really used to getting fresh ones."
"Are we... going somewhere?" Marvin was certain the word "going" no longer applied to however it was they traveled from place to place, but his vocabulary hadn't had much time to adjust.
"We're here, in fact!" Whether the pale man had just happened to speak the moment they arrived or if their arrival had been triggered by him speaking, the blackness was replaced with a sparsely decorated, plain white room. There was single white door with no knob that stood in the very center of the room and a small piece of square parchment framed in pale cedar and glass that had the words You can do it. neatly handwritten in a soft, grey ink.
"Where is... here?" Marvin ventured slowly, gazing around the otherwise empty room for a trill or two only to realize that he was now alone.
The pale man wasn't there any longer. Whether he'd left or disappeared or had never actually been there at all to begin with, Marvin wasn't certain of, but before he could spent any more time contemplating, there came three swift, sharp raps from the door.
tack tack tack
At first, he didn't move. But the raps came again, a bit more incessant this time.
tack tack tack
He knew that doors were, traditionally, meant for two things: to keep something in and to keep something out. What he didn't know, as the raps sounded a third time, was whether that particular door had been constructed with the latter or the prior in mind.
tack tack tack
If it had been to keep something in, that something would have, by all logical assumptions, been his very self, suggesting that he was some sort of prisoner and, perhaps, opening the door would lead to his freedom.
tack tack tack
If it had been to keep something out... he supposed that scenario suggested the something on the other other side of the door - as he could see both the front and back of it, but was certain if he opened it there would be a different space in the frame - might be something dangerous.
tack tack tack
Then there was the possibility that the door had been constructed to both keep something out and keep something in. He didn't really know what to make of that.
tack tack tack
The rapping had become much more insistent, to the point where each time one of the raps sounded, it was almost deafening. Armed with a silver rod of coagulated luck that he could still feel floating about in his stomach and a proto-chasis woven out of counter-substance, Marvin crossed over the floor to the door, drew a deep breath and-
