litranaut

The Sidetrack Cafe. A multi-dimensional, multi-locational bar. Populated by the weird and the wonderful. The price of entry? A distracting conversation and a beverage. You’re in an office at a meeting. Coffee in hand. You start talking about something random for an hour and half. Follow your waiter to your table, because you’ve just stepped into…

The Sidetrack Cafe.

Santa sat at the bar, nursing a bottle of eggnog. His companion was well on his way to being drunk, given the redness of his nose. The barman wondered just how he was going to confiscate that one’s keys.

Across the bar sits a table of detectives, all character assassinating everyone who walks in.

Next to them, side kicks – one spreading lemon curd over one of the many doors to the place.

You see, the Cafe is home to more than just the mildly distracted. Ideas, embodiments, feelings, characters. If there’s enough energy to them – they’ll be in there.

Don’t talk about the vampires. The place is heaving with them.

But also office workers in front of white boards share space with policemen on stake outs, actors back stage, writers talking to themselves. Even dreamers.

And at these close quarters, conversation bleeds over. It’s how ideas get pollinated. Well – one way at least. It kind of goes like this.

Next to the Santa and his reindeer friend, an office shards through the bar. In the office, kicking back, is a guy and his cell phone. The conversation is about beers, bars and … another b word. There’s a pause – just a Santa wobbles on his stool, fixes on the nose and slurs, “It’s all about the stables. Where you are, where we are, stables. That’s where it’s at. I went all wrong with the garage. I see that now.”

Look at the eyes. No – not Santa’s, all bloodshot and blurry – the guy in the office.

“Hey – I’ve just thought of something. Can I call you back?”

And with that focus, the office extension leaves the Cafe.

Then it’s time for Santa to leave. A cab has been called – there’s no way he’s flying tonight.

“We need an idea, Rudolph. Just one. A present to me. We can’t go out like this.”

Rudolph’s nose flashed. It could have been a reply. It could have been a faulty bulb. If could have been the drink.

“We can plant one, Rudolph. That’s what we can do. Find someone, and plant an idea.”

A desperate idea trying to find his way in the night. Metaphorically and physically. Trying to hang on in his twilight years. Who wouldn’t do the same? Maybe they aren’t so different to you and I.

In the Sidetrack Cafe.

What?

You want to know what happens to the guy in the office? What the bleed was?

Come back in a few days. There’s an order to this.

Sheesh.

***

Today’s photo was supplied by Kristian

“Fuck me, it’s cold.”

An unusual complaint from the old man. Still, he reasoned, it was his first time out this year. He’d been coddled by roaring log fires and over indulgence.

But he had to see her. He supposed that was where it started to go downhill. The start of his whatever-life crisis.

He slowly made his way to the Garage. That used to be a stable. And was probably going to become one again. He fumbled to get the key in the lock – the story of his life these days – and grunted open the door.

There she was. As shiny and polished as the day he put her in there.

He bought her in the 70s. Thought he should change his image. He didn’t have the beard then. “Or the belly,” he thought, stroking is, large, over his belt.

He remembered how it all went down – wanting to be more hip. He’d had an awful, silver mustache, opened his shirt to show off some medallion or other.

The ladies had loved it “Come and sit on my lap, pretty lady” And how they giggled. “Do you have a present for me?”

“Only if you’ve been naughty!”

His blushes coloured his cheeks.

“Don’t call me Father! I’m not a priest – you an call me Daddy.”

It reached his ears.

With a sigh he walked into the garage and ran his fingers over his car. He couldn’t even sit in the damn thing now and he wasn’t quite sure why he was keeping it. “And Rudolf never forgave me,” he thought, sadly, looking out, through the snow, to see the dim glow in the meadows.

Of course, it couldn’t last. His idea only got out once a year, and the girls had forgotten him by then. Some didn’t forget. Some never forgot, and he dreaded going into those chimneys.

But…somewhere along the way…he got lost. People stopped believing in, or even caring about, him.

“Just like that table maker guy.”

And now he was getting out less and less. It’s like he was a nominal idea, not even a current one.

“Fuck this. I’m going for a drink.” He looked out into the meadow and wondered if he could fit into his one man sleigh for the trip…

***

Photo supplied by Stephanie

The sky above Capital was the colour of the smoke the day the orphanage burned.

Xarn lifted his head from the bar and motioned for another drink. Shears poured the drunk 2 fingers of a clear liquid into a glass. Xarn just stared.

“Did you forget who I am?”

Shears filled the glass and tossed it down.

“That’s a shame,” Xarn called to the back of the retreating barman. “I had hoped it was contagious.” He knocked back half the drink and waited for the burn to fade.

The Rusty Blade was his current home, his office, his hideout. Behind him, a table of taciturn dwarves reminisced about a bygone war in a bygone age none were old enough to remember. In a corner sat a group of fresh faced adventurers. Shears like to fleece them while promising a “wise old man” would come with tails of a map leading to an ancient treasure. Toward the end of a bar two figures, conspicuously free of dirt, sat – no, huddled together.

Xarn tried to focus. It was the likes of these two that allowed him his slow descent into a drunken death. They wanted to access one of the Blade’s many pocket dimensions – cut off from this plane completely. Secure and silent – the best business room in Capital.

***

Xarn was a Shaper. He had belonged to a religious order who could access other planes of existence, walk amongst them, and tame the creatures found there. The good ones could form small pockets of space in these planes. They were Melders. The best ones could create these spaces anywhere. These were the Shapers.

And Xarn was one of the best.

He had worked with kings, securing secrets, protecting visiting dignitaries. He was tipped to become the leader of order in Capital. And then the winds of power changed, a political coup, bought and sold by the merchant classes. They bought the army, the city guard, and moved quietly and decisively. No blood was spilt, but the power of the monarchy was over. And smuggling whores to the princess became a moral offense of the highest order.

Xarn was excommunicated and left with in an awkward position, he couldn’t unlearn what he knew, and he was too powerful to be left alive.

So he called on his contacts in the underbelly of Capital and became one of them – working on becoming indispensable. If you needed something hidden, he was your man. Something protected? Again. Xarn could do it. And in return, on top of the cash, he was protected.

The  Rusty Blade was a prime example of Xarn’s work. Complete spirit protection – from weapons checks on the door, to anti-listening spirits. At the first sign of any trouble, a group of very angry djinn phase in and ensure that it stops.

One way or another.

That type of security paid for his drinks, but it was just a matter of time.

***

Shears walked back up the bar.

“They were looking for you.” He murmured, his head nodding back at the two huddlers as they left. “They didn’t look like they wanted you best interests at heart, and how could I throw them my best customer?”

And this the reason Xarn was drank – for free – every night…afterno…day…waking moment.

He downed the rest of his drink and made his way to a secure room.

The molotov cut through the night air, turning on its axis, spinning through space. Like an embarrassing confession shouted in a nightclub, the bottle had picked a moment of silence to make it’s journey. To sail over the heads of those assembled. To land behind the line of shields.
The prelude of shattering glass was followed by a movement that touched the pyromanic in all that heard. It was answered by the cheers and cries of the mass as they pitched against riot police, armor, and baton.

The thick blue line moved steadily forward, leaving the cracked skulls and bleeding faces of the foe; and injured officers, in its wake. Inexorably dispersing the crowd, dismantling burning barricades and disarming would be assailants. It mattered not that the kids were right; that the cause they fought for nightly was just. They were outside of the law.

That was all that mattered.

And so the nightly news broadcast to a nation of children, violence done to them with abandon, and bred the next night’s warriors.

Gabriel Franklin the 9th looked out over the 5th moon of the planet he called home.
Well. The orbital station above the planet he called home.

“Daddy, are you sure?” He daughter wasn’t pleading. But it was close. She had tears in her eyes and her voice hitched every now and then. Gabriel hated making her sad, but he had made up his mind.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. But it’s my time.” He slowly crossed the room and held her hand. “I’ve had a good innings. I mean – look at where I am? I’m in another galaxy, light years from where I was born. You’re an alien! I’ve seen first contact. More than once.” He grew silent, as he looked out of the viewport.

“Dad?”

He smiled, took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “And I miss your mother.”
Gabriel’s wife had made her decision 6 months earlier. They were to go together, but he wanted to see a nearby star go Nova. He had visited her every day since she had gone.

***

They had lived a triumphant life. Lives. Before they had changed bodies, he convinced her to try the moon colony. They needed to renew for that. By the time they had to decide if they were to renew again, she had insisted they visited Mars.
They were three bodies in when the chance to leave the galaxy had come up. Had that not been an option, they probably would have gone then – but with so much more to see, they couldn’t pass it up.

“Come on, let’s go pay her a visit, yeah?” Gabriel’s daughter held out her arm, supporting her dad as they walked form the room, down to where her mother, his wife and companion for nine generations, rested.

It hadn’t been all fun and games. More than once they had been in courthouses, demanding their marriage be dissolved. Other times they just separated. Which, for them, meant living in different rooms.

She always insisted that there was no such thing as everlasting love.

He kept on pointing out that he was still there.

She countered with the same question: “Oh, so it’s me that makes things so difficult, is that what you’re saying?”

Which is when he stopped playing.

***

They arrived at The Sim. The room was bare, respectful. In the middle was a flat table. They sat opposite each other, Gabriel pulling out a cable. One end he fitted into a table leg, the other went into his left temple.

In the middle of the table a screen burst into life. On it was a beautiful woman, a quarter of Gabriel’s age. She looked round, and did a double take on seeing her daughter.

“Oh, hello Andrea.”

“Hi, mum.” Andrea started crying again.

“What’s wrong?” The woman on the screen looked concerned. “Is everything ok?”

Gabriel walked in behind her, young now, matching his wife’s age perfectly.

“Everything’s fine, Ri. I just told her it was my time.”

Ri turned and hugged her husband. At the table, his body twitched.

“How was the nova?”

“Glorious. You should have seen it.”

“Gah – I’ve seen them before. I don’t know why you’re so interested in them. Oh..I’ve leveled.”

“WHAT? When? How many now?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, in here on my own? I’ve only gone up a couple and now I’m waiting.”

Gabriel looked out at his daughter. “You see what I have to put up with? Do you see now?”

Andrea laughed, a great sobbing laugh.

“I’m going to say Goodbye, Ri. And then we can go. One last time.”

He kissed his wife and walked out of the image.

Gabriel’s body stood up, and he pulled the cable out.

“Well, my love. This is it. You’re ok with this, right?”

She nodded, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Oh dad. I didn’t think you’d every go. Either of you.”

He was crying now. “Neither did I. Who knew, huh?”

They hugged.

“Here.” He reached behind his neck and pulled off a necklace. On it were two clear gems. “Just in case.” He winked.

“We’d like to stay in orbit, but you can turn the power down. Just enough for the sim, and to keep us up. If you’d rather not deal with this.” He pointed at himself, “Call one of the nurses. You just keep those jewels safe, you hear?”

She nodded.

“Right then.” He took his seat once more, and slotted his cable.

Gabriel Franklin the 9th looked up at his daughter. “Goodbye, love. I’ve always been so very proud of you.”

On screen, he walked up to his wife. They kissed once more, and waved.

“So, where are we off to? The Forests or the Beach?”

“I want palm trees,” his wife replied.

Andrea watched her parents armour up, and ride off to face some new adventure.

At the table, Gabriel’s body – just a shell now – slumped, as he stopped breathing.