Drunk enough is never drunk enough

“I’m in trouble, yes. I’m handling it.” They… think they’re winning, anyway? They have Abatu on the run, losing the argument. The contract is bending. Breaking. But once it does…. “Actually… I need your help.”

“…Bawd, I’m… I need you to get me out of here. I won’t be able to leave on my own, once I’ve done what I need to.” No patron means no magic, no magic means no control in this plane. No control means no escape. 

There’s a long pause after that, as Bawd considers why they’ll need her help. This sounds like they’re going to do something dumb, maybe. Why is this always a thing. 

“I’m in trouble, yes. I’m handling it.” They… think they’re winning, anyway? They have Abatu on the run, losing the argument. The contract is bending. Breaking. But once it does…. “Actually… I need your help.”

“…Bawd, I’m… I need you to get me out of here. I won’t be able to leave on my own, once I’ve done what I need to.” No patron means no magic, no magic means no control in this plane. No control means no escape. 

There’s a long pause after that, as Bawd considers why they’ll need her help. This sounds like they’re going to do something dumb, maybe. Why is this always a thing. 

Innovator is in an… interesting position. The Furthest Ring isn’t the most hospitable place for mortals, even for someone has monstrous as Innovator is at this point. But this has to be done.

When Innovator was just a child, not old enough to fill any roll or survive on their own, their caretaker and mentor tried to kill them.

In their panic, in their desperation to get away, they heard a voice whisper in their mind in a language they shouldn’t have been able to understand. It offered help. It offered power. It promised to keep them safe.

That last promise is the loophole Innovator is now trying to exploit. Perhaps Abatu kept up its end of the bargain in the way it meant at the time, but it never intended to keep Innovator safe from itself. Not that Horror Terrors care much for mortal loopholes, but Innovator knows how delicate magical contracts can be if one simply leans on the right places. If they can press this matter enough…

When Innovator was just a child, not old enough to survive on their own, the only person they had to depend on tried to kill them. Since then, their supposed “savior” has been plaguing them day and night, making them sick, making them hurt, making them lash out. Horrible nightmares, horrible things said to those they love, horrible things done and not remembered…

It’s time for this to end.

In the turmoil of shadow, ink, and deafening curses in unholy, forgotten languages, something reaches in from the mortal realm. Ugh, who could possibly be calling them? The long-distance charges for the Furthest Ring must be horrendous.

And of course, it’s Bawd.

“Have I been gone that long, you’d try to reach me like this?” They have no real voice here, no real form. They are nothing but a concept, and that concept is thankfully able to respond to the spell.

That’s super not the reaction she was expecting. A lot more panic or desperation was to be expected from someone that’s been in a not-mortal plane for as long as they have, but that’s not what she’s getting from this at all. They just seem slightly annoyed, like they’ve gotten a phone call in the middle of an important meeting. 

“Well…Yes, actually. When I tried to find you, all of your cats were gone. That’s cause enough to worry on its own, with you.” The way she says it is clearly not meant to sound like a joke. “What’s going on? I thought you might be in trouble, but your tone tells a different story.” 

It’s been a long time coming, but Bawd feels as though she’s finally hit enough of her research points to be able to properly get some answers. One would think that, by the very nature of research, she would have already gotten some. Normally, of course, that would be the case. But when it comes to magic, the first round of research is hardly ever the last one.

She’s spread out her books and notes onto her living room floor, drawn a large circle three times over, and given all of her cats to close friends so they won’t be caught in any accidental crossfire. She’s ready.

It’s time to find out what’s happened to Innovator.

Normally, them disappearing isn’t exactly unusual. What is, however, is when Bawd finally went to try and find them and came up completely empty. Their main home was covered in more dust than they usually have, and there was not a single cat in sight. It’s the latter, of course, that really makes her nervous. Innovator isn’t known for letting cats go hungry or not asking someone to take care of them when they disappear for a while.

When Innovator was just a child, not old enough to fill any roll or survive on their own, their caretaker and mentor tried to kill them.

In their panic, in their desperation to get away, they heard a voice whisper in their mind in a language they shouldn’t have been able to understand. It offered help. It offered power. It promised to keep them safe.

That last promise is the loophole Innovator is now trying to exploit. Perhaps Abatu kept up its end of the bargain in the way it meant at the time, but it never intended to keep Innovator safe from itself. Not that Horror Terrors care much for mortal loopholes, but Innovator knows how delicate magical contracts can be if one simply leans on the right places. If they can press this matter enough...

When Innovator was just a child, not old enough to survive on their own, the only person they had to depend on tried to kill them. Since then, their supposed “savior” has been plaguing them day and night, making them sick, making them hurt, making them lash out. Horrible nightmares, horrible things said to those they love, horrible things done and not remembered...

It’s time for this to end.

In the turmoil of shadow, ink, and deafening curses in unholy, forgotten languages, something reaches in from the mortal realm. Ugh, who could possibly be calling them? The long-distance charges for the Furthest Ring must be horrendous.

And of course, it’s Bawd.

Bawd looks at the newspaper, and then blinks widely. She hadn’t even noticed that part of the article. Perhaps she’d been a bit too distracted by the rest of the article, and of the picture, and of her eagerness to show it to them. 

“It would. But would it be the most fun?” He sighs wistfully, but knows they shouldn’t cause too much mayhem. When the tea is poured and set on a tray, he brings it over and sets the tray down on the table, away from everything else, and takes his cup.

He sips it for a moment, scanning the map, and eventually nods in approval.

“It might not be the most difficult job, but hey, the fun is in being able to show off the giant cat statue. And making the museum people completely freak out, of course. Plus we can always leave a cute drawing of a cat in place of it.” 

“I’m glad you like them.” He kisses Droog gently on the forehead, and takes his hand after a moment of hesitance when he pulls back. “Is there anything else you’d like? I could make you tea if you’d like something warm?” He doesn’t know if it’s the same for Droog, but whenever he uses his magic his temperature drops below freezing.

“I will. Right away, I promise. I just need to put water on the stove to boil and I’ll be right back.” Another kiss, to his forehead this time, and then he hurried to the kitchen, going as quickly as he dared. The motions of making tea were familiar to him, but he didn’t want to risk breaking anything of Droog’s.

Soon enough, the water was on the stove, and Inny was back at the carapace’s side.

You go to the floor with him quickly, not wanting to loom over him and make things worse. You keep talking evenly, make sure he doesn’t hit his head when he goes down, and eventually he reaches out to you. You put your hand over his on your face, and you meet his shaky smile with one of your own.

“You did.” The pride in your voice isn’t faked. You’re so proud of your friend, in that moment. “You did it, and you did well. You saw it through.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze, try to ground him. “The first step is always the hardest.” You’re practically whispering, feeling like your voice is an echoing boom despite your low volume. “May I help you up?”

“I’ve noticed that after their busiest days, Friday and Saturday, security gets more and more lax as they get closer to getting off of work. Probably because they’re eager to get home. I think that going on those days might be easiest.”

“It would. But would it be the most fun?” He sighs wistfully, but knows they shouldn’t cause too much mayhem. When the tea is poured and set on a tray, he brings it over and sets the tray down on the table, away from everything else, and takes his cup.

He sips it for a moment, scanning the map, and eventually nods in approval.

[I am Interloper. Or. I was. In the desert.]