K farts are so voluminous and dense that they can leave streaks in the sky that are barely distinguishable from wispy purplish clouds in a sunset. They are potent enough and in a way that can make mammals lose consciousness momentarily or even slip into a light coma.
It is through the implementation of one such bioaerosol release that Jan is able to resecure her cliff nest by disabling Lloyd Bentbridge long enough to confiscate his weaponry, hurl it into the void, and get him locked into a leafy, teepee-like structure before he wakes.
As she folds her wings across her feet to rest, Jan feels as though she is being watched. It's not long before Lloyd's mother, Lady Brentridge, appears with a fizzling shower of sparks and stands before a gaping, fogged-up hole in the cliff face.
Their speech is echoey and through the mind only.
Lady Brentridge: He's my son. How dare you?
Jan: He was trying to own my family.
Lady Brentridge [after a pause]: He was always trouble. Thank you for not eating him.
Jan: Now you're making me sick.
Lady Brentridge: You're sick? Twenty-one years. Think of that!
Jan: I swallow rocks to help me digest meat.
Lady Brentridge: Let's focus. What is it that you want?
Feeling tired, Lloyd lays his head down in a gaggle of bras and closes his eyes.
Lloyd: Now I could be anywhere, in bed. I wish I could wake up. I can't look anymore. God it's a gorgeous view, but far too terrifying. Some perspectives are meant to be set aside only for those who choose them. I could understand if I were a mouse, but come on it's a different level of consciousness.
Lloyd's mother, Lady Brentridge de Modena Chank, appears in an impressive burst of optics.
Lady Brentridge: Son why did you take my name.
Lloyd: Because you have a title, and dad was a... where are you?
Lady Brentridge: I've been waiting all this time for you to reach a certain altitude else I cannot get through the Filter of Loathing.
Lloyd: So the dead can... Mother?
Lady Brentridge: Yes, love.
Lloyd: Can you save me?
Lady Brentridge: No, darling.
Lloyd: I
Lady Brentridge: Don't speak. You've got to act fast. As soon as you wake up from this nap, fashion a weapon from the wood in the nest. Look for maybe some scrap metal for a blade. You'll have the element of surprise when she gets back. Good luck, my little lord.
Oh, and uh, by the way I just wanted you to know that while my intention always was to guide and protect, and to do that with my heart full of love, at the same time, however, I was paying so much attention to my role that, well, I recognize that during some moments I neglected to respond to the nitty-gritty contents of your life in a lucid or humane manner.
Now when you're ready, go for the eyes first.
A gothic doorway beneath crossed brass spears. The keystone is chiseled with a curving notice: POLICE STATION.
Jan had left the top to her sweater set on the back of her office chair, so she now has a mylar blanket as a shawl. Jan's dad is trying his best to get his voice heard through the ancient glory hole in the stone door of the precinct.
Mr. Jansdaad: We'd like to report an abduction!
Suddenly, a speaker crackles to life. You don't have to yell, sir we are fully miked now. From what you say, this sounds like a K event, and I'm sure you know we can't and don't investigate or prosecute K events. But we'll send out a hooptie. Mr. Brentridge's estate will be reimbursed for any damage to the cave structure if indeed a K event is confirmed.
Both Jan and her dad sigh deeply and walk quickly in each other's arms across the stone pavement and out of the armored courtyard, back to the bustling lunchtime street. They turn and stand back together against a wall.
Jan: I don't think she'd kill him.
Jan's dad: I hope not, sweetheart. But that's her choice now, isn't it?
Lloyd is violently shaken awake in time to see the cause of the shaking: the taloned feet, the size of small automobiles, having pushed free from the nest, pointing backward and curling majestically. The feet have all but disappeared into the distant hazy clouds above the cliff when a tiny K shape comes into focus, soaring purposefully through the mists.
Lloyd: God, no.
Mrs. Jansdaad has done a brilliant job with her first construction. She has carefully chose the trunks and major branches of young smooth-barked laurel trees, still pale yellow and gummy to the core. There must have been an entire grove of them nearby to create a structure with roughly the same footage, yet more depth, than a large built-in backyard pool. As for the downy padding, she has obviously raided a child's party and emptied the colorful contents of a plastic ball pit into the bottom layer. On top of that were perhaps the contents of several Mthyuh Preservation Society clothing drive dumpsters. Then packing peanuts, shredded bamboo fencing.
Door trimmed with a rose trellis. Brass plaque on door: LAW OFFICES
Lloyd Brentridge, Esquire, was always dressed in at least one part of a suit and often had the shirt open to a dark, furry chaos.
Lloyd doesn't actually work for Pharmsupply, and Mr. Jansdaad has already gathered that it is all bullshit when he nevertheless shows up at Law Offices as promised, trembling.
Mr. Jansdaad: Jan!
Jan Jansdaad: Daddy!
After a silent moment, Jan explains that she's working for Lloyd now as the receptionist. Also a fact that her dad has already gathered. It is the way she said it that is chilling and familiar. As if under a spell, and not in a good way.
Jan: He will see you now.
Jan's Dad: Thank you honey.
Open the deeper, inner door. Where Lord and Lloyd will either blend or clash.
Lloyd: Shut the door behind you.
Jan: I've brought in the records you requested.
Lloyd: You see your daughter is now under my auspices.
Jan: Yes.
Lloyd: You probably know I'm not Pharmsupply, that it's all bullshit.
Jan: Yes.
Lloyd: Yet you came anyway. You haven't even taken a seat because I haven't offered you one.
Jan: I
Lloyd: Don't speak. Your wife is turning into a K, isn't she? You don't have to say a word. She missed the second shingles vaccine and she seroconverted. She has to have had a disposition, and I think you know some history on that. Mrs. Jan Jansdaad is not just any old Jan Jansdaad. She had a history before she met you and she has one now. And that history has been as repressed as it is mysteriously irrepressible, like ecriture feminine. A code only a genetic member could translate or inscribe.
Lloyd starts abruptly, as if he has just heard a hilarious noise behind him.
Lloyd: What is that. What is that Jan. Do you
Jan: It's disco.
Lloyd: Don't you think I know what it is? Why? Why, Jan?
The thumping and whirring become louder: Mrs. Jansdaad's now gigantic foot pads and breath become louder: the dreaded disco-like sound of a K on the ground.
The glass in the window crashes impressively, but all Mrs. Jansdaad can fit through it is the very tips of her beak bones, which she can barely get open wide enough. But she is hungry.
Because Lloyd Brentridge has his fingers in his ears, Jan's tongue is able to restrain his arms and squeeze around his neck at the same time.
Mr. Jansdaad [arms outstretched]: Oh, Lord!
Jan and her dad Jan Jansdaad then stand very still as they watch their mother and wife suck Lloyd, their sadistic lover and bully crush, by the neck through the window and then high up into the air in a single, otherworldly burst of power. Father and daughter alone began to look around them there in the breezy office, medical records still floating leaf like to the floor.
Jan: You didn't even ask if you could come in.
Lloyd: We just ate with your parents. I don't have to ask you anymore.
Jan [letting go of his tie]: Lloyd you know I feel very strongly for you but sometimes you scare me a little.
Lloyd is feeling tired and sits on the sofa. Jan comes back with two beers and joins him.
Jan: I think it hits me in a primeval place when you try and order me around or raise your voice to my dad, but it might be just genes or hormones and not good decisionmaking.
Lloyd [to the ceiling, as he rests his neck]: What if you didn't have to make any decisions.
Jan [in a fetal position next to him without touching]: I don't think I would like it at all. [She scoots over and rests her head in Lloyd Brentridge's lap.] But then, that's your choice, isn't it?
Jan and her complicated date Lloyd Brentridge join Jan's parents for stonecakes and vine at the dining room table. Jan sits next to her mother helping to poke through clumps caught in her swollen and keratinous gum line. Mrs. Jansdaad swallows infrequently but with large gulps that are visible in her neck as they go down her throat.
Lloyd: Mrs. Jansdaad it's lovely to see you recovering. Your husband has done an admirable job at the griddle in your place.
Mrs. Jansdaad lowers her face in Lloyd's direction, exposing a small parietal eye in her scalp. She stares, unblinking.
Lloyd: May I help you clear the table, Jan?
Mr. Jansdaad, jumping up: Why yes, why... please grab that syrup.
Lloyd and Mr. Jansdaad find themselves alone in the kitchen. Jan turns around and finds Mr. Brentridge standing there, very close to him. There are just a few inches between them and not much room to maneuver there between the countertop and the fridge.
Jan: Oh. Sorry Lloyd. Just let me
Lloyd does not move. He is staring into Mr. Jansdaad's eyes. Jan Jansdaad looks back at him without letting out a breath.
Jan: Is there
Lloyd: Shh. I just want one thing. And that's the truth.
Jan can hear his daughter setting out dessert dishes from the glass cabinet as well as his wife's pebbly cough from the other room.
Lloyd's voice is hushed and stern, and his breath is hot.
Lloyd: That's quite a case of shingles you have going on in there.
Jan: Yes, it's just-- Pharmsupply wouldn't cover the
Lloyd: Don't say Pharmsupply to me. I work for Pharmsupply. I am their agent in Dubbahberah Chank.
Jan: I'll get you the records. She had a preexisting inclination. But you're dating my
Lloyd takes Jan's wrist and squeezes it tight. Jan loses control of his fingers and drops a vine glass on the floor.
Lloyd: Don't you ever say your daughter's name to me again. Unless you are ready to take her place.
Jan: She doesn't know anything. Don't worry. She
Lloyd [squeezing Jan's wrist harder, and twisting]: I need samples of her Mrs. Jansdaad's pyncofibers. By tomorrow morning. In my law office.
Jan [straining]: Yes. I'll get the pyncos. Whatever you want. My daughter is a good person. I won't... I won't say her name.
Lloyd, tucking in his shirt and stepping back into the dining room: Jan, get in there and help your father would you. With the cleanup. And then we'll go.
Jan: The edges of your thoughts are so sharp I just want to grab a file and sand them off. Maybe by our being together
Lord Bentbridge: No, it's not like that-- isn't it more of a woman's function to
Jan: Look the man-woman dichotomy can really be an albatross when you
Lord Bentbridge: I know but you seem to think that this is about you and me, but
Jan: Well this, here, at the moment-- I only see you and me here.
Lord Bentbridge: Overall I would be going through this in a vacuum I think
Jan: You know better than to think that
Lord Bentbridge: There was a couple with their two babies on the sidewalk this afternoon when it was so gloomy right before sunset. Wind was howling. Twigs were flying. One of the babies started a weird hooting cry and then the other an identical cry. It created a sort of audio hellscape.
Jan: This is what I mean; you see you
[ENTER MRS. JANSDAAD]
Mrs. Jansdaad: Why Mr. Jansdaad curled up on the rug before the fire.
Mr. Jansdaad: How you got in here without making the floors creak
Mrs. Jansdaad: Engrossed entertaining another imaginary friend I see.
Mr. Jansdaad: Ha! I thought I might entice you for
Mrs. Jansdaad: If I can get over there without rearranging the furniture
Mr. Jansdaad: How's your tooth.
Mrs. Jansdaad: It's coming out but that's good because I never had a tooth that size before, did I. And the crown is coming down, do you see? Feel here.
Jan took Jan's hand and pressed it against her forehead, which was slowly regaining it's previous shape.
Mr. Jansdaad: They say you'll be stronger afterward. Because you went through it.
Jan Jansdaad looked into her husband's eyes blankly, like a reptile.
Jan arrives home with scales covering 98% of her body, unable to even get the key out of her purse much less use it in the lock. Her fingers were claws.
We should never have mingled with their species.
She kicks the door by way of knocking, gouging it with her toe claws. For Jan, as he opens the door, the sight of his wife at first presents as deja vous. Then horror, then caring.
Oh baby look at you please come in... [looks at door] What...?
I should have paid cash for Hopinaskipina. It's not as painful as they say.
God you look like the Daughter of La Chama. Let me hide my shiny coins!
Heh that's cute Jan. How am I going to make dinner.
You're so old fashioned. Let me do it for once.
[Jan sighs and shakes her head, which causes the sounds of knuckles popping.]
tonight a crust forms around me, a
fluttering, gummy placenta
the muscles are locked from
pleasure.
last night i was trying to drive a
car on a building ledge
i was steering pretty well
until.
they say never go to sleep afraid
or stay awake either
the body will win you over
the hell.
by Jan
Why, Lord Bentbridge? Why have you come at such a late hour. Come now sir, come right in. You're getting wet.
Lord Bentbridge, with a tip of his hat and apologetic smile, steps across the threshold, adding in so doing a beleaguered flourish of his half-cape. Jansdaad my friend. My presence here is as puzzling to me as it is to you.
I hope it's bad I mean I hope it's not bad news.
Fear not, only my wife out late again, and I thought why not pop over to Jan's place for some of that excellent sherry, which I suspect he might be enjoying already on his own!
Come Lord, lean on the mantle with me and raise a glass. [They walk over to the mantle, where there are glasses and sherry.]
I say puzzling because
Yes, why do you say puzzling?
Well, let's not be dour. Cheers to you!
Cheers!
Suddenly, the door opens.
Jan? I'm home with... who's here?
Nobody.
Well you've got your arm up on that mantle like an orator, as if you're entertaining.
Ha!
[Putting away groceries, yelling from the kitchen.] Say have you heard from Jan?
Jan our daughter?
Who else? Your father is dead darling.
You know how many Jans it could be.
Well have you heard from her? Pharmsupply won't pay out for shingles.
You mean Hopinaskipina? That's the most annoying commercial.
She's been hanging around with that sadistic lawyer. You should call.
Do you mean Lloyd? Lloyd Bentley.
Yes, he's an esquire.
Jan liked watching a little tv in the afternoon, or rather she didn't like it, but she was hypnotized by it when her husband Jan had it on, which was most of the time, because it soothed his nerves. She kept it on mute when he wasn't in the room, but then he'd start to notice there was something off, and he'd come back and take the mute off, and that would inevitably be when they were having commercials. The commercials were even more transfixing because of their special audio qualities, which had been outlawed for a while, and then they just seemed to creep back in. The volume and frequency alterations were probably still illegal, but someone was lying about it. Then it would take years of legislation or court processes to get them to stop doing it again even though it never stopped being illegal, and it never stopped being wrong. Only lying had stopped being wrong. The acceptance of and mass participation in lying and religion was the most brilliant social phenomenon of the moment.
Jan would be out in the hooptie to pick up a prescription, and she'd try to read or imagine the faces of the other drivers. The ones in the nicer cars seemed to be gloating. They'd have a wry smile. The guys in the elevated trucks and campers were smiling too, but it was a mean smile. Minorities in crappy cars often seemed pissed off or trying really hard, squinting, to get around. They would be getting tailgated by a guy in a jacked-up 450 with a mean smile. Jan imagined how she looked to other drivers. I look like a freak. I look like a birth defective person with a caved-in head and a flabby, skinny white neck who is trying to cover it all up with a big fluffy beret, a cowl sweater, and giant over-the-glasses sunglasses. I give them all a target to look down on, except the minorities, who don't seem to be paying attention.
The pharmpro is grotesquely obese. His eyes are enormous behind thick glasses. Do you know if Pharmsupply covers the Hopinaskipina vaccine. Let him check. Not. Ok. Rather, it isn't okay, but is it this poor man's fault? Wouldn't shingles itself be much more costly? Not if you die. Right. Shit I am speaking aloud. It's just a thought experiment, doctor, says Jan. I mean pharmpro. I know you don't run the health system. Jan remembers back to her days with the pharmpro boyfriend. I know what they do to get shiv for themselves and how they cover it up. This man has a generous smile. What does he make, 120? 150k? I want what he's having. Jan gives the pharmacist a little wink. That behavior and lots else is why, in her personal opinion, she can only be regarded as total freak material.
The riots at the Mthyuh Preservation Society were on the radio. I should have been there. Had I known, were I more well connected. Of course I know we can't live without the Filter of Loathing. But it's all we have to unfocus on. It's a symbol of our systemic bastardization from society, whatever that is now. They could use a few good old fashioned fleke oaths to start getting their stewardship straight. But most are bought off by Pharmsupply blah blah. It would be fun just to get out. Next time the filter is down I will try and get in with radicals. Maybe even Jan would come along. Who am I kidding. How would I make him stonecakes in the hooptie. They are his life. Baby we've got to get to Highchank and stand up for the original shiv. They have stonecakes. Might work.
Then the chant, with another not infrequent para-informational MPS interruption came on. The chant is accompanied by a distillation of all the free world's favorite music remastered to praise La Chama. Apply brake now. Stop in the moment. All future days are at the state's discretion. I am entitled to the following poisons and schedules. It was annoying how they read the schedules like circus barkers, in thrilling growls and whispers.
Posts
All Comments
