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Mortimer Halliwell, warlock extraordinaire and small-time crook, is having a remarkably bad day. First he runs out of the good coffee and has to use Folgers. Then the demon he summons to rob a bank for him only speaks Egyptian, which is hell on his throat. Then the demon gets discorporated and tracked back to his lair/duplex, the door of which is currently being battered down by some cheerful blonde madman.
He needs to summon another demon, and he needs to do it fast. He whips out the Black Book, flips desperately through its pages, and arranges the offerings around the iron circle set into the floor of his basement. A phonebook, a pile of dust, a miniature casket, a oh my god he got in screw it he'll do it without the rest!
He forces an immense amount of energy through his body into the summoning. The dust whirls into the air. He screams as his skin crackles and snaps with static. "I summon thee! I summon thee! I summon thee, K-Kh-"
It is possibly the most regrettable sneeze in Mortimer Halliwell's life.
There is a plume of red flame, and there is someone in his circle.
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bitterchill
"I don't know that "tedious" is the right word for talking to a god. Even though she doesn't seem to be as charming as you are. But even if it was, the infinite sea of horrible monsters is a pretty big problem, I'd be willing to go to some trouble to see it fixed."
ending-of
"That seems reasonable. But at that point the note-passing method starts to be inefficient. I wonder what alternatives are available."
bitterchill
"...We could ask her to summon me into her domain? Or maybe get a little Heavenly telephone."
ending-of
"Hmm."
She considers these options.
"Perhaps I could give you the ability to communicate with me directly regardless of our respective locations, and send you to speak with her. Then I would not have to deal with her tediousness."
She considers these options.
"Perhaps I could give you the ability to communicate with me directly regardless of our respective locations, and send you to speak with her. Then I would not have to deal with her tediousness."
bitterchill
"Would that let me talk to you when you're not in this world? We could be dimensionpals!"
andomega
Suddenly, there is the sound of a great choir, as if from some distance. From a ray of light descends a figure. She sits in the spare armchair and folds her arms over her chest, glaring.
"Excuse me! We were talking. What the hell is taking you so long?"
"Excuse me! We were talking. What the hell is taking you so long?"
ending-of
"Talking to you was becoming extremely tedious. This person has been convincing me to continue, perhaps by letting him talk to you for me."
andomega
"Well, that's just fucking dandy. Sorry for not polishing up on my conversational skills while keeping my reality safe from the endless hordes of the void."
ending-of
The administrator regards God for a few seconds, and then turns to Ari and says in her usual dry tones, "Please help."
bitterchill
Ari looks around helplessly. The Administrator may be able to completely ignore God's aura of power, but he doesn't have that privilege. "Um... ma'am?" he begins. "I understand that you're angry, but the Administrator is... well, I'm not going to say trying to help, but willing to help if you'll work with her."
(Over in his corner, Mortimer appears to have fainted.)
(Over in his corner, Mortimer appears to have fainted.)
andomega
"Sure. Work with her. What can she do about the Outsiders? Because I'm using up ridiculous amounts of power hedging them out already, so unless she'd like to give me a universe-sized battery, this looks like a waste of my time."
ending-of
"I do not yet know what I can do about the Outsiders, but I think your power and mine work very, very differently, and it is possible I could arrive at a solution not available to you. For example, if this were my domain, I would not need to expend energy to contain the Outsiders. They would either be contained, or not. And it seems I would prefer them contained."
andomega
"Again, dandy. I can do that within my domain too, the problem is that the Outsiders aren't part of that domain. I can change the laws of physics, manipulate probability until it breaks like a Happy Meal toy, declare that a particular species no longer exists and never did- that's what happened to the Autumn Court of Faerie, bye bye assholes- but I can't declare shit about the Outsiders. I have to use the belief energy I get from worshippers in this world, for that. Which is not especially potent, by which I mean it amounts to wet tissue paper against the tentaclebastards. The faeries and the wizards help, they've got an illogically huge army defending the Outer Gates and a squad devoted to repairing the fabric of my reality respectively, but all that means is the place is covered in duct tape and fucking Band-Aids."
ending-of
"This seems inefficient," the administrator observes. "Have you considered moving?"
ending-of
"I have connected this universe to my domain," she explains. "Anything that is permanently destroyed here is available to me to recreate elsewhere. If the universe itself were permanently destroyed, I would have no trouble recreating it elsewhere without the infinite expanse of horrible monsters attached."
ending-of
It occurs to her to add, "Depending on how thoroughly you are able to destroy the universe, it may be necessary to transport you and this person separately from the rest, since he is indestructible and I am not sure of your destructibility."
bitterchill
Ari is nursing an increasingly blinding headache from God's aura of power, but he can still hear. He hears an alarming amount of talk about destroying the universe, which is "any."
He trusts the Administrator, though. She made him immortal and all. He may even trust her to get rid of this headache. "M'head hurts? Could some god fix that?"
He trusts the Administrator, though. She made him immortal and all. He may even trust her to get rid of this headache. "M'head hurts? Could some god fix that?"
ending-of
"Hmm." The administrator considers this request for a few seconds. Then she says: "Yes."
No more headache.
No more headache.
andomega
God clears her throat insistently. "So, what you're saying is that if I decree this whole mess out of existence, it'll be reconstructed in your wherever the hell you're from and I can fuck off to Acapulco and drink Piña Coladas for the next millennium? Is that what I'm hearing here? I get to burn the world in one last blaze of glory and live stress-free forever? Is this what's going down? Because I am on this train."