Murphy's World - 1
Nov. 1st, 2007 01:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maychorianFirst chapter! Didn't quite hit the mark, but I'm not going to artificially stretch out a finished scene just to hit an arbitrary number. No doubt I'll start work on the second chapter later today, so I'm sure I'll hit the word count for the day at some point.
I'm not going to write the whole novel in second person, by the way. That was just for this introduction--I thought it might be fun. It was, too.
Murphy’s World
Chapter 1: The Best Vacation Ever
“First time here, I take it?”
The sky is a transparent blue, the clouds impossibly fluffy, the sun soft yellow, the temperature that perfect mixture of spring and fall. You squint at the two urchins who met you as you crossed the threshold, youngsters dressed in improbable outfits with pieces from every era of fashion: a medieval shirt, Renaissance trousers, battered cowman hat, twentieth century Reeboks, and oh please God don’t let that be a dark age-style codpiece.
The one who spoke is still grinning impishly, and tips his baseball cap, which is emblazoned with a name you’ve never heard of. The other one, the one wearing what cannot be a codpiece, smiles more quietly, but with no less joy.
“Lemme guess—you saw a door, right? One that looked normal? And you were clear tuckered from your latest battle with the forces of darkness so you just figured you’d take a little kip through, and hey presto, you didn’t expect this! Am I right?”
He nudges his companion, who nods affably. “Not half!”
You blink. They wait. You blink again. The talkative one tilts his head. “’Sall right, noober, everything’s square-rigged—you’ve not gone glocky. You’ve just had a bit of luck is all, after probably a run of bad, hey? I’m Muffin, and this here is Limey. Welcome to Murphy’s World!”
They shake your hand as you stand there limply, taking it in turns, Muffin then Limey, and then again in the same order. They are enthusiastic, bright, almost sweet in their grimy, street-rat way. But then you blink again and realize that they aren’t dirty, actually, like all the homeless people in your world. They’re quite clean. Just mismatched.
“So what’s your name? Where you from?”
You frown. You want to believe that all of this is true, but you’ve dealt with too many deceptions. Your enemy is clever. No doubt he knows that you are weary, past your endurance, desperate for a rest. This could all be a trap. It usually is.
“What is this place?” you ask. “Why is it called Murphy’s World?”
Muffin grins even more widely, then strokes his chin with thumb and forefinger as if pondering, his other arm folded over his chest in what appears to be a well-practiced pose. He is clearly delighted to be asked for his wisdom. And he’s milking the moment for all it’s worth.
Finally Limey shakes his head and sighs, shuffling toward you in his aborigine-style moccasins. He leans forward and beckons with a small hand, forcing you to stoop slightly in order to listen. “You have Murphy’s Law in your world?”
You nod. “If anything can go wrong, it will.”
“Righto. Well, this place is the exact opposite of Murphy’s Law. So it got called Murphy’s World.”
“Bit of irony, if you will,” Muffin adds, shoving Limey lightly aside to take the spotlight again. He does not seem upset that his friend told you this in his place—still grinning, still excited—there must be a lot more to tell. Great.
You’re too tired for this. “Just tell me.” You add a bit of a growl this time and widen your stance. This was all it took to make the Lady Onisiros of Cincinnati Castle tell you everything you needed to know. “What is this place?”
Muffin huffs a little, then steps to the side and gestures grandly at the bustling square behind him. “This is the place where everything and everyone comes to take a day off!”
The square is full of . . . people. To use the term loosely. You’ve seen some incredible things in your journey, wonders and amazements beyond the realm of the possible, but this! This is more. This is everything combined, shaken loosely, and set free to do what it likes. Creatures of every shape and description, strange weapons, colorful clothes, hulking machines clanking along on two legs, gleaming armor that might actually be made of plastic, wands and staffs and arrows and guns and lazer rifles and . . . and . . . is that a flying car? Why couldn’t your civilization develop a flying car? You are unspeakably envious.
Limey pats your arm kindly. “’Sall right,” he says in an amazingly gentle voice, smiling sweetly. “You're safe here. Well, safe enough.”
Muffin grabs your left hand, Limey your right, and they start tugging you away from the wall you’ve been standing against, pulling you into the seething crowd. “Come have a drink, noober. You gotta sit down before you fall down.”
“But, but . . .” You crane your head back to look whence you came, and a small, flying woman buzzes by directly in front of your nose, muttering something about fruit. “But I have to get back . . . the world is depending on me . . . Archmage Burstis is going to take over the United States in a matter of hours, and he’ll plunge all of the Columbian Continents into chaos . . .”
The two urchins tug a little harder. “No worries, mate,” Muffin says with irrepressible cheer. “Your door’s gone, right? Means Murphy’s World knows you need a break. Door’ll come back when you’re rested up, and you’ll step through right as rain to find everything just as you left it. This is the place where everything goes right, remember?”
“Well, eventually,” Limey says.
“But the door thing is true. How many times we gotta tell you that everything’s roses for you now?”
“A few more,” you say softly. This crazy world is starting gray in and out around you.
Fortunately, the kids are stronger they look, and don’t seem to have much trouble keeping you on your feet, even still wearing all of your stealth armor. Then, with a crack and a boom, the world really does turn dark gray. And then the sky is pouring rain, dripping down your back, getting in your eyes, cold and stinging, and it wakes you right up.
“You mean the weather isn’t always perfect here?” You gasp as Muffin and Limey start pulling you faster, and the crowd in the square begins to hurry out of the rain. Except for one huddle of beings who appear to be reveling in it.
“Course not, noober. Even thunderheads need a day off!”
“Too right!” Limey yells above the storm.
“And then they come here! Everything comes here! Told you, din’t I?”
They haul you through the rain and under a dark green awning, then push you through a swinging door. You’re expecting a typical tavern, cheap and greasy, like you find on every corner in your world. But this place is swanky, with tablecloths and everything. You let yourself be pushed down at a table, and Muffin and Limey take seats on either side. They scoop up their menus, “hmm” to themselves, nod at each other, and put the menus down, all in a terrifying unison.
Muffin tips you a wink. “No worries, I’ll order for all. Oy! Waiter!”
Forty-two minutes later you accept a toothpick from the solicitous, towel-carrying waiter and contentedly pick your teeth, indulging a large burp of pleasure. You’re beginning to get the hang of this world. Muffin’s chattering through the entire meal—frequently punctuated by a “Righto!”, “Not half!” or “Too right!” from Limey—has done much to de-mystify the entire thing.
“So this is where gourmet chefs come to relax, huh?” you ask.
“Only the ones who have a hankering for an easy job.” Muffin nods. “When you’ve had some failures in the kitchen, it’s nice to come to a place where everything goes easy.”
“Chefs who want a full-on vacation go elsewhere,” Limey says. “Usually Tahiti, I think.”
“Bahamas, too, heard that one a lot.”
“Too right.”
You cast a casual eye over the dessert menu. “I’ve never heard of chocolate cheese torte with bumbleberry fruit. Must be good though.”
“Not half!” they exclaim together.
You pat the pouch on your belt, listening to the sad clink of only two coins inside. “My cash is a little light, though.”
Muffin opens his mouth. “Oh, no . . .”
“No worries, right?” You interrupt with a grin. “Let me guess. The monetary system is taking a day off, too.”
Muffin grins back. “Only on your first day, mate. After that you’ll have to earn some coin.”
“But it’ll be easy,” Limey says.
You lean back in your chair and fold your hands over your stomach with a tiny sigh. This is definitely the weirdest place you’ve ever been. But you can already tell that this is going to be your best vacation ever.
I'm not going to write the whole novel in second person, by the way. That was just for this introduction--I thought it might be fun. It was, too.
Murphy’s World
Chapter 1: The Best Vacation Ever
“First time here, I take it?”
The sky is a transparent blue, the clouds impossibly fluffy, the sun soft yellow, the temperature that perfect mixture of spring and fall. You squint at the two urchins who met you as you crossed the threshold, youngsters dressed in improbable outfits with pieces from every era of fashion: a medieval shirt, Renaissance trousers, battered cowman hat, twentieth century Reeboks, and oh please God don’t let that be a dark age-style codpiece.
The one who spoke is still grinning impishly, and tips his baseball cap, which is emblazoned with a name you’ve never heard of. The other one, the one wearing what cannot be a codpiece, smiles more quietly, but with no less joy.
“Lemme guess—you saw a door, right? One that looked normal? And you were clear tuckered from your latest battle with the forces of darkness so you just figured you’d take a little kip through, and hey presto, you didn’t expect this! Am I right?”
He nudges his companion, who nods affably. “Not half!”
You blink. They wait. You blink again. The talkative one tilts his head. “’Sall right, noober, everything’s square-rigged—you’ve not gone glocky. You’ve just had a bit of luck is all, after probably a run of bad, hey? I’m Muffin, and this here is Limey. Welcome to Murphy’s World!”
They shake your hand as you stand there limply, taking it in turns, Muffin then Limey, and then again in the same order. They are enthusiastic, bright, almost sweet in their grimy, street-rat way. But then you blink again and realize that they aren’t dirty, actually, like all the homeless people in your world. They’re quite clean. Just mismatched.
“So what’s your name? Where you from?”
You frown. You want to believe that all of this is true, but you’ve dealt with too many deceptions. Your enemy is clever. No doubt he knows that you are weary, past your endurance, desperate for a rest. This could all be a trap. It usually is.
“What is this place?” you ask. “Why is it called Murphy’s World?”
Muffin grins even more widely, then strokes his chin with thumb and forefinger as if pondering, his other arm folded over his chest in what appears to be a well-practiced pose. He is clearly delighted to be asked for his wisdom. And he’s milking the moment for all it’s worth.
Finally Limey shakes his head and sighs, shuffling toward you in his aborigine-style moccasins. He leans forward and beckons with a small hand, forcing you to stoop slightly in order to listen. “You have Murphy’s Law in your world?”
You nod. “If anything can go wrong, it will.”
“Righto. Well, this place is the exact opposite of Murphy’s Law. So it got called Murphy’s World.”
“Bit of irony, if you will,” Muffin adds, shoving Limey lightly aside to take the spotlight again. He does not seem upset that his friend told you this in his place—still grinning, still excited—there must be a lot more to tell. Great.
You’re too tired for this. “Just tell me.” You add a bit of a growl this time and widen your stance. This was all it took to make the Lady Onisiros of Cincinnati Castle tell you everything you needed to know. “What is this place?”
Muffin huffs a little, then steps to the side and gestures grandly at the bustling square behind him. “This is the place where everything and everyone comes to take a day off!”
The square is full of . . . people. To use the term loosely. You’ve seen some incredible things in your journey, wonders and amazements beyond the realm of the possible, but this! This is more. This is everything combined, shaken loosely, and set free to do what it likes. Creatures of every shape and description, strange weapons, colorful clothes, hulking machines clanking along on two legs, gleaming armor that might actually be made of plastic, wands and staffs and arrows and guns and lazer rifles and . . . and . . . is that a flying car? Why couldn’t your civilization develop a flying car? You are unspeakably envious.
Limey pats your arm kindly. “’Sall right,” he says in an amazingly gentle voice, smiling sweetly. “You're safe here. Well, safe enough.”
Muffin grabs your left hand, Limey your right, and they start tugging you away from the wall you’ve been standing against, pulling you into the seething crowd. “Come have a drink, noober. You gotta sit down before you fall down.”
“But, but . . .” You crane your head back to look whence you came, and a small, flying woman buzzes by directly in front of your nose, muttering something about fruit. “But I have to get back . . . the world is depending on me . . . Archmage Burstis is going to take over the United States in a matter of hours, and he’ll plunge all of the Columbian Continents into chaos . . .”
The two urchins tug a little harder. “No worries, mate,” Muffin says with irrepressible cheer. “Your door’s gone, right? Means Murphy’s World knows you need a break. Door’ll come back when you’re rested up, and you’ll step through right as rain to find everything just as you left it. This is the place where everything goes right, remember?”
“Well, eventually,” Limey says.
“But the door thing is true. How many times we gotta tell you that everything’s roses for you now?”
“A few more,” you say softly. This crazy world is starting gray in and out around you.
Fortunately, the kids are stronger they look, and don’t seem to have much trouble keeping you on your feet, even still wearing all of your stealth armor. Then, with a crack and a boom, the world really does turn dark gray. And then the sky is pouring rain, dripping down your back, getting in your eyes, cold and stinging, and it wakes you right up.
“You mean the weather isn’t always perfect here?” You gasp as Muffin and Limey start pulling you faster, and the crowd in the square begins to hurry out of the rain. Except for one huddle of beings who appear to be reveling in it.
“Course not, noober. Even thunderheads need a day off!”
“Too right!” Limey yells above the storm.
“And then they come here! Everything comes here! Told you, din’t I?”
They haul you through the rain and under a dark green awning, then push you through a swinging door. You’re expecting a typical tavern, cheap and greasy, like you find on every corner in your world. But this place is swanky, with tablecloths and everything. You let yourself be pushed down at a table, and Muffin and Limey take seats on either side. They scoop up their menus, “hmm” to themselves, nod at each other, and put the menus down, all in a terrifying unison.
Muffin tips you a wink. “No worries, I’ll order for all. Oy! Waiter!”
Forty-two minutes later you accept a toothpick from the solicitous, towel-carrying waiter and contentedly pick your teeth, indulging a large burp of pleasure. You’re beginning to get the hang of this world. Muffin’s chattering through the entire meal—frequently punctuated by a “Righto!”, “Not half!” or “Too right!” from Limey—has done much to de-mystify the entire thing.
“So this is where gourmet chefs come to relax, huh?” you ask.
“Only the ones who have a hankering for an easy job.” Muffin nods. “When you’ve had some failures in the kitchen, it’s nice to come to a place where everything goes easy.”
“Chefs who want a full-on vacation go elsewhere,” Limey says. “Usually Tahiti, I think.”
“Bahamas, too, heard that one a lot.”
“Too right.”
You cast a casual eye over the dessert menu. “I’ve never heard of chocolate cheese torte with bumbleberry fruit. Must be good though.”
“Not half!” they exclaim together.
You pat the pouch on your belt, listening to the sad clink of only two coins inside. “My cash is a little light, though.”
Muffin opens his mouth. “Oh, no . . .”
“No worries, right?” You interrupt with a grin. “Let me guess. The monetary system is taking a day off, too.”
Muffin grins back. “Only on your first day, mate. After that you’ll have to earn some coin.”
“But it’ll be easy,” Limey says.
You lean back in your chair and fold your hands over your stomach with a tiny sigh. This is definitely the weirdest place you’ve ever been. But you can already tell that this is going to be your best vacation ever.
