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Part 8 of Alexander's Accounts, continuing from time spent in the flat and conspiring ways to take on the government

The stairs. They were long and winding, somewhat tight and steep, even for me. There were scratch marks from furniture having been carried, the items which the movers had thought weren't too awkward to need to use the complicated and involved pulley system outside.

It made Artemis stumble a little. It was almost humorous. Well, until we reached the bottom.

He looked down at me from a stair as i stood in the before-front-door part of the flat. “Hold on tight, keep your head within my arms, it'll protect you."

So, i clambered onto his body.

And we ventured out of the house, i seeing nothing, feeling the material of the shirt almost rhythmically rub against my forehead.

Shouting, screaming, the true vigilantes saying it was illegal to carry humans, that they wanted to shoot, that they would. 

I trusted that they wouldn't dare. Artemis's bicep was just too vulnerable. If he got hurt, that'd be illegal, it'd be assault. 

And i was reminded that if i got hurt, the government would be happy, too happy.

So, the shouting continued. Artemis began running, i could feel it in the way his steps were getting much more violent, his body more chaotic.

But he suddenly stopped. And i felt a few drops of some cold liquid trace my shirt.

It hurt, a lot. You know that pain when you get some high-concentration cleaning product in the wrong area?

Imagine that but ten times worse. Twenty times worse. A hundred times worse. Flashes of red in my brain, the pain bouncing around. Something is seriously wrong.

I am going to die.

Artemis screamed in fury,.

“If you don't abandon him, i'll douse you, too", said a worryingly calm gang member.

Artemis simply ran.

We passed a door. We went upstairs.

I couldn't process much sensory input anymore. The pain was surrounding my consciousness, ganging up on it, trying to uproot it.

I will die very soon.

A hard surface i was put on, uncomfortable, my chin pushed up by some kind of surface. Cold. A heavy feeling on my back. Cold water, i think. Felt as spiky as most cold water would.

Scissors, cutting my shirt. It was somewhat relieving. The pain was slowly getting less intense as the offending fabric was removed.

I could hear Artemis on a call. “A doctor". The water was loud. “Yes, here, possible acid attack." The water was a little more uncomfortable. “He's right here, yeah, it's being washed away, yeah, True Vigilantes. No, no, not human, i promise."

The phone call ended.

And i was lying here, in the cold, waiting. Fuck the True Vigilantes.

Minutes slipped past me. New conscious experience was the same as the last, monotonous but still overstimulating. Time was lost track of, the world becoming just a place my body inhabited. I tried to find way to leave my body, to abandon it to the pain.

But it sucks. My brain and my body connected for their own health. I've heard of people who didn't feel real, who felt disconnected. Maybe i'd understand disassociation soon.

Maybe i wouldn't.

Maybe i would. Numbness. The feeling of watching life through a TV, detached. Detached. De attached. Removed.

The TV reached to grab me with tendrils of pain. But it was weaker, gentler, less intolerable.

So, the minutes continued to slip by. I slipped by, a little. A door opened. A doctor came in. “Do you have the cure?", asked Artemis.

The guy at the door closed it behind him, i just about heard. “Yeah. Calcium Gluconate gel, for skin exposure."

“Good", said Artemis. “He's right there, in the shower."

They moved towards the bathroom.

“This is illegal", said the doctor. “You know how the government's been cracking down."

Artemis sighed. Paused for a second. And he spoke in a stern tone. “You're a fucking doctor. You take care of life, no matter who's."

The doctor just chuckled after a short pause. “Well, he's going to die anyways, so i don't understand the point."

“You better fucking heal him or i'll do it myself", Artemis said.

“Do it yourself then.", said the doctor as he, no, it got ready to leave.

I'm using “it" here. It helped to dehumanise those who wanted to de-human the world.

And i could hear Artemis lunge at him, rip his pockets, grab the cure. And he pushed the doctor out of the door, slammed the door. Probably. My hearing was not that good. “I'm doing it by my fucking self!", screamed my werewolf.

Shouting, outside, couldn't understand it. I could understand the gunshots and the sound of bullets hitting the wall.

“Don't worry, the door's steel-reinforced, steel deadbolts. This house is our stronghold.", said Artemis.

And he turned off the shower, put on a latex glove, i could hear the material being stretched. "It's a hydrofloric acid attack."

He applied some of the gel to his hand.

He put it on my back. Cold gel, warm glove. He massaged it in. "You're going to need to eat a lot of calcium. Sardines for you, i guess.

And it felt nice to be massaged by him. It made the pain slightly worse, a little, but it was ok.

My neck, i guess, was only going to get more sore, pushed back by the… bathtub, right? Well, the bathtub walls.

And the tingles coursed through me. I liked the feeling of the calcium gel being rubbed into my back, to repair the damage.

“I need to go get calcium supplements", he said. “Well, unless the pharmacies are blocked… do you like sardines?"

"Yeah, that's fine", i said.

He nodded and had a little of a less tense expression. “Well, let's get you up. Can you stand?"

“Let's try."

He brought down an arm and turned me over, my wet trousers clinging to my skin.

I used my arms to grab the walls and bring the view of this place into my eyes.

And there, around me, was the flat. Slightly modernistic. A real stronghold, of course, steel bars cutting past the wallpaper.

Here, with Artemis, with the strong walls, with everything they'd done, we'd be able to survive, maybe thrive. We'd be safe and secure within here.

I like that idea, a fort, a fort just for us two. A base of operations for what would become the largest house… cartel, right?

Well no, not a collection of owners but a monopoly, a monopoly on the housing market. I remember playing Monopoly at home. I always somehow ended up second in the games. Hey, i wonder what kind of Monopoly board the werewolves have? Named after south city streets? Was Mayfair somewhere near some kind of portal property, the place for trade? Was Old Kent Road some boring untamed place in the middle of nowhere?

“Hey, get up", said Artemis. “You've gone inside yourself again."

So, i tried to get up. My back pain had reduced somewhat but yet still i staggered to sit on the nearest chair.

I was toweled down by Artemis's gentle hands and my trousers replaced.

I was brought back into the land of living, i guess.

“Careful, the internal symptoms won't care to show themselves for a while"; said Artemis. “I should go to get the supplements", he said.

And he took a look at me, dry and safe. He let out a quick glance and opened to door to let himself out. Then he closed it, remaining on the same side of it as i.

“Non futuis que?" he asked.

“Let's go for 'las lycanthroporii'", i said. I didn't care i was mixing cases and languages.

“Las lycanthroporii, bonus", he said.

“Not bonus, concordatum est, let's say", i said.

“Ok then, so, 'las lyncahtroporii, concordatum est', yeah?"

I nodded in agreement, with the faintest hint of cringe to the accent.

And the door was opened, closed behind him. And yet again i was alone in a flat, a damsel in not-too-much distress.

And i was happier here, too. I peeked out of the window and saw what was down below me. A restaurant offering appropriated Japanese food. Come to think of it, i'd never been in a werewolvian sushi restaurant. I'd guess that it wouldn't be anything as genuine as even the most egregiously in-genuine American “sushi" restaurant.

I estimated 75% odds that i'd see seal script characters and text written purely in Chinese rather then with the bubbly hiragana forms of Japanese cutting between characters.

If i needed it, it'd at least be ready to accept me for my precise hands and take me to work. So, i guess, if i did get too bored here i'd go there. Maybe talk with Artemis first, though.

Hey, fuck this, does he have any books in this house?

Maybe he did. So, i got up, to wander my new home. It was a nice one, somewhat retro in the best way. Not old and tired, something strong and state-of-the-art. Artemis made a brilliant choice.

The shelves i found had only three books, left by the previous homeowner. Lesbian erotica, one titled "The humble human; danger in the smallest package", and a book on the north, looking anti-north-biased.

Hmm. Not a good selection. But maybe i'd find comedic value in the middle book.

So, i took it, put it on the table, opened it. And i began reading, seeing what the author had to say. What they just had to say.

“Humans have always been a point of contention for the Werewolf Society, always threatening to destabalise the utopia we have built from the tears of our ancestors.", it opened.

“From the Prachet-Irving incident in Wyoming and his subsequent zoophilic pursuits, the werewolvian species has been subjected to what amounts to torture from the human world", it continued.

And i thought a little. These were quite genuine arguments, after all; the werewolf world, historically, was built from a lot of hard work on the part of the werewolves. They somehow tamed parts of a wild expanse to become a model society, based somewhat off the ideas that their native Wyoming was under.

But i found it fell short. “Zoophilic" was probably a bit strong for today's werewolves, burly men in hairy bodies, but in Prachet's time, just a few hours after inception? Valid. Brains take a while to develop, after all.

I guess i continued, mainly to laugh at extreme people doing things which couldn't hurt many. At least not directly.

“From the various resource plundering incidents in our realm to their apparent disgust for us through their making the portals so secret, it's obvious they want nothing to do with us, only what we give them.", it said.

But no, that's not true at all, not when i didn't even know about werewolves until the night before i was kidnapped.

“Yet still some of them infiltrate the world and do the most dirty acts with werewolves, from murder incidents to the unmentionable, the act of continuing Prachet-Irving's grisly legacy of defilement to the werewolvian species."

Ah, of course. Eh.

“One really must digress here and talk about how humans are likely the ugliest members of the animal selection. Fugly generalists, a jack-of-all-specialisations. Werewolves do far better in this regard and are likely the purest species, the most apt to carry the legacy of intelligence."

I continued reading and watched how the book kept going into crazier and crazier territory.

I ended up laughing at the claims they had built atop a stack of cards, of irrelevant and crazy claims. I'd reached the point the author was arguing that humans were incapable of sustaining society with the “increasing" number of LGBT people. They were calling it a virus.

Well, it was only really about the human version. The werewolf version was heralded as “beautiful variance" and “the deliciousness of diversity". Well, everything save for the werewolf-human relations. That was condemned as “a lowest sin" and a “perverted reminder of Prachet-Irving". Ew.

Was this seriously what the True Vigilantes based their ideas upon? It's downright problematic.

Not that i really minded. I did like to look at negativity, at crazies, at weird guys. I didn't like to do it often yet still it was fun.

I read some more. Laughed a little more.

A knock on the door. I put the book page-down and found a position where i could unlock the deadbolts. “Non futuis que?", i asked the knocker.

“las lyncahtroporii, concordatum est"

I almost laugh-cringed at the accent, again, and opened the door to welcome in Artemis. “I found this book, very anti-human. It's hilarious!"

“I was about to burn it", he said.

“Not yet, i need some comic relief."

“I think you need calcium", said Artemis. “The symptoms are hidden, apparently. Well, it's apparent now, what with the book."

“I want milk, i've heard its good for calcium. Do you have any?", i asked.

He looked at me with a little of a wide-eyed WTF kind of expression. “I literally fought for your life. I'm not in the mood to have sex…!"

I glanced at him, empty-eyed. “No, like milk from the fridge…!"

“I'm not one of those fetishists, please, stop."

I shook my head and put my face in my hands. “No, no, no, cow's milk."

“You're zoophilic. You disgust me", he said. Was there a hint of humor, sarcasm, maybe satire in his voice?

"Don't you werewolves drink milk?", i asked.

“No… aren't humans supposed to be lactose intolerant?", he asked.

Fuck. I forgot. Lactose tolerance was an oddity of the human species alone. I just quietly forgot about the absence of milk in all the shops, the way my milk had to be either expensively imported or synthesised.

“Oh.", i said. “Well, not me… and i think many humans are also tolerant."

“I heard that one third of you are intolerant", said Artemis. “You're not?"

“Well, i come from a genetic lineage which usually has lactose tolerance", i said.

“Hmm", said Artemis. “So, how do you like your salmon?"

Er… salmon? My favorite meat was Artemis. “No pills, really?"

“They didn't have any left, said the gang would need to see a prescription."

Ugh. This gang is ruining my life.

Eh, i guess salmon is fine. Maybe it had come form some river, swimming against the flow to leave its legacy, maybe it had partook in a massive leap forwards for its species, an evolutionary leap.

Was i a salmon? There was certainly a flow i'd be pushing against to lay the seeds of a bettered society, and i was already suffering.

Whatever. I could smell cooking, Artemis frying it, preparing it. Had i blanked-out?

Eh.

And it was at the table, suddenly, somehow.

I remember a Reddit post about landlord's post-its. I saw the blue flame of the stove. I connected the concepts and formed a self-diagnosis.

“Open the window, now", i commanded Artemis.

“What for?"

What for? I forgot. Felt important, though. “Open it. Quick."

He stood in place. “But the heating…, it's expensive"

“Do it now", i said. I was getting shakey, tired.

The window was opened. Cold air hit me. Fresh cold air. It brought me to some sense.

I turned to look at the almost-manslaughtering werewolf. “Artemis, this flat will give you carbon monoxide poisoning."

He wore a shocked expression. “And humans are twenty hundred times more sensitive to it then werewolves."

What else was here waiting to destroy me?

Stay tuned for part 9, in which Alexander discovers more about the house. And of the people of other houses. Maybe even the current moon phase is useful.

Some notes:

• World
  • Yes, the houses are like those in the Netherlands, with pulley-systems for furniture.
• Storytelling
  • Indebted's moral was “don't get in debt". I wonder what it'll be here. Maybe “You CAN win against impossible forces" or “There is no such thing as utopia" (because, TBH, the werewolf society is designed to make the commoner's life easy, as long as you follow their rules and are a werewolf).
  • I wonder how far suspension of disbelief can be pushed. You're already imagining characters living in weird worlds filled with werewolves who have developed their own government from human systems yet still want to kill humans. Where is the line between “ok, so this is believable" and “this is an ass-pull". Was it the portals? Was it the wizard opening this whole realm?
  • Hell, my own suspension of disbelief IRL has been challenged. The chemical Alexander has on his skin is very real but dosen't seem like it should be. Quantum physicals almost, perhaps do, feel very much non-real.
  • Maybe the moral of parts 7 and 8 and maybe 9 could be “Please be careful in the chemistry lab" because this acid is too real.
  • Eh when you're reading conflict written by me don't expect too much because i live with the infohazard of plot armour wearing heavy on everything i read so i end up preferring stories filled with monolouges and creating plans and following their execution rather then scenes that rely on the question of “Will they survive?".
  • And the thing about writing is that it's harder to do that kind of scene without plot armour. In movies, you can change who the camera is following, but in stories, especially those of the first person, a lot relies on being inside the characters.