INTRAMUSCLAR 2.05 (Patreon)

FUCK IT! I feel like writing more Viscerae! I want to pull ahead! I want to have a backlog! Graaaah! This is the earliest I've put out a chapter in a while, and I intend to capitalize on that energy like a good lil american (ugh), which means it's time to push forward for more!

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“Recorder’s rolling? Yes? Alright, good. I have a feeling about this one.

“Oh fuck off, I do not have a feeling about all of them. Don’t be rude, and don’t interrupt the recording! Shoo! …Alright then.

“First card, first question: whose presence have I felt?

“Result: The Fool, reversed. A lot more bleeding than usual, especially from the ground, and the pathway behind the figure is… strange. Sort of like a spiral? Someone new, or at least new to what they’re doing, but major, still in ignorance and reluctant to start the journey.

“Second card, second question. What does the figure I have felt desire at this moment?

“Result is… a weird one. Two cards stuck together, one behind the other. The Hermit, reversed- and peeking out from behind it, stuck together with something like… sap? Death, upright. A… desire to hide? To seek solitude and not process something- but deeper down, a desire for change. A bit on the nose, though. They’re usually… more abstract than this. Never gotten a two-for-one before. This feels… direct. 

“Third card, third question: what can this new player do?

“Result is- oh fuck off. That can’t be right.

“Result is The World. Inverted, but that’s not an inverted meaning for this card. Enlightenment, divinity, immortality. That’s fucked. I-

“Huh.

“Ok, clarification… this is my World card, but it’s modified, like the Fool. Smaller modification, comparatively. At the feet of the World, inverted, so upright, is a small… well, it looks like a tower. It… kind of looks like the Tower. 

“...Final card. Final question. From what does this particular Fool draw its power?

“Result: The Magician. His eyes are missing, and his fingers are… wrong. The robes are open, and inside, it’s… I don’t really know how to describe that.

“Yeah. I’m… I think we’re gonna have to deal with this one.

“I did tell you I had a feeling about this.”

-Audio recording on cassette, stored in a small box in a secret compartment behind a wall. Currently sits next to thirty-eight similar tapes.

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I can feel my knuckles straining against the bat.

Not today. Not now. This… I had this. This shitty little fucking- this fucked up pointless little service job was mine. Just for today! Just for right now!

And here’s… something new. Something that I didn’t even notice at first.

Chuck and co already left me on edge. I’m tall. I’ve got pretty big shoulders. I used to do sports, back as a teen. But three grown men, construction workers, could find me in an alley and beat me to death like that. Some stranger who I can’t even perceive? Who walked right in and sat not ten feet from me with barely a hint of their presence?

I take in a slow breath through my nose. In, 1, 2, 3. Out, 1, 2, 3. 

I walk over to that side of the bar, the baseball bat still in my hand, kept at a grip that feels comfortable.

“Beer’s for paying customers. I don’t do friends and family discounts, and you’re not either anyways.”

A laugh. I… think that the figure throws their head back? Expressive about it? But I’m not sure. A laugh happens, just like speech happens, just like their presence, here, happens- but the details of it are just missing.

“Gonna let me talk myself thirsty, hmm?”

“Tap water’s free.”

“Sure, I’ll take a glass.”

“All out.”

“All out of-”

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and why I can’t tell who you are, and then maybe, maybe, I’ll poison you with whatever Jonah calls tap water after I’m sure you’re not gonna try something.”

Another laugh occurs. I notice the eye on the back of a hand on the bar, how it blindly rolls back and forth. Focusing on it seems to make it sort of… frantic? Like it’s getting anxious, the blind, off-white pupil starting to twitch beneath the red paint that crosses it out. 

Another hand covers the back of the first one. Not aggressively, not even hurriedly- an action meant to appear innocuous, I think. The figure smiles, an action which involves lips and teeth- neither of which I can describe.

…I can’t see what or who they are. I can’t describe them with any details at all. 

Can I describe what they aren’t?

“I have no intention of causing trouble, but you can’t expect people like us not to be a little paranoid, meeting for the first time, hmm?”

I focus, tracking lips that… aren’t pink. They aren’t red. They aren’t blue, they’re-

“What do you mean by ‘people like us’, stranger?”

The person shrugs. Their shoulders aren’t broad. “Oh, you know. Us weirdos. Strangers. People who… notice things.”

They move their hand away, and I can’t help it- my eyes dash back to the pupil. It briefly looks like it’s trying to look at me, but then it’s covered again.

…ok.

This… could be a good thing. Someone to talk to. Someone who knows something about all this. 

It could also be dangerous. More dangerous than an empty house in the woods, maybe. That, at least in theory, can’t actively intend to harm me- or sneak up on me in the quiet.

They think I know something. Which, fair- I do know something. I know a few things, maybe. I might not know what those things mean, or how they connect, and I might not know what they think that I know, but… 

I know enough to fake it, probably. I’m a pretty good actor. Lots of experience with interpersonal pretending. 

“Yeah. I’ve noticed some things.”

Another smile, from lips that aren’t any color I can think of except green. I don’t think they are green, I can’t describe them as green, I don’t see green when I look at them- but I’ve run through most of the other colors I know, and it isn’t those. Green lipstick, maybe. 

“I’d be disappointed if not. I’ve heard big things about you. Making waves. Quite a splash on arrival. Been an eventful week, has it?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like that. Mmh. Been a few years since someone like us came through town, and they didn’t seem like the type to stick around. Our… little community, here, we’ve got a pretty good thing going. You’ve brought up a lot of mess… but I notice that you’re not new here. You didn’t just pop up. You’ve been here, haven’t you? Ilia Silva. Down river way, over in that bunch of condos. Three roommates, not a lot of friends, not a lot of money, moved to town two years ago as of… what, a month ago? Happy anniversary.”

“I don’t think anyone calls a move-in date an anniversary, but thanks.”

“Words are made up. Point being, I don’t know why you came here, but I know that it was more than a week ago. I know that you’ve got someone all up in a tizzy. I’m seeing strangers in town that I’m not used to seeing. I figured it would be… rude. To knock on your door, interrupt you at home. This is a bit of a safer environment, no?”

I raise an eyebrow, looking around. Dim lighting, brick walls, rough customers, and Jonah’s reputation don’t make for what I would call a safe environment.

But I do prefer meeting here to thinking that this person with shoulders that aren’t broad and lips that aren’t anything but green. It’s… a strange consideration, but a notable one. Diplomatic approach, maybe.

Huh.

They… don’t know what I know. They clearly have the ability to look me up, somehow or other, an ability to figure out who I am, how long I’ve been in town, all that basic mess- but none of that ties directly into the events of the last week. They haven’t mentioned anything explicit at all about that. 

Maybe they’re as much in the dark about me as I am about them. Well, less than I am about them, considering they at least know my name, but still. It’s possible that they don’t know what I can do. They know enough to know that I know or can do something, but maybe that’s it. If they could just figure out everything they needed, why approach me at all? Why bother with this whole mess?

“I… appreciate the discretion,” I say. It’s easy to say, because it’s true, but also because it doesn’t really say anything at all. “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone here, either, but at least here, I can bash your brains in if you try something.”

A laugh- but this one isn’t jovial, isn’t comfortable. Can’t describe what it is, but it’s not those two. 

It’s a dangerous game. I’m not the best at reading people, but I work harder because of it. It’s a skill I’m proud of. Trying to tell what someone’s feeling, what they can do, how they’re responding, purely by what they’re not doing, is a fucking guessing game at best. 

They could be intimidated by my little “threat display”. They could be preparing to shoot me in the back of the head the minute I turn my back. They could think, now, that I’m no threat at all. I don’t know. I just know that they didn’t take it as a joke.

“I’m so glad. See, I have a friend. Someone I respect quite a bit. They live pretty quiet. Me? I’m kind of loud. A bit messy. They recommended discretion, and I agreed. I’m so glad you appreciate that. Means a lot to me. Means that we can do this politely.”

Hmm. Ok, so that was a threat.

“Sure. I can be polite. Takes practice, though. You get a lot of practice with that?”

“Not that much. I have other skills I prefer.”

“Hmm. Ok. Did you just come here to threaten me with discretion, or…?”

A laugh. A different one this time. I run through the checklist and it’s… it’s not angry, but that’s as close as I get. Somehow, that’s almost more threatening. My hands tighten on the bat.

“I think you should leave.”

“Ah, come on, don’t be like that. You mentioned that you like to be polite, let’s be polite, huh? Common courtesy. Someone new comes on the scene, you want to make proper introductions.”

“Hard to introduce yourself when I can’t see anything about you. Cute trick, by the way. That your favorite color lipstick, or just today’s pick?”

They smile this time- and it isn’t friendly. Not what I would classify as friendly, at least. Funny, how the brain fills in the gaps like that.

“Yeah. Alright. Cute.”

They move their hands, and in doing so, I catch sight of more that I can describe. They stop bothering to cover up the crossed-out eye, and their other hand, on the palm-

Not an eye this time. A stinger. A curved edge, like a scorpion stinger, maybe- and it goes further back. I see hints of further edges, crawling down the sleeve, across their wrist, moving gently. 

There’s more movement underneath their… clothing. It’s not an overcoat. Jacket, maybe?

“Better to be prepared, meeting something like you. Right?”

Something like me.

“Maybe. I don’t mean to be rude, but my shift is up in about ten minutes, and I fully intend to get home on time. It’s been an annoying few days, and it takes work to be this pretty, so I’d appreciate it if you would hurry this up. What do you want?”

They shrug. “Nothing major. Nothing all that special, really. Just figured we could do with an introduction. We chat, say hello, and then I take you to meet some other interested parties. Somewhere a little less public, maybe. Get to know each other.”

“You know, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me to go to a secondary location with them… well, the joke usually goes that I’d have two, which isn’t many, but it’s funny that it’s happened twice. But I’ve been on the internet since I was a teen, so it’s a lot more than two. I think I’ll stay right here, call a friend, and head on home. How’s that sound?”

The figure snorts. “You don’t have friends. Not except the one, right? Jay. Works over at the Golden Roast. Makes a good brew. Currently in the middle of his shift, already partially involved, and I think we can both agree, a bit less special than you are. We wouldn’t want to bother him in the middle of the day, would we?”

See, that’s where the mistake comes in.

Firstly, Jay is a lot more special than I am. Secondly? You don’t threaten my friend.

I lift the bat up to my shoulder, letting it rest there, comfortably. I remind myself of how it felt to swing those bone-clubs, back in… well. Not in the game. 

In MEAT.

I remember what it felt like to beat to death those little creatures. To use unwieldy, messy flesh to swing something sharp and dangerous and just a little heavy. 

As I pull those thoughts out of the box… I remember what it was like to eat them. The taste. The way that they squelched and glistened and pulled apart in my teeth, teeth that weren’t mine.

The figure shifts. Just a little bit. Just enough to make me come to some assumptions, not enough to make me think I know what they’re feeling as they look at me.

The movement under their coat begins to go faster. A little louder, maybe. Like a rustling noise.

“I’ll give you a little information for free,” I whisper, feeling eyes on the both of us as the bar’s few patrons turn to check what’s going on. “I don’t have a lot going on. I don’t like this job. I don’t like my house. I quite like Jay. He’s a good person. He deserves good things in life. Threaten him again, and I’ll break all of your limbs.”

A snort. “Oh? You think that-”

“Joints are easy. Ankles. Metacarpals. Wrists are a little harder, but you hit them right, they break apart like lego sets. Elbows can take a few hits, but if you just bend them the other way, they pop right out. Shoulders are harder, but knees? Knees are so very fuckable. You hit a knee properly and it never heals right, ever. Too many moving parts. Then, when you can’t move, when all four fucking limbs are useless sacks of pain that you can’t move right, then, I am going to hit you. Joints are easy, complicated, mechanical. For the rest of the bones, my best bet is to exert a lot of force in a small space. So I will hit your forearms until they shatter. Then I will hit your biceps until the bones there shatter. Then I will hit your thighs until the bones shatter, and then, for last, your shins. Shins are harder. I think, but don’t quote me on this, but I think that the shin-bones are the hardest ones in the body- but they break too. By the end of that, I don’t think I’m going to have the patience or the time to get to your hands and feet, but I can stomp on them a couple of times, call it a fucking day.”

The figure is quiet.

“You guessed right about some things. Did your research, at least enough. You know where I live, who my friends are, but I don’t think you know me. I have no fucking clue what you can do, but I know what I can do. People think that other people are hard to kill. That you need to cut the right spot, shoot them with a gun, hit them with a car. One person survives a beating, survives getting cut, and people start to think that they’re hard to kill, that they’re safe. But people are fucking fragile. For everyone who survives a fall without a parachute there’s a fucking million that slip five feet and conk their head on the counter. I don’t need fucked up magical powers to hurt you. I don’t have to be special to make you regret your choices. You’re person-shaped, I know that. You’ve got eyes, which lead to a nerve, which lead to your brain. You’ve got a throat, full of veins and airways. I might be new to this, but I don’t need to know everything about everything to know how to hurt someone. I will hurt you with my bare fucking hands if you threaten Jay again.”

The bar is quiet. Someone behind me tries to get my attention with a whistle, but I don’t respond to whistles, and even if I did, I’m busy.

I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Haven’t talked like this to someone in a long time.

But I’ve had a difficult week. And  you do not. Threaten. My friends. 

Even if I only have one left. Especially if I only have one left. 

And I have thought many times, long and hard, about what it means to be in a body. And how easily it can be hurt. How poorly designed we are. How easy we are to break.

The figure raises both hands in mock surrender.

“Alright. I can see we got off on the wrong foot here. No need to take things personal, yeah?”

They’re smiling. It’s a big smile, I think. Not angry.

“How about this- I’ll just be on my way. Let you take a breather, finish out your shift. Far be it from me to keep someone trapped in employment longer than we need to be. I’ll talk to you some other time, huh?”

“You do that,” I say, my voice quiet and even. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

They get it, quiet as you please… and leave.

The door opens and closes, and I can barely tell how they moved, or what they did to do so- I just know that they have gone.

Probably.

The stuff on their skin. Writhing. The eye seemed like it… like it was responding to me somehow. Keeping an eye out for me, getting more agitated as I started noticing more things about the figure. Was it reactive? How do they walk around with an eye on the back of their hand? It didn’t look natural or implanted, it was just… sort of there.

Someone whistles again, and I slam the bat into the countertop.

“Next person who whistles, snaps, or yells at me is banned. What the fuck do you want?”

The guy at the bar is looking at me kind of wide-eyed. “Just… to close my tab. Ma’am.”

I sigh, long and slow- and put the bat back behind the bar.

Ten more minutes. Or, in practice, however long it takes for whoever has the next shift to get here.

I can do this. 

And then… I can deal with whatever fresh bullshit all this is.