Chapter 4: She Who Calls [Nats Rumble]
Apr 14, 2023 10:45:00 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, bloodiedfox, and 2 more like this
Post by Technical Perfection on Apr 14, 2023 10:45:00 GMT -5
The tannoy blared into life, waking me from my moment of reflection on where I am standing.
“Goddess, report to the Monitoring Station.”
Legion compound. Location unconfirmed, quintadimensionally speaking.
It is an entirely unpleasant feeling to be compelled. I fought to remain still, to regain my bearings in relation to the circumstances I found myself in. I knew, I recognized every sturdy wooden beam, every pane of glass, every camera as they turned to face me. I reached into my knapsack as my legs carried me forwards and felt for my small pouch of ashes, that which I use to daub my followers as part of their initiation. The bag was empty. That, at least, made a little sense. You cannot have the ashes of a building exist while the building still stands. My walk walk heavy, laboured as I fought against every step, wanting desperately to enter the building under my own power. But it appeared I had a meeting scheduled, the kind of which it was impossible to avoid. I opened the door to the office complex and walked down the corridor to my once and future office.
“Enter.”
The door swung open before me. Sat at her… my desk was my unmistakable figure. Her hair was in a very businesslike up do and she was leafing through a worn copy of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” by Hunter S. Thompson. Banks of monitors flanked her, each showing one of the various cells of Legion’s dormitory block, faceless robe clad figures shuffling about, writing down thoughts, practising their rites, going about their daily business. She smiled at me, a cold smile. Her next command cut through me as I knew deep within I must obey. I attempted to resist which caused a low cackle to emit from her lips and my ass was placed firmly on the chair facing her.
“I suppose you have a lot of questions," she mused, ”As, indeed do I. And I shall attempt to answer them, for my own sake.”
“Firstly,” I tried to hide the uncertainty in my voice, “I have come looking for answers. The three, they did not have them. Are you the one who does?”
“Well, Goddess,” there was a note of wryness when she referred to me as such, “What you have been producing is answers for me. For many moons, now. And I think your latest journey may have resolved a lot for me.”
Strange. I was convinced I had not completed the picture. And yet… And yet She had? And I had unwittingly helped her do as such? I paused and asked, “What shall I refer to you as?”
“Oh, do pick. You may call me Natasha but I fear that may make our conversation hard for me to follow,” That was strange. But not incorrect, I felt, “You may call me the Gothic Goddess, but as you are the Goddess yourself, again I fear confusion. And I am here for certainty.”
“As am I.”
“By design,” she purred, “Ice Queen, Nihilist, Guardian, Legionary, Monster, Head of the Ritual, Witch, The Final Enemy, The Dying of the Light, Tormentor, Torturer, She Who Watches...”
“She Who Calls?” I butted in somewhat forcefully, connecting dots in my brain.
“If that is what makes you comfortable. After all, why should I deny part of who I am comfort?” She Who Calls seemed liked a title she liked, the broad smile on her face confirmed that.
“So, why have you brought me here, She Who Calls?” I needed to know.
“Because I need to explain to myself the results of my experiments.” she replied, the calm authoritative tone of a psychological professional lacing her words, “That way they could settle in my mind in a way that I could carry forwards. I think my whole experience of the last two years has taught me so much about myself. But I deserve to talk it through as talking can heal wounds deeper than a blade can cut.”
“Experiments?” I did not understand.
“You see these monitors around you?” she indicated to the banks of surveillance equipment before continuing, “My brothers in purpose, Hyperion and Kuroi, applied their rather crude psychoactive substance to each one sat in those rooms. And I observed the results. It was a trifling problem to obtain the recipe for their gelatinous cubes. And so I studied. I modified the proportions as having a captive audience of willing, or at worst unable to resist, test subjects I could find which part of this so called Ambrosia was affecting which Legionnaires in which fashion. Has the Goddess read the works of Dr. Timothy Leary?”
I thought for a few seconds about this. I responded a faded, “No.”
“Oh good. Essentially, the correct application of psychedelic substances can assist a willing subject with treatment of mental illness,” this was a disturbingly analytical way of looking at what I feared she was talking about, “When one can see one’s own mind, it is a lot easier to cope with its troubles.”
“So you experimented and observed…” I hesitated. I was beginning to slowly grasp these concepts. Even though they had been locked away from I, The Goddess, for so long.
“Indeed I did,” more than a little pride swelled in She Who Calls’ voice, “And I refined. For its use upon the most important subject of all would require the perfect formula. Fortunately I discovered that through distillation I could lessen the dose in exchange for adding an alcoholic potency. And for a bonus, it actually became quite drinkable.”
“And you know this because?” I knew the response. But yet, I feared it.
She raised her eyebrows as she calmly stated, “Because I needed to use it on myself.”
I sat still, frozen to the chair. This cannot be real. This cannot be happening,
“But it is happening,” She Who Calls responded, reading my thoughts. “And it is not I achieved in this complex. I read many medical papers on the neurophenomenological effects of hypnotic suggestion and psychoactive substances. How one can be guided more easier through altered states of consciousness with the assistance of certain alternative medications. Aboriginal tribes of the Americas have known this for generations. Why do those who live in these rooms respond so well to commands?”
“I had always assumed that they respected the strength of myself and Kuroi,” said The Mother through my lips, “And they feared the reprisals for stepping out of line.”
“A little of that is true. But more, much more is down to a routine of my own design. Mixing drugs and guided meditation in order to make them pliable to my voice.” She Who Calls sounded confident in her work, “They don’t disobey because they are incapable of doing such.”
“Did you enjoy it?” asked the Maiden.
“Oh, my,” She Who Called giggled, “I cannot say that I did not. And self hypnosis is certainly a thing. As is self programming.”
“So, may I ask, where do I fit into all of this?” I questioned, attempting to probe further to the heart of the matter.
“Do you remember those stories, stories of Irish Lore that Grandma Éadaoin used to tell myselef and Diana when we were weans?” I did, those heady days of my youth. It was a sad day for my Clan when she passed.
“Stories?” This was a horrifying revelation about to assault me.
“Tales of the Sidhe, tales of the Tuatha dé Danann?”
“I am PART of the Tuatha dé Danann!” I protested, attempting not to sound pathetic.
“Yes,” a pause for a beat, “And no. You are part of me.”
“Explain.” I’m not sure I wanted to hear the explanation but I was curious enough to ask anyway.
“When I began to imbibe the drink that you call The Sacrament, I began to see all. All my mind. All of my emotions, my feelings become flesh,” She Who Calls explained, mildly distant for a second, “I experienced from within and without what you see all the time. Nuair a théann an deoch isteach, tagainn an ciall amui.”
“When the drink goes inside, the mind goes out,” The Crone translated.
“The voices in my head that had been plaguing me so, pulling me this way and that. They had voices, forms. They spoke with each other,” an admission of psychological weakness that rang all too true, “And with you, therefore me.”
I sat and listened, transfixed with the explanation. Or unable to move. One of the two..
“I watched it all, as sure as I can see the monitors there,” she indicated to the monitors again before continuing, “I saw myself as a Goddess, or many. I watched my inner turmoil play out in vibrant colours. I heard the arguments that you all had. And I began to understand what you all are. And on this, your most arduous journey I am bringing it all together. Because you, who are me, are consulting me, who is me, after finding out what the fractured pieces of me, who are me, had to say.”
“I’m confused.”
“I have never been less confused,” her conviction bled into her voice, “All places, all times, all realms. I have access to them all. And in those moments where I am not partaking in The Sacrament I have been far more lucid. Sean has noticed this. And all facets of my personality, working in unison to make a fabulous Natasha. I have been far more lucid in my real life. Sean has noticed. I take greater pleasure in my art, my writing, my training for a match. I am focused where I have been distant. All thanks to what you have been able to achieve.”
“By journeying between realms? By speaking to aspects?”
“By all of your actions over the past two years. You have been able to show me…” She Who Calls paused, “Me. For that I thank you.”
I could not speak. My psyche, my very existence, laid bare. My purpose revealed. My journey…
“I thank you, Maiden, for teaching me that to be dispassionate is no answer for problems that require it is a foolish endeavour that leads only to failure. I thank you, Mother, for teaching me that my resolve and strength is innate and unfathomable, that I can bring my full force to bear on any occasion in which it is required. I thank you, Crone, for teaching me to accept that some things are destined to happen and that I should not fight fate itself as it is futile. I thank you, Goddess, for teaching me who I am. I am Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick Murphy. And with the end of my Ritual, my journey here ends too.”
New Jersey, April 3rd 2023.
The fire had subsided to mere embers. Pools of wax sat where the candles I had lit were stood. The greens of the copse of trees were being lit by the dawn breaking through. I saw a crow fly away, cawing and effortlessly navigating through the tree line. I took my now empty flask and stashed it inside my knapsack.
“But every end is a new beginning.”
“Goddess, report to the Monitoring Station.”
Legion compound. Location unconfirmed, quintadimensionally speaking.
It is an entirely unpleasant feeling to be compelled. I fought to remain still, to regain my bearings in relation to the circumstances I found myself in. I knew, I recognized every sturdy wooden beam, every pane of glass, every camera as they turned to face me. I reached into my knapsack as my legs carried me forwards and felt for my small pouch of ashes, that which I use to daub my followers as part of their initiation. The bag was empty. That, at least, made a little sense. You cannot have the ashes of a building exist while the building still stands. My walk walk heavy, laboured as I fought against every step, wanting desperately to enter the building under my own power. But it appeared I had a meeting scheduled, the kind of which it was impossible to avoid. I opened the door to the office complex and walked down the corridor to my once and future office.
“Enter.”
The door swung open before me. Sat at her… my desk was my unmistakable figure. Her hair was in a very businesslike up do and she was leafing through a worn copy of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” by Hunter S. Thompson. Banks of monitors flanked her, each showing one of the various cells of Legion’s dormitory block, faceless robe clad figures shuffling about, writing down thoughts, practising their rites, going about their daily business. She smiled at me, a cold smile. Her next command cut through me as I knew deep within I must obey. I attempted to resist which caused a low cackle to emit from her lips and my ass was placed firmly on the chair facing her.
“I suppose you have a lot of questions," she mused, ”As, indeed do I. And I shall attempt to answer them, for my own sake.”
“Firstly,” I tried to hide the uncertainty in my voice, “I have come looking for answers. The three, they did not have them. Are you the one who does?”
“Well, Goddess,” there was a note of wryness when she referred to me as such, “What you have been producing is answers for me. For many moons, now. And I think your latest journey may have resolved a lot for me.”
Strange. I was convinced I had not completed the picture. And yet… And yet She had? And I had unwittingly helped her do as such? I paused and asked, “What shall I refer to you as?”
“Oh, do pick. You may call me Natasha but I fear that may make our conversation hard for me to follow,” That was strange. But not incorrect, I felt, “You may call me the Gothic Goddess, but as you are the Goddess yourself, again I fear confusion. And I am here for certainty.”
“As am I.”
“By design,” she purred, “Ice Queen, Nihilist, Guardian, Legionary, Monster, Head of the Ritual, Witch, The Final Enemy, The Dying of the Light, Tormentor, Torturer, She Who Watches...”
“She Who Calls?” I butted in somewhat forcefully, connecting dots in my brain.
“If that is what makes you comfortable. After all, why should I deny part of who I am comfort?” She Who Calls seemed liked a title she liked, the broad smile on her face confirmed that.
“So, why have you brought me here, She Who Calls?” I needed to know.
“Because I need to explain to myself the results of my experiments.” she replied, the calm authoritative tone of a psychological professional lacing her words, “That way they could settle in my mind in a way that I could carry forwards. I think my whole experience of the last two years has taught me so much about myself. But I deserve to talk it through as talking can heal wounds deeper than a blade can cut.”
“Experiments?” I did not understand.
“You see these monitors around you?” she indicated to the banks of surveillance equipment before continuing, “My brothers in purpose, Hyperion and Kuroi, applied their rather crude psychoactive substance to each one sat in those rooms. And I observed the results. It was a trifling problem to obtain the recipe for their gelatinous cubes. And so I studied. I modified the proportions as having a captive audience of willing, or at worst unable to resist, test subjects I could find which part of this so called Ambrosia was affecting which Legionnaires in which fashion. Has the Goddess read the works of Dr. Timothy Leary?”
I thought for a few seconds about this. I responded a faded, “No.”
“Oh good. Essentially, the correct application of psychedelic substances can assist a willing subject with treatment of mental illness,” this was a disturbingly analytical way of looking at what I feared she was talking about, “When one can see one’s own mind, it is a lot easier to cope with its troubles.”
“So you experimented and observed…” I hesitated. I was beginning to slowly grasp these concepts. Even though they had been locked away from I, The Goddess, for so long.
“Indeed I did,” more than a little pride swelled in She Who Calls’ voice, “And I refined. For its use upon the most important subject of all would require the perfect formula. Fortunately I discovered that through distillation I could lessen the dose in exchange for adding an alcoholic potency. And for a bonus, it actually became quite drinkable.”
“And you know this because?” I knew the response. But yet, I feared it.
She raised her eyebrows as she calmly stated, “Because I needed to use it on myself.”
I sat still, frozen to the chair. This cannot be real. This cannot be happening,
“But it is happening,” She Who Calls responded, reading my thoughts. “And it is not I achieved in this complex. I read many medical papers on the neurophenomenological effects of hypnotic suggestion and psychoactive substances. How one can be guided more easier through altered states of consciousness with the assistance of certain alternative medications. Aboriginal tribes of the Americas have known this for generations. Why do those who live in these rooms respond so well to commands?”
“I had always assumed that they respected the strength of myself and Kuroi,” said The Mother through my lips, “And they feared the reprisals for stepping out of line.”
“A little of that is true. But more, much more is down to a routine of my own design. Mixing drugs and guided meditation in order to make them pliable to my voice.” She Who Calls sounded confident in her work, “They don’t disobey because they are incapable of doing such.”
“Did you enjoy it?” asked the Maiden.
“Oh, my,” She Who Called giggled, “I cannot say that I did not. And self hypnosis is certainly a thing. As is self programming.”
“So, may I ask, where do I fit into all of this?” I questioned, attempting to probe further to the heart of the matter.
“Do you remember those stories, stories of Irish Lore that Grandma Éadaoin used to tell myselef and Diana when we were weans?” I did, those heady days of my youth. It was a sad day for my Clan when she passed.
“Stories?” This was a horrifying revelation about to assault me.
“Tales of the Sidhe, tales of the Tuatha dé Danann?”
“I am PART of the Tuatha dé Danann!” I protested, attempting not to sound pathetic.
“Yes,” a pause for a beat, “And no. You are part of me.”
“Explain.” I’m not sure I wanted to hear the explanation but I was curious enough to ask anyway.
“When I began to imbibe the drink that you call The Sacrament, I began to see all. All my mind. All of my emotions, my feelings become flesh,” She Who Calls explained, mildly distant for a second, “I experienced from within and without what you see all the time. Nuair a théann an deoch isteach, tagainn an ciall amui.”
“When the drink goes inside, the mind goes out,” The Crone translated.
“The voices in my head that had been plaguing me so, pulling me this way and that. They had voices, forms. They spoke with each other,” an admission of psychological weakness that rang all too true, “And with you, therefore me.”
I sat and listened, transfixed with the explanation. Or unable to move. One of the two..
“I watched it all, as sure as I can see the monitors there,” she indicated to the monitors again before continuing, “I saw myself as a Goddess, or many. I watched my inner turmoil play out in vibrant colours. I heard the arguments that you all had. And I began to understand what you all are. And on this, your most arduous journey I am bringing it all together. Because you, who are me, are consulting me, who is me, after finding out what the fractured pieces of me, who are me, had to say.”
“I’m confused.”
“I have never been less confused,” her conviction bled into her voice, “All places, all times, all realms. I have access to them all. And in those moments where I am not partaking in The Sacrament I have been far more lucid. Sean has noticed this. And all facets of my personality, working in unison to make a fabulous Natasha. I have been far more lucid in my real life. Sean has noticed. I take greater pleasure in my art, my writing, my training for a match. I am focused where I have been distant. All thanks to what you have been able to achieve.”
“By journeying between realms? By speaking to aspects?”
“By all of your actions over the past two years. You have been able to show me…” She Who Calls paused, “Me. For that I thank you.”
I could not speak. My psyche, my very existence, laid bare. My purpose revealed. My journey…
“I thank you, Maiden, for teaching me that to be dispassionate is no answer for problems that require it is a foolish endeavour that leads only to failure. I thank you, Mother, for teaching me that my resolve and strength is innate and unfathomable, that I can bring my full force to bear on any occasion in which it is required. I thank you, Crone, for teaching me to accept that some things are destined to happen and that I should not fight fate itself as it is futile. I thank you, Goddess, for teaching me who I am. I am Natasha Niamh Fitzpatrick Murphy. And with the end of my Ritual, my journey here ends too.”
New Jersey, April 3rd 2023.
The fire had subsided to mere embers. Pools of wax sat where the candles I had lit were stood. The greens of the copse of trees were being lit by the dawn breaking through. I saw a crow fly away, cawing and effortlessly navigating through the tree line. I took my now empty flask and stashed it inside my knapsack.
“But every end is a new beginning.”
