C: I think this is as good as a time as ever to take a small break from our narrative and enjoy a bit of a tale from somewhere else. A bit of an intermission if you will.
T: An intermission? Really? Don’t you think that’s a bit too on the nose? You’re practically ripping the source material right o-OW.
C: As I was saying. This break will be brief and short, and exist as a way for us to continue our story with a new found sense of gusto. For our purposes the story will have nothing to do with the story at large.
C: There is no wink. It has nothing to do with our heroes!
T: Okay, then why are we telling it? That seems like a waste of space.
C: Well the Waste of Space is not in this story is he? Nowhere to be found that rascally man. Why he hasn’t posted a single thing anywhere since it ended.
T: Oh so we’re not even mentioning the name of his creation?
C: Well sense we are apparently at a premium for storytelling time, surely we do not have time to go over that man’s exploits. It would be masturbatory to even remotely start to approach that subject would it not?
C: Giving up so easily brother? Why I thought we were equals. Does my wit and skill with the cards not match yours?
T;Can we just drop it. You win this round.
C: Perfect. So since the story I wish to tell is not *relevant* enough for our audiences refined taste, another shall take its place. One say, a tad more relevant.
C: A Wayward Vagabond journeys the battlefield, his robes tattered and stained with the blood of fallen comrades and enemies. He has won the battle. But at what cost? At what lengths did our stalwart Carapacian go to to achieve the victory that he had today. Nay I say it was not a victory, but great loss. The rivers themselves ran red with the blood and entrails of fallen carapacians. Indeed, a great bloodshed had happened here. A single tear ran down the Wayward Vagabond’s face and dropped to mix with the red river. But what use is a drop in a sea of red that seems to be never ending. What use is struggling to exist in a world that hates you. To die would be a sweet end to his story, but no, his purposes are much greater for us. He is destined for a singular great purpose. He knew it in his heart. He knew it in his mind.
T: Are you seriously going to write like that for this entire time? No one wants to read boring walls of text that is describing some dude that we don’t care about.
C: I assure you his story is important, but we must first set the scene.
T: Aranea, is that you? You seemed to have lost the entire audience with your prose.
C: Fine. If you think you’re so good at all this, why don’t you tell his story?
T: I will thank you.
T: Okay so there’s this guy right. He’s sad because all his friends just died because the black and white kings are fighting an entire war on the battlefield and he’s just a lowly pawn.
But the pawn doesn’t want to fight, he just wants like, Idk, democracy and such okay? I don’t know it’s not actually important.
So he’s walking yeah? He’s just walking down a river one day when he sees a mail carrier.
Hello miss mail carrier, our guy says.
Hello sir man, the mail lady probably says.
Lovely day for a war wouldn’t you say?
I sure would quite say so myself. Yes. a very lovely day.
C: You’re not even using grammar or punctuation right. You need to put words in quotation marks you petulant child.
T: Don’t tell me how to tell my story.
T: Okay so they’re having a nice chat and the two of them smooch
C: What? Where’s the buildup? Where’s the tension? Where’s the dramatic flair. You just told the entire story that I had planned in more than half the time we even have.
T: That was seriously your entire plan? Tell the story of two heterosexual carapacian sand dudes who kiss?
T: You are absolutely useless. There is no way that people would read through 10 whole pages of obnoxiously long prose of what could be summarized in a few seconds.
C: But you miss the internal battles, the struggles within. The need to deny feelings and holding back what you truly want! The intrigue of a spy for the white king deep undercover in enemy territory, and the misunderstanding of of the other romantic interest in thinking they actually are part of that army.
T: Okay but it all takes place over ten seconds. Ten seconds of nothing is nothing.
C: Okay well what are we gonna do now? We have the rest of this intermission to go, and nothing to fill it with besides our endless bickering.
T: We could talk about ourselves?
T: Would people even want to read that?
C: While we are in theory just narrators to a story, i think we might have a greater part in this.
C: Okay, but i’m not sure if they’ll like it?
T: Fine, I’ll ask them.
Hey you, reading this? Do you want to know a bit more about us?
Well someone somewhere said yes. Did you plan this?
C: A girl stands in a train car, it’s outiftted with a bookshelf that goes on forever but a smart individual would know that it just goes on for a very long time. It just so happens that today is the day that her twin brother stole her thunder and ruined her narrative flow maybe. I wonder what her name is?
C: Come on, we’re not gonna do a silly gag? That’s a tried and true trope.
C: Fine. The conductor sits at her writing desk typing away at a fanfiction of sorts that she plans to show to no one. She likes TAROT CARDS, the WHIMS OF FATE, AND BLATHERING ON, DESCRIBING LONG AND COMPLEX THINGS WHEN SHORT WORDS WOULD DO JUST FINE.
C: She does not have a username, but if she did: She would type vaguely, but also be straightforward seeming to pull info out of nowhere.
>Smack brother on head because he’s being an obnoxious tool.
C: The conductor gets up and turns around, she reaches forward and smacks her brother on the head. He turns around and glares at her but gets back to typing away this collaborative storytelling effort.
T: >Bleat like a goat and shit on your desk.
C: No. Absolutely not.
T: The conductor resists your attempts to persuade her, but the gleaming sheen of a freshly coated desk, it beckons.
C: It most certainly does not.
T: The girl continues to be stubborn and despite claiming inspiration from the source material she refuses to use the best parts.
T: >Inspect infinity bookshelf?
C: It’s not infinite dumbass. It just looks like it is. Does an infinity scarf go on forever? No.
C: On your bookshelf there are a few books, some you have written, some you have yet to write.
T: >Inspect land of ethlonnian
C: Oh please no. Please no.
C: You pick up the book. On it it a badly photoshopped picture of a black dragon with storm clouds above.
T: It looks very bad.
C: Please can we not.
T: You open the book and skip to the middle. In it you read a scene about a stalwart dungeons and dragons party of adventurers fighting a purple worm. One of the characters gets eaten. The chapter ends.
The next chapter he is back with no explanation and says “come with me deeper into the mines.
C: We wrote it when were young, please forgive me.
T: You put the book back and pick up another. “I’m Sonic now?”
C: Nope nope nope. The girl puts the shitty fanfiction that she wrote when she was eight back on the shelf as if it had burned her. her fingertips recoiling at the spine almost as if it was made of acid. She looked behind her and stared at her brother who was lazily scrolling through Reddit like a certain girl that was described at the beginning of this fanfiction.
C: I wonder what his name is.
T: >Stinkface mcloki
C: That is most certainly not his name. You are being rude and crass. Please desist.
T: > The Trickster
C: Yes that is correct. The Conductor and the Trickster. Two siblings that run the infinity train. A vehicle for tourists who are celestials like themselves to throw themselves into Wonderful worlds of fiction of fiction and be and do whoever they want to be.
But what is a celestial? Why I am glad you asked. You see paradox space has a certain set of rules when it comes to time travel, and the means back and forth there of. The act of travelling to the past within the confines of a given Omniverse is okay, but to travel into the future is-
T: >Disrupt boring exposition.
C: But this is lore! This is weaving the tapestry of the world we exist and depend upon.
T: Does it have anything to do with the story of our four friends?
T: Then we don’t need it.
T: We. Don’t. Need. It.
C: Fine. The conductor does not explain the nature of the garments that they wear that glisten and move with the movements of an entire Omniverse. She also does not explain how these beings come into being. And she most certainly does not recall the tragic tale of how the two of them came into being.
T: See, now you’re getting it.
T: >Bleat like a sheep and knock apple juice on your desk.
C: Despite the distinct lack of apple juice the Trickster seems to scuttle on to his desk on all fours and bleats like a goat. He then conjures up a small bottle of apple juice using his COOL CELESTIAL POWERS,THAT I WILL NOT EXPLAIN BECAUSE IT’S NOT RELEVANT, and spills it all over his desk. Like a caveman.
T: > Stare smugly at your sister.
C: The Trickster’s eyes glint with pride, as if victorious over some sort of foe.his mouth curls up in a smile, denoting cockiness. The conductor shoves him off his desk and starts cleaning up the apple juice so it doesn’t damage the manuscript more than it already has.
T: Hey you know we can just magick that away right?
C: he conductor scoffs at her brother, because he wishes to now elaborate on their powers when before he was disinterested
T: >Inspect train car
C: A regular traincar, as far as the eye can see. Plush velvet seats lined with stained oak backers. Tables made of gorgeous mahogany that shine when you walk past them. You run your hand across one and it is smooth to the touch. A single leather bound book with pages that have seen better days sits on a table, waiting for a group of guests who are not relevant to our story at this time.
T: >Inspect book
C: You run your hands across the book. The leather cover seems infinitely old and new at the same time. You pick it up and open it and let your fingers skim across the old pages. A book of contracts signed by the celestial’s that journey to an Omniverse. Each one signed by an eager hand. All the contracts that have been signed or will be signed sit inside. You close the book and set it down. You don’t like to spoil the future for yourself.
T: >Inspect wall of posters
C:You draw your eyes up past the plush velvet seats with shades of purple unlike you’ve ever seen before, except you have everyday, And lay your eyes on the posters before you.
C: They are prizes that you’ve won in the past from a journey completed. A poster with a 12 foot tall robot man, and seven humans made by a hand who loves the art of storytelling. That one was one you went on to an omniverse that existed just on the edges of your jurisdiction. Another that said bardening. The characters were walking off into the sunset this time. The two of you oversaw that one. You wished it had gone better, but the end product was good.
T: >Wonder what the point of this metanarrative is.
You ponder deeply at the thought turning the broken fourth wall into cosmic dust around you. The dust swirls up and becomes part of you as is the usual. Cosmic dust is what we folks eat.
T: >Be the conductor
C: You give the narrative over to your sister before the remaining walls that our viewers hold dear crumble around you.
C: The narrative thanks you and appreciates your willingness to comply despite the fact that you’ve continuously avoided what she wants to talk about.
T: >Ponder deeply the nature of celestials
C: Celestial’s are actually relatively simple creatures linked to the creation of multiverses themselves. The raw energy of a multiverse begins at first as an animal or blank void for an eternity. Or perhaps it doesn’t. Perhaps a celestial is always there and it just awakens one day. Regardless, the memory of a former life lingers until it doesn’t.
T: > Get back on track
C: A celestial is a creature that is born when the first living being in a given multiverse’s paradox timeline travels into the future via time machine.
Because of this, most multiverses end up being sheep, or dogs, or some other type of relatively low intelligence animal that people use for testing purposes.
But sometimes they send a person. And the person goes. Sometimes it’s a bird person, or some other form of sentient life. Multiverses are vast and all different from each other in some given way. The reason why this happens is unknown. Paradox space just decided one day that time travel into the future is impossible.
The individual then gets sucked into a pocket universe located at a central focal point to that given multiverse. The pocket universe then feeds off of the individuals latent soul energy to survive and thrive. This creates a byproduct of the individual that then gets fed into the multiverse itself. Once the energy is all fed into the multiverse, the pocket universe collapses in on itself and the lifeform inside of it wakes up as the multiverse itself. Or an avatar of it.
Later they will learn to control themselves and learn to weave the fabric of spacetime into a fancy garment.
T: >Fondly admire the Trickster’s fancy hat.
C: You take a look at the stars swirling around on your brother’s fancy beret. A star winks at you as you stare. The VoidStar Beret is truly a sight to behold.
T: >Fondly admire Celestial Sundress.
C: You take a look at the garment upon your person. It hugs your frame and stars swirl around the upper body. They extend to the hem of the dress with the bottom only being interrupted by a light purple belt that goes across the waist. You are truly a sight to behold.
T: >Admire current story that you are writing.
C: You take a look at the book still open on your desk. Your time with direct control over the narrative is almost over but perhaps we can ease it back in gently.
T: >Cease this nonsense and continue writing your cool story.
C: You scribble a tiny note in your book and turn the page.