Another True Story (Bad, Noiresque Fiction)

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This was inspired (as is everything I do) by my daddy, Shralpie. It also rips him and Noble off something awful. BTW, if I insult anyone in this, don’t take it personally – I don’t mean it. Also, if I miss anyone out, I am sorry. In addition, most of my facts are probably wrong.

I stood beneath the orange glow of the streetlamp outside the library, and wondered why. The dame was great, the best I had come across in along time. Long, blonde hair, a pretty face and a great brain to boot. A run-down old loser like me couldn’t have asked for more. I knew that in the end, it was my fault she ran.
In general, people steered clear of me – most of the time it was the blackened, mangled wings that did it, but if not, the combination of extreme arrogance and manic depression soon scared them away. But this one was different. She was sweet, pretty, and she didn’t seem to care what was wrong with me. She was the first person who had ever loved me for who I was, not hated me. And I guess, although toughs like me don’t like to admit this kind of thing, I loved her back. So everything was fine and dandy for a couple of weeks - for once in my life, I was happy.
Then it all went wrong. I had strolled on down to the library to pick her up from work, only to find it deserted. It was late at night, and the only illumination came from a single candle burning alone on a desk in the children’s fiction section. The whole building was quiet, too quiet, and not a soul was around. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains of an open window. Suspicious and alert, I rushed over to the desk. There was a note there, penned by her own fair hand:

Yerril –
I’m sorry, I truly am, but this just isn’t working. I’m going away for a while now, please don’t try and follow me. You haven’t done anything wrong; it’s me that’s the problem. It’s been great.
All my love,
-R

For a moment I just stood there, unmoving, as emotions warred inside my head. Pain, grief, loss, anger – all strove for pole position in my mind. With a shake of my head, I dismissed them all. It wouldn’t do for a respectable guy like me to let his feelings get the better of him – I had certain enemies who would jump at the chance to take advantage of me in my moment of weakness. I wiped a single tear from my eye, and straightened up.
I wasn’t buying all that cheap “it’s not your fault” crud. I knew what it was that had driven her away – me. “Yerril,” I told myself as I walked back outside, “you just ain’t the kinda guy the chicks dig, so live with it”. It would be hard adjusting to life without her, but I tried not to think about it as I pushed open the swinging door and stepped out onto the pavement.
So there I was, stood outside the library, a lonely man once more. I pulled out a cigar, and was about to light up, before I realised I didn’t smoke. Frowning, I threw the thing at a passing stray dog, which gratefully swallowed it whole, before collapsing onto the street. I adjusted the brim of my hat. There was no real reason why I wore the hat - it never seemed to rain in my town, and it was never cold. Just dark, always dark, with a little chill in the air. It didn’t even suit me. It looked out of place with my loincloth and flaming blue sword. The only thing that kept me from getting rid of it was the fact that it made me look a little like a detective. My theory was that even if I wasn’t cool, I might as well look cool.
It was a clear night. The full moon hung huge and luminous in the navy-black sky, and decent folk were asleep in their beds. It was a perfect night, I thought, for a special place where only guys like me were wont to go. It was a special place I liked to call … The Place.

* * * * *

I strode through the dark streets, confident in my direction. A couple of muggers began to eye me up for a likely target, but as soon as they saw Celestial Fire hanging loosely at my side, they slunk off into the shadows. Other than them, I encountered absolutely no life at all on my silent journey through the darkened back alleys. My footsteps on the cobbles echoed slightly from the tall, featureless buildings surrounding me. I rounded a corner, and neared my destination.
At the end of a particularly narrow alley, a small neon sign flashed. It read “The Place”, and was accompanied by a little arrow pointing down a slender staircase into a basement door. A huge figure stood leaning against the wall. As I neared the stairs, a scraggly cat shot up the stairs, closely followed by an empty bottle and an indiscernible shout. The animal yowled and scampered off into the gloom, and I turned to address the figure. It appeared to be an enormous suit of armour, the helm’s visor obscuring the face beneath. I cleared my throat.
“I’m not asleep, you know,” came a deep, rumbling voice from somewhere within the metal giant, “you a Noob?” With the final word, the figure raised its fist menacingly. I took a step backwards.
“It’s OK, Ex,” I hurriedly said, “it’s me, Yerril.” The fist lowered, and the visor popped up. From the gloom inside, I could make out a pair of gleaming eyes, part of a body obviously too small for the armour it was encased in.
“Oh, hi, Yerril,” came the voice, distinctly less threatening this time, “go right on in. Uh, you haven’t seen any Noobs, have you? I could really go for some smashin’ right now…?” I smiled and shook my head.
“Sorry, Extremist, the town’s dead this time of night.”
“Oh, ok. Never mind then.” I grinned to myself, and descended the steps into the bright light of The Place.

* * * * *

As I entered the bar, I was met with a crowd of babbling children, all dressed in exactly the same black tunics. They all cried my name, and started clambering up me. I grimaced, and shook them off. Clustering in an excited throng about me, they jabbered in a strange language. One particularly excited one with enormous eyes punched me on the leg. I picked him up by his collar, and held him at eye level.
“Padeen,” I admonished, “how many times have I told you about copying me.” The little kid’s face fell, his eyes deflated, and his face resumed an ordinary expression. I put him down amongst the suddenly silent children.
“It’s not my fault,” Padeen said sullenly, “Gothmog, Keneth and 8people put me up to it.” Two little boys and a rather large girl suddenly squeaked and ran to the back of the crowd. I sighed again.
“Listen, Paddy, I don’t care which one of you spammers did it, what matters is that you did it. I don’t want to catch you doing it again, understand? Otherwise, you’ll never be a true Paladin.” The kid lowered his head in shame. Suddenly, two tall figures dressed entirely in black approached the throng, the larger one clapping his hands. Instantly, all the children scattered, running back to hide under a table in the corner. I turned to the two tall figures.
“Z-Layrex, Arabwel,” I acknowledged. They nodded in return. “How’s the brood?”
“Spamming…well…” Arabwel replied in a low, sibilant tone.
“Yes…well…” Z agreed in a similar speech. With this, the two turned and stalked back to the table at which their children sat.
I glanced around. The place seemed to have changed little since I had last been there. That was good, with all the changes going on my life; I needed something to stay steady. The room was well lit, with twenty or so round tables spread throughout. On the far wall was a well-stocked bar, and I headed over there. Weaving in and out of tables, I passed many of the regulars – old friends that I had know for ages. There was Headbix, the old Dutchman who sat in stony silence in the corner, but seemed to say so much in that silence. It was as if in his muteness, he was conveying millions of meaningful little snippets of information. I shrugged at this bizarre thought.
Next to Headbix sat Sniper, a young man whose sunken eyes and wild expression betrayed the longing running deep through his soul. What that longing was for, none of us knew, but most people assumed it was something to do with women. Or rather, the lack of them. There was Big_B, another young man whose obsession had got the better of him. He was waving a broken stool leg softly through the air, staring into space, and making strange humming and buzzing noises as he moved the wood.
As I walked, I passed Lokken, sitting in his chair against the wall. His skeletal features and rigid posture betrayed the fact that he was quite possibly dead, or permanently muted. I nodded to him.
“Lokken! How goes it?” There was no answer.
“Lively as ever…” I shook my head, and reaching the bar, took a stool and sat.
The figure to my right was swathed in dark grey robes and seemed intent on staring at his whisky. I smiled.
“Heya Shralp,” I called cheerfully. The guy’s head shot up, and he turned to regard me with open eyes.
“WHO’S YA DADDY!!!” he shrieked, “I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!!” I rolled my eyes, and leaned over to pat his shoulder.
“That’s right, Shralp, lots of babies.” Shralp seemed to accept this, and, nodding gently, returned to staring at his whisky.
“Heh,” came a voice from behind me. I swivelled on my chair, and with genuine warmth, rose to meet my good friend Wildfire. Shaking my hand and grinning, he said;
“I haven’t seen you for a while, Yerr. What is it this time, women trouble?” I shook my head.
“You know me so well, Wild…” I stopped. The temptation was almost too great. Wildfire suddenly stopped grinning, and turned deadly serious. He pulled a trout from his back pocket, and pointed it at me. I gulped.
“…fire.” I managed. He raised his eyebrows, and nodding curtly, walked off. I breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting back down at the bar, I couldn’t resist, however, adding under my breath;
“Seeya, Wildass.” The trout arced though the air and smashed me on the back of the head, closely followed by the shout, “I heard that!” I rubbed my eyes, and called over the bartender.

* * * * *

BTA, the grizzled old bartender leaned on the other side of the bar and leered at me.
“What’s yours, Yerril?” I thought for a moment, before replying;
“Mine’s a pint, please.”
“Right you are,” came the reply, and BTA turned his back to address the matter of my drink. I turned to my left, and looked at the heavyset man sitting there. He held a beer in his hand, and several empty glasses littered the bar around him.
“Heya, Bel,” I called. Looking away from me, the man did not answer. I followed the direction of his gaze, and realised it was aimed at a pretty woman with fiery red hair I knew only as Kit. He winked at her and she giggled. I turned back to BTA, unwilling to interrupt Bel while he was working.
BTA banged my pint down unceremoniously and leered some more. I thanked him, and was about to drink it down when I realised I was teetotal. Sighing once more, I pushed the beer down to Bel, who grabbed and swallowed it in one gulp. From somewhere behind me, there was a shout.
I turned to see the source of the commotion, and realised instantly what was wrong. Two men were stood in the centre of the room, having discarded their chairs to prepare for a fight. One was Nobleangle, obviously drunk again, the other was Xaelifier, the journalist. It was clear that Noble had said something so sensible and resonant that made so much sense, that the poor victim felt obliged to argue or become Noble’s slave. Xaelifier was shouting incomprehensible babble, but this was fairly normal. Noble was waiting for him to finish, so he could devastate him with another round of brilliantly efficient logic. BTA grumbled and pulled out his shotgun. Sighting down the babbling man, he pulled the trigger, and Xaelifier dropped to the floor. BTA leered,
“Shut the hell up, babble-boy.” I goggled, and turned to BTA with shock in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he assured me, “they always get back up. Can’t stop ‘em for more than a day, it seems.” He replaced the shotgun under the bar. I turned back to the rest of the room.
Over in the corner sat Sprite and Gnolyn, obviously content in each other’s company. I stared wistfully for a while, wishing that such devotion could ever be focused on me, by anyone, before turning away. Over in the corner sat SG, and SlimShogun, talking about rap, or hip-hop, or some other type of music I could never hope to understand. Mollusken lay on a table in the middle of the room, decaying. Shura hung from the ceiling, meditating on the chandelier. Gopher sat with a beer, glaring at the Spam brood, obviously wishing they would all shut up. Ragusa stood on a table, making jokes that no one understood, but that was ok, because he was a halfling. Mathetias and Methylviolet sat comfortably agreeing on morals and doing the right thing.
I began to relax. No matter what the outside world threw at me, I knew I could retreat to The Place and be among friends. I felt contented for the first time in weeks. This was my home.
My contemplation was shattered by a metallic thud from the street outside. The room fell silent. Everyone knew what this meant – someone had beaten Extremist. Worried glances were exchanged, as someone descended the stairs and burst into the room. I did a double take as I realised who it was – the dame!
“Yerril!” she called, “I’ve changed my mind! Please, take me back! I’m so sorry!” I rose from my stool, and shouted back.
“Maybe I don’t want you back! Maybe the damage is already done! Maybe I just never realised who my true friends were!” Her eyes flashed with anger. Lokken said nothing.
“YERRIL!” she screamed, “Take me back, NOW!” Before I could reply, a door at the back of the room thudded open, and a feeling of cold dread swept through us all. Out of the darkness of the back room strode a lean, red-robed figure. His face framed by a neat beard and angular elven ears; the owner of The Place strode forth. Eyes narrowed in anger, Taluntain lowered his black staff at the dame, and barked;
“Enough! You have injured my bouncer, invaded my property, and threatened a man who obviously wants nothing to do with you! Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but in my book, that’s reason enough for me to kick your behind from here to the moon and back, got it?” The dame quivered in fear, and with one last glance at me, darted for the door. Tal made an irritated noise, and, before retiring to his back room, muttered under his breath,
“Damn Noobs, when will they learn to read the FAQ?”
I smiled. This truly was my home.

 

Lol, yes you really are the greatest writer SP has ever known. I take my hat off to you. Glad you recognized our little spam clan (and it's leaders )

 

Heh, this is great Yerril

 

What Wildfire said.

 

Are we realy all that bad? Ah well, interesting to say the least. I just never thought that we were such loners. Besides, Ara has sworn to quit spamming and would be much more likely to be reading fanfiction than anything else. And tell me, who are all these children that hang around with Padeen, I am yet to meet someone who does (willingly anyway)

 

Very Funny Yerril and you too Aikanari!
When I'm sad and pissed this is what I get.
You though Yerril you at least I though were my friend. But i was wrong yet again. Everytime I think somenr here is my friend they turn out the opposite. And I only wanted to use your smile!
Anyone can use the biggeyes smile Yerril it's not yours only. And I'm ano longer a paladin I'm a fallen paladin!

Dragonblade!

 

Aaaah padden don't be sad, i still like you... a bit

 

Padeen, I know I shouldn't try and argue with you. I've tried desperately all morning to help you, but so far you have thrown it all back in my face. You say I was your friend and that I betrayed you, but in case you hadn't noticed the same could be said for everyone else that I wrote about. You think Shralp likes to be called insane, or Lokken likes to be called a corpse, or BTA likes to be called a grizzled old man? No, Padeen, this piece of writing was for fun. I picked up on the features of the people here and I used them for some gentle teasing. The very fact that I recognized you should show you that you are my friend, and someone that I consider worth writing about. This was in the spirit of fun, and had I known when I wrote it that you were feeling miserable and at odds with the world, I would never have included you.

If what you consider betrayal is me telling you that killing yourself is a bad idea in the chat, then so be it. I betrayed you. I wasted a good hour in there trying in vain to help you, but you were so wrapped up in self-pity and selfishness that you refused to let me. You might actually consider the fact that I did spend an hour in there at all. If your accusations were true, and I really didn't like you, do you think I would have wasted the time I did?

Truth is, Padeen, I consider you a friend, and I respect you as much as anyone else on these boards. I know full well that anyone has the right to use the smilie, I was only teasing you. You cannot honestly think I was being serious. I know how you feel, I went through the very same feeling of emptiness earlier this week, and I am still miserable because of it. Yet, for some bizarre reason, you refuse to let me help you, simply claiming that I don't understand you. Everyone has problems, Padeen, and even if yours are bigger than other peoples, that doesn't mean they can't help you. I am sorry, but suicide is an option that is completely ludicrous, even in the messed up state that anyone in your position would find themselves in. Sometimes you just have to trust people when they say they want to help you, even if it doesn't seem like they do.

I don't want you to hate me Padeen, and I don't want to hate you. I have never meant you any ill will, it just seems that you are being oversenstitve and on the look out for betrayals right now. I am sorry if i "don't understand", I just won't bother next time.

 

Fallen, you should know that being included in a True story CS is like a sign declaring you an SP regular. How could you have gotten so annoyed? Just because you didn't get an ultra cool part you think Yerril dosn't like you?... Hell he called 8people fat, but i don't see her moaning about it because she knows it was all a joke. If you'd read the first True story you'd know that the whole basis of it is making a funny story by insulting members in a creative way. It's all just a joke.

 

Z-layrex your getting into matters you dont know Jack-crap about so dont talk about them.Yerril knows why I said what I said so ask him before saying anything else!

Tha Fallen!

 

I'm not TALKING about your sily little argument in the chatroom scenario. I couldn't care less about that! I'm relating to when you said that you thought Yerril was your friend and no one likes you! Stop getting your head stuck up your own ass.

[ September 15, 2002, 12:39: Message edited by: Z-Layrex ]

 

Z-Layrex if you new what happened in cat you would get a clue! ASK YERRIL!

Tha Fallen!

 

*inhales*
*exhales*
Stop it. Please. Yerril wrote this story for fun. He did not want to make this topic into a argue-fest, so please carry it over to PM. If you are pissed because someone wrote about you, read my story. It has Taluntain falling face-down into mud and being called a Thayvian by me. And is he pissed? Did he close the topic, because I made fun of him? No.

Ezellohar

 

Er.....back to the Story, it's great Yerril.

You're easily one of the best writers here at SP, with truly funny pieces of fiction. And now that promises are arriving of a Spam-free period in the galaxy, maybe I'll just have another beer...

 

Actually I've only just read this

But it's all in fun

Funny, Yerril

(goes locks self in cupboard for the next week)

 

Why ask Yerril? Why don't you just tell us? Jeez, its a bloody story, if I was so much as mentioned I would er, spam more often in Sir Yerrils stories

 

Dear god, it's impossible to please anyone. Why do I bother?

[ September 16, 2002, 18:49: Message edited by: Sir Yerril of Morningmist ]

 

I think it's funny - even if no-one else does

 

Yerril, just ignore them. It's a very funny story that easily equals Shralp's version. I very much appreciate you taking the time to write this.

[ September 16, 2002, 20:17: Message edited by: Z-Layrex ]