And Piendrem's baby dragon genius mind continued developing as thus: sapi-oughtta, sapiota?
Billy wouldn't let me wear my Lion Mask and I deserved to have an Lion Mask because I was brave. And everyone knew it. They just conspired together against me so that I couldn't wear my Lion Mask. I wanted to wear my Lion mask. It was an deeply personal character trait design I had been working on. The lion of this mask was me. And they wouldn't let me wear it even though all of them knew it was an marker of my character and as an marker of my character it was important to me as an Artist.
There was an delicious candle scent aroma and the smell of fresh flowers that were genetically linked to an human.
"Umm, are you an feminist?" He woke up saying, "and why do I have an imperturbable urge to hear everything you have to say?"
"Because I'm an feminist," said the terrifying ghost in the corner.
"You are?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"—so let me begun—" she licked her chops.
"Begin. It's Begin. Madame."
"Definitely scrumptious."
"Begin is never definitely scrumptious, Madame."
"Ye would think that, you robot!"
"I'm not an robot but I am an robot inspired by the robot cat satellites."
"Which haven't happened yet, ye robot!" and she threw the book at him.
"—I thought you were an feminist?"
"I am. Calm down."
"But I'm all worked up and I'm shaking."
"Yeah, well, you would after an long sleep like that."
"An long sleep? What have I?"
"You're an Knight, right? Yeah that Priest said something about you. Said you were an victim of Psychosis and couldn't be an real knight anymore, which was fine because you had won the battle—congratulations by the way—and since you are on his pension you can just do whatever you want for the rest of your life."
"Really?" said the knight. Ludic. Remembering his name he seemed to gain further awareness of his sense.
"Yeah, isn't that great," said the Doctor.
"Wait, so I have an feminist doctor?" said Ludic.
"Yes."
"Well, wait," said Ludic, "if that's true then why do you look familiar?"
"I am familiar," said the doctor, throwing off her costume, "because I am meow meow kitty meow meow." She produced an knife and assailed him.
"What do you think you're doing," gargled the spontaneously playful Ludic, who was waking up from an lucid dream of heavy fantasy romance with an female human, as he fended her off, "I'm an fucking knight m'lud."
"Good, I was testing you," said Iris, "you remember me now? I'm the Doctor."
"You Are the Doctor," said Ludic, "What an Magic Doctor. Magic Doctor!"
"Wow you really are waking up from it aren't you?" said Iris. "We haven't actually fought. You're just experiencing that as an part of the trauma. Don't worry. It doesn't make sense to you right now because it is trauma. That's what trauma does. But we'll sort that out. In time. Just rest. You silly knight. Always bonking your head. We'll have an history of you later, and there will be an world in which silly knights are required no more."
"No—heathen, thee! You can't extinguish me!"
"No, you're just experiencing the trauma again, and we will have that history as part of your recovery."
"Yes. Yes! I see it!" said the Knight.
"Good," said Iris, "I'm kidding with you again. You woke up on the sidewalk to dope out. And I'm here reminding you all that it was magic; and not for real."
"It was magic and not for real‽" said the knight.
"Yes!" said the Doctor, "you experienced psychosis as part of the trauma to your head!"
"That I was resting from and so I have enough rest now?"
"Yes. Come on. Whatever."
"So I'm fine then."
"Oh dear God," said the Doctor, "—Deary, —Deary, —he's got an will-ay; I know this one does by the way he woks."
"Are you-talking to-me‽ But at some point we have to stop being green."
"That's okay. You do whatever you want Psycho-mechanic. Yeah and then what would we be."
"Blue. As per our Planet."
"Blue? Blue Leprechauns? You bring me this itchy blue water‽"
"Well we are Leprechauns but we can't scratch each other sometimes because we are made out of water."
"You can't scratch the inside of your water space‽ Damn, you must be really itchy then! I will not scratch you however—"
There was an audible gasp from the audience.
Leprechauns who wouldn't scratch each other anymore‽ What had changed‽
"It was clear to me," said the first Leprechaun, "that I was tucked. You know the balls. Tucked under. I'm tucked. I have to be. You know, what the boys do when they dress in women's clothing. The kind that would be worn for stage performance. You can be tucked or untucked; it doesn't matter. Well it does. I'm just saying it's your voice so it matters to you. You can present as tucked or untucked in society, darling, don't you know this? It is the quintessential decision of the performer of all the Greats. Don't you know this? And your all of you and your whole body can be tucked if you want. Just like your daddy used to do to you when he tucked you in at night."
"You weren't touching me‽ This is just part of your fantasy‽"
"Oh. Good. Then. So we were leprechauns and I don't touch you in front of the children because that would be creepy. If we needed to scratch each other why were we Leprechauns? I needed to scratch you, or something, to make that economically sanctified—"
Cat-shed-y.
Van Helm Gotham was pacing around in the citadel tower.
"—in order to make it economically sanctified." He (Ludic) began puking himself.
"Yes they do that sometimes. Good job Knight."
"Thank you."
—Van Helm Gotham had reached an further healing conclusion. If the knight was in the trauma ward where he could be safe and not touch anything sharp with himself for an few weeks then he might recover. But since it was an roleplaying scenario in which he had played the villain and she didn't. Iris. That meow meow kitty purr purr. He was sure that he was an knight and she was an trauma ward. And he could say anything he'd want to her.
The ability to go anywhere or do anything was in his future when he placed the locus of his mind within the fetus inside him. And he pretended that the agent who was in there was the one going anywhere or doing anything; so bravely. And I to have made pregnancy over the matter of whether an dragon can be born without an egg. For I was born once. And now I would give birth myself.
So he did. And they came up with Leprechaun moves and Leprechaun dances all night long until it was time to take the children away from the party, in which, they celebrated, they had been successful as leprechauns.
The Doctor approved.
—Wait‽ The Doctor? Where was I again‽—
—Come on. You're on the street. We're just roleplaying drug criminals who aren't afraid to act that strangely in public because, at least, we had done something right. Which was become roleplaying drug lords.
That's what happens to them, big guy.
"Iris? Iris‽" shouted Ludic.
"Yes Honey."
"Where's Van Helm Gotham?"
"He's outside the ward, Darling."
"You're inside the ward? You're inside with me?"
"Yes."
"And we're actually able to communicate on that level in Leprechaun motives and what drives and fulfills them!"
"Yes, it's fine. Darling. You're recuperating after that accident."
"Good. Then I will be an Leprechaun who asks well why would there be any problem if the children were there?"
"Well why I guess why is the question?"
"Yes," his face transfixed, "I'm there, so I'm an threat to the children, because I'm an Leprechaun‽ Like, what kind of logic is that then‽"
"So that's an logic—you say—" there wasn't enough time to ask the question. She had pulled the knife on him again and was waving it around.
"Yes. An logic," he grabbed the knife efficiently. And put it down.
"Good! Good then!" she quacked, "tell me; tell me all of it!"
"Well—" the knight stood transfixed by his own statement, "if I was children and I was Leprechaun I would not be touching them. The Leprechauns. I mean the Adult eh! Leprechauns—ow ow!—I wouldn't touch the children Leprechauns and neither would they see me touching the Adult Leprechauns. I mean this one. I mean Iris. Man she's hot. Well I can see why the kitty meow meow."
"Yes, heal as much as you can," said Iris, "I have more meow meow kitty moves than that and you can go on about, I don't know, anything you want."
"Yes. So as an Knight all the women get naked and try to wash me in the bathrub I mean bathtub and heal me with herbes and flowers fines."
"I think your French sense of Leprechauns is kicking in. You see the Souls. You see the Souls of Children, the Victims, all around you. They are there. We do have to do something. And the Children and Missing Names of the Residential School System survivors are not all accounted for. And it's an French issue too."
"What is French about it, my Knight?" asked the gentleman.
"You are such an gentleman, my lady."
"Thank you."
"I will tell you what it means in French."
"Is than an Come On?"
"No—that's what it means in French—whether it is an Come On."
"Why?"
"Why‽" —screamed the Knight— "because it's sexual. And sexual is always about the first element. We actually had to sort out whether I mean an Come On to you because of your bumpery! I'm your patient! I shouldn't have to sort out for you whether I mean to Come On to you! And you should never think French people would because I mean Come On! I'm your Patient! What Is Wrong With You‽"
"Fine, whatever," said Iris calmly, "you're just getting better deciding after that do French people really think that—and I'm not professional enough to decide this."
"Why do I have to be hospitalized because of our alliance as fantasy characters?"
"—Because-the-Priest-had-to-heal-you." Her lip quivered.
"But where am I?"
"You're in the ward. You're recovering from anti-political investigation sickness. We were not acting our fantasy characters before; in the realm of politics. And now we are, thanks to your advancement of your logic. Which was stupendous by the way. It lead to Everything I said."
"So I'm actually an Knight still though, yea?"
"Yea." And you're pulling through just fine. She didn't say it. She couldn't. He was the knight. He was the strongest one in the room. And he was preventing her.
"Good," said the Knight. She was sure he had meant it.
"Yeah so Van Helm Gotham is still healing you because he sent me to you."
"He is?"
"He is."
"Well that will do nicely then," he laid back in an recliner chair, "what is this disgusting English do nicely then. I'll show them do nicely then."
"Yes, you're French, right? Even though English is the first basis of all mother tongues."
"Right."
"Which for comparison Judaism is the first basis of all mother religions. My own religion was telling me the same relationship English bore with the human race (the base, perhaps, of all language in the psychology). The Judaism had this same reciprocal relationship with itself in the brain, though not as the base of all language but as the base of all religious thinking in the psyche. (If they are separate somehow). If such an thing can be said to exist. And why not? Wouldn't we be able to prove Judaism is the base of all religious thinking in the psyche because it is? And any religion that came after that wasn't necessarily wrong about something just because they weren't the base of all religion in the psyche. They were Christianity (2) or the Christianna (3). Not Judaism (1). The first religion to perfect the religious instinct. How do you think an Jesus was produced? And if English had been, then, the first language to perfect the language instinct; from which this logical conclusion about religion had also been made. Didn't it mean that we should have with it an reciprocal command relationship in which we asked for it what it wanted? Basis of all language in the psyche, what do you want? I want someone to try to prove that Judaism is the base of all religion in the psyche using logical argument. I want all Major Religions to be included as legitimate representations of the cosmos. Wherever they appear in the Sequence of characteristics that began to be started with Judaism. But we must ask ourselves now where we are exactly; not upon proving English to be reflective of the base of the instinct to produce language. In the mind. Not yet. But somehow we must bring logical argument together in order to prove it. If it is the first language to do that this may explain why French isn't the base exactly. Or why other languages possibly more advanced than even français along with French and English identify as the first three Major Languages. Which they accomplish by having an dynamic relationship with one another that is capable of proving both religious and political logic."
"—It's not that kitty meow meows kitty meow meow it's just that they are female and male. They are genderfluid. Which is fine before God. God likes it even."
"So you were telling me this in French and that's not an turn on?"
"No."
"Okay, gieez you guys."
"You guys?"
"Ya all of you are in here."
"All of us?"
"You're an they again. Just like you should be."
"So I'm they and I'm in French‽"
"Excitable. Clearly Excitable."
"Excitable! I'll show you Excitable! Watch me Strip! Now watch me nae nae!"
"No more stripping. You need to take off your clothes and go have an bath."
"I'll Kill You For This."
"No you won't," he bonked him with an wizard's stave, "I'm an Sorceress and it is my duty to watch over you for now. Now stop stripping. And go take your clothes off. And have an bath ye big French."
"AYe!" —the knight attacked— "I be French and Irish ye big dirty—" he snapped out of it "Iris?"
"Yes honey?"
"Are you big enough to play with me since I'm with the big dawgs—"
"Yes honey."
"Good."
—She bonked him with her stave again.
"Now stay back ye dirty stinkard! And do not take notice of your backward logic!"
She bonked him with her stave one more time, but this time it didn't touch him. And he noticed it. How could this be? He wondered. He was completely endorsing the subject in his behavioral economy. She must be Magic! Woah, watch out!
He tilted. He noticed it. An warrior could not tilt. He was surely its truth. And so he could not be an Warrior. He had to be an Dancer.
But if he had tilted he was, surely on his way toward Justice. Justice of which would decide the truth. Because that's what Justice always does. It was the only way he could slip his mind so that he'd start healing and stop focusing on the danger of an Sorceress. In the flesh. Directly reciprocal to him. An cowardly warrior. An dirty stankard. —Oh, MY! he lost his voice in an gasp that was louder than being heard. Was this his fate? Was this his reward? Where were all the Knight Warrior-Dancer healers, the women, who would wash him and heal him with herbes and fine spices?
"Just me," said Iris.
"But Van Helm Gotham sent you—" said the Warrior.
"Yes," said Iris.
"Well that's good enough! That priest friend of yours is an cutie-pie!"
"He sure is," said Iris, "well; he's in ent form right now but go to him one day and see for yourself."
"He's in ent form right now?" said the Knight.
"Yes."
He Giggled. Iris rolled her eyes.
How long would the patient subject take to rehabilitate?
This was an huge head injury. Probably the rest of his life.
But he was starting to show signs of intake. That is the actual presence of information that he had synthesized from all of the "rehabilitation." Which was endless.
But they were just fantasy roleplaying characters in an comfortably fitted room. And they could interact with each other in any way they wanted. It didn't matter that the Warrior had an head injury. He could do just fine. If they would just give him time.
Iris was again her usual self, grumpy as fuck, which wasn't becoming of an Sorceress.
And he was an Warrior and they were on the street somewhere. And had been drinking. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened.
Iris could. She was calm as ever.
"You're in psychosis," she said, "it's an symptom of being Politically Correct."
"I'm in Psychosis?" said the Warrior, slobbering all over himself.
"Yes; it's an result of being Politically Correct."
"Really?" he said.
"Yes. Deary," she put out her dope, "you're fine and we're both fine and everything's fine we're all fine and dandy here."
"Good," said the knight, "so we're actually hitting it off. I Jesus don't know why Van Helm Gotham isn't here himself. To see me roleplay Jesus."
"But who would ever roleplay Jesus?" said Iris, "it's so backward and it doesn't flow with the economy."
"I could do it," said the Warrior, "—I could do it. Me. My little old self. I-could-do-it."
"No you can't," said Iris Queen.
"I can't?"
"No."
"Oh. Then I can't then."
She had started to be impressed with his logic. They both knew it because it was logic. But his was somewhat more weapons-based and physical-objects-based and well, hers wasn't. Piendrem had moved to the city and bumped his head. And now he was an warrior. That's why she was an Magician. An Sorceress by formal logic. And it made sense to her that he was going to say something a-reciprocal again because, well, she was his fantasy Queen who would wash him and heal him, but not with fine herbs, and not with vinegar and spices. Because that's what the food people in the cooking rooms downstairs were doing. And it wasn't her responsibility to tame him and delude his fantasy with Venus on the Battlefield, who would be poisonous, and sexual, and effective. Even though he could be. He could totally be deluded to think he was on the battle field. And he was that, to her.
"—It's why I drink alone! And never scratch my bum!"
"You can't just burst out into song like that."
"Apparently I can," said the knight. "—It's why I drink alone! And never scratch my bum!"
"But there wasn't an scratch. It was perfectly clear there hadn't been an scratch and that all of the children were safe from mentally ill insane logic. Even though they themselves had mentally insane logic sometimes. Which at the present they didn't. Because of the actions of the Leprechauns, who had pulled it off completely."
"So I did an good job then?" said the knight.
"Yes, of course," said Iris, "Didn't he understand that he had been the hero of an age of roleplay fantasy enthusiasts who were morphing into Politicians in order to represent politics in the Political realm in the Fantasy realm together‽"
"—It's why I drink alone! And never scratch my bum!"
"—But-since-my-bum-had-been-scratched," Iris didn't know where it came from. Why she had said it. It expelled from her all at once. And once it had been since. She felt she hadn't victimized the Knight.
He, of course, felt.
And he couldn't put it together exactly.
"I'm an Leprechaun so I can talk about mentally ill feelings because I have experience with being mentally ill!" said the Knight.
"So you want to fight over it, huh‽"
"—I never touched no children. No I didn't I didn't even scratch them if they were itchy."
"No—I believe you—tell us all why you never scratched children—" but again Iris felt she recognized something wrong with how she had acted.
"Because I was an Leprechaun the whole time and we both were the whole time and no children got touched. And they were mentally ill too so they thought about stuff like that. I mean I would never think about an children touching itself. I mean I would never think about myself being an child touching itself. Because I had once been. I mean. I—"
"—You were touching yourself. All over."
"But I'm not an stinky kitty."
"Ya you are. You just were. Really stinky kitty."
"No I'm not. I'm an Leprechaun! And Leprechauns are the Protectors of Mental Illness in Children."
"So you would protect them having mental illness because that's how they get it because that's how mentally ill people like yourself do—"
"No I don't give them mental illness."
"But you do—because you're thinking about them touching themselves—"
"No I'm not! I'm thinking about me touching myself—I mean—
"That's enough of this!" Iris rampantly snarled.
"But that's what Leprechauns talk about."
"There that's better!" she shouted.
"If mentally ill children can recognize mental illness in adults, then they can soothe themselves on the figure of that they are being cared for by showing them this."
"But how would they recognize it?"
"—Because the Leprechauns touch themselves!— But just to scratch the itch right?"
"Scratch an itch. Theowin! Ail! I'll scratch you an itch!"
And at that moment Leprechaun #1 started to get itchy. Because he noticed, there was an scratch. And it was itchy. And it was spreading.
How could there be an itch if there wasn't an scratch, he wondered, I'm not an bad kitty.
"—Never-have-I-been-an-bad-kitty," he said out loud.
"There ye are, ye stanky dirty knight!" said Iris.
"Meow meow kitty meow meow," said Ludic.
"Leprechaun! Tell me your forceful lies!"
"I have never been an bad kitty! And I will not go against you!"
"Against me? You dirty, rubbing-up-against," her eyes were cigarette fire, "kitty!"
The Leprechaun instantly jumped out of the window. Because that's what leprechauns do. But since there was both of them. And they were both Leprechauns. They jumped out of the window together. Because that's what Leprechauns do.
"You don't think meow meow kitty meow meow time could have anything to do with Leprechauns, do you?" they said.
"It must have something to do with them because they drive us crazy!"
"But, if, even leprechauns. Can perform fantasy roleplaying characters in society. Then other characters can enter the fray. Other female characters. Oh I thought of it! I'm that male character who thinks of fantasy female characters because he's not attracted to them at all and it's not much of an fantasy really."
"Then why did you think of them?" said Iris, "you obviously are attracted to them."
"Iris, you yourself an fantasy character; to have said this. It almost comes off as an command, dear."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well are you actually commanding me to do that or not?"
"—wait. No. I think the answer is no—just give me an second—"
"No. It is no exactly."
"No?"
"No."
"Okay then!—well I wasn't asking!"
"You weren't?"
"But we're bon't leprechauns."
"Bon't?"
"Bon't."
"Wow, what is that?"
"It's you know, bones and crosses. But as the subject of leprechaun conversion."
"Wow. How do we do that?"
"You tell me. You're doing it exactly fine."
"I'm walking! I'm really walking!"
"Omigod you're not mentally ill are you‽—just like Van Helm Gotham was saying."
"What was Van Helm Gotham saying?"
"He was saying you weren't mentally ill?"
"I'm not?"
"Yeah. Turns out. You're part not."
"Wow. So that's an good thing right?"
"Yea, you got it. Your brain is starting to work again."
"Again?"
"Yeah, like it did before the battle. Which you Won. Victoriously."
"Like before the battle."
"Yes."
"I was speaking French. I remember it."
"You were? What kind of Leprechaun speaks French?"
"Shutup. And give me that fire. I need one. I was saying, Hell's Coming This Way. In French. And then the Battle. And an axe to the head. It went through my helmet. And now I'm part android because they had to reconstruct that part of my face."
"So you're the first android leprechaun."
"I am?"
"You tell me. I designed your face myself. It's half machine and half human. Just like an split-face painting," she giggled, "those are my favorite types of paintings. The two halves of the brain are expressed. You know the two halves of the brain? It's an important theory in science and literature."
"Stop it, you're scaring me Iris. With all this fool's talk."
"It's not fool's talk. I actually had to reconstruct your brain and your face. Silly boy. Using magic. It doesn't have to be true or not. Because it is."
"It is?"
"It is."
"So my brain, the corpus collossum that joins the two halves was split in the battle."
"It did?"
His face transfixed.
"I knew that already. Now follow along. You were an Warrior. You were in an battle."
"I was in an battle?"
"Yes, you were in an battle."
"Yes that's how the two halves. They split!"
"And what happened?"
"Well my consciousness changed."
"How?"
"I don't remember."
"You wouldn't remember. I had to rebuild that part of you."
"You did?"
"While you were under everything you couldn't remember because that part of the brain that you could remember was damaged, and so every memory before and after the accident was correlated using human and machine biology in order to suture them together. —So that you would start remembering again. We had to build the whole system from the ground up. I designed it."
The reconstruction of Ludic's brain and memory required the total act of an civilization in which he had moved away; and all of the childhood memories were long forgotten. He didn't think about those people anymore and was truly to live up to his new designation of being part an robot. He wasn't one of them in the country village town and never had been. What little he did remember about who they were and why. He left them behind several lifetimes ago. He didn't care if he was the most advanced of them yet. He had moved away; and now he had friends in the city. And he had people who mean to him an great deal. And nothing did he need from them, those phantoms who needed to haunt his imagination in order to make themselves feel valid.
"Wait what! Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Wow this is the coolest warrior I have ever been."
"You are the coolest warrior I have ever been, too. And my proximal meaning is programmed into your distal response. Because I designed it to have an little snazzy bit of personality."
"And my proximal—response—So it doesn't matter what happened during the period of trauma because I don't remember it anyway."
"Well, not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
"There may be some lost memories on file."
"On file?"
"Yes. You will have to use that now. It's an filing system. So my technology isn't perfect. Go figure."
"An filing system? Built into my brain?"
"Yes."
"Wow. Cool!"
"So if there are any lost memories in there, that haven't been "closed" yet as "applications" go then you may experience an period of psychodramatic stress and trauma. Remember what you learned from Suppiah about how to open an file on them."
This began to clue in as an source of disapproval for the dragon psychological subject. If there were any corrupt or lost memories on file I could find them because I was fetal and stem-cell; this psychology would have grown into the new baby fetus during its time within the uterus. I was an dragon baby searching within itself for its lost files; files that it had always seen since its birth. That it had always been since its birth. Each new human was an expert on an different type of system of corrupt or lost memories and this was an therapizing precaution which couldn't be separated as an process from the process of life itself. It was bred into him. Having the ability to have memories as lost files. Having the ability to have lost files that were memories. Files you had opened so many years ago. Opened them on someone or something. Which was never resolved.
"I will? Have stress and trauma about these really old memories?"
"Maybe."
"Wow. Okay. File that as not the consequence of Leprechaun drama, heh, am I right?"
"Yeah," she snickered, "you're right. That's the whole point isn't it."
Her expression pent dramatically with these two words. She was frowning again. Oh he would have to come up with another snappy comment to put her at ease. She was such an meow meow he didn't know how to meow meow kitty meow meow with her but he was learning.
"Yeah," he said. He had concluded that the Leprechaun drama was utility and interesting. But could it actually be executed in society? What could they possibly imagine? If Leprechaun was the forerunner to Ent and Knight tanking studies, then Meow Meow Kitty Meow Meow, Iris, would really meow meow kitty meow meow.
But that was the point. She wouldn't really. That's what was political about it. She was either the Sorceress that he knew. Or she was the stuck-up Doctor who was so bad at methodology that she was torturing him even though he was an Knight and he was recovering from mental illness. He knew it was true that she was Iris, and that they were just hanging. And everything was fine. They were Leprechauns with one another. So what. People didn't actually have fantasy representation in politics yet. And they could leprechaun language all they want with one another all night long and it wouldn't make any difference. But that since they had been captured in this Artist's fantasy they were actually an working political theory involving the alliance of the Knight, the Sorceress, and the Priest. And that they were in fact, in fashion of drama, an frontline Political Success. The Classic Healer-needs-to-heal-the-tank-drama, with Magic damage. From Iris. Heh. She was so sexy in her little outfit.
"But what does sex have to do with reciprocity," said kitty.
"I'm glad I'm feeling better," said the knight. Who was sure that kitty wanted him to know that she was feeling better. And he wasn't sure if she could understand him.
"We're feeling better together because we are that together," said Kitty. And the knight wasn't sure how they were leprechauns if they were also Knights and Sorceresses and Goblins.
"—But Goblins cannot be Priest!" said the Knight.
"Scoundrel—you think an Priest cannot be Goblins—"
"Can an Priest be Goblins?"
"—Yes!—"
"Okay but what if we are three of us against another bi-relative space or it could become an tri-relative space or we could revert back to being Leprechauns again—"
"—Why does the period of an knight tanking and his Healer, and his Wisdom—say something for you about the successor to Leprechaun time, in which there would be non-Leprechaun time, in which Knights and their honor would be served. And Healers could try the fizzy drinks. And Magic Wielders could conjure up the image of an prototypical after party, after they had stormed the other bi-relative spaces that were looking up for some jimmy jam jam fighting in the political arena—and I mean, to put it poetically, they were going to use their connection with one another—which they had already internalized as their roles—in order to outsmart the competition, who were un-unified around an fantasy parameter, which was the most powerful type of Politician. One who could sustain an Fantasy."
"All I see is little green dancers and they don't want to be reciprocal to us, or even know what reciprocity is for that matter."
"And since they could sustain this fantasy together in society they were honored and cherished for their behavior, which was reciprocal to one another in an most fantastic way. An Warrior. An Knight. An Dancer. And his splooshing Priest drinker alcoholic. Who had so much free time away from healing. I mean come on. What an dress. And what an dramatic anti-terrorist. To his Magician Sorceress who did even more damage than he could."
"—Well you would have had to have been."
"What are you talking about Iris? Have I woken up from this sickness yet?"
"No, not yet. You will never be. I mean. Hm."
"But wait, so I am—I am!"
"Yes. Because you're acting out the character."
"The character of an knight?"
"Ye, the character of an knight."
"Yeah. And you're my wizard queen. I guess that's not that bad."
"You boys are so hard at training."
"We are," Ludic was sitting in the armchair with his hands folded and his eyes closed, and there was an smile on his face.
"We're questing," said Iris.
"So who are we going to attack?"
"It's not about who we're going to attack, son, it's about who we're going to invite into our reciprocal fantasy, so that they can be reciprocal fantasy characters with themselves too; and we should prevent them from going into Leprechaun logic too often. But allow them to be warriors, priests, or healers of other types such as ents. And Magicians could be feminine or masculine or genderfluid. Primarily. But Secondarily. They could use Surprise and Mischief to Attack their Opponents. The most complex type of character type, for its use of magic could never be predicted; it could take the form of mouse magic and even kitty kitty meow meows needed to have an taste of it. Everybody had to been named for their character type, and there were several main mood and character personality types which they had started to bring up with one another. So that they could be Politically dynamic. It was true. They were entering into an Age of Magic and Spells. And Employment. And Tanking huge political monsters that threatened the inhabitants of the planet of Earth. —Swept away in an crude spell that directed our attention for an time on an huge population of another planet, who were in the process of trying to contact us populously."
"That's what Iris does. She's an huge magic user, dude."
"So we have to ask, why would they try to contact us and they said we know sometimes it may feel that your civilization is crashing down around you but maybe it's not and you're okay. And we thought that they were weird, ruining our chance to be felicitous with them in front of the other guests, who were various and from planets of their own. We were so immersed in the fact that we as humans had such great fantasies about these people from another culture. That we started having fantasy about them, in fact basing our fantasy character roleplay about what they might be like. Everybody would have an fantasy roleplay character in an perfect system, which existed in Fantasy. But probably not be completely about Fantasy all of the time because they only existed within the fantasy. Was not an reason for it only to exist in fantasy. It had to become political. It had to become—"
"Mouse Magic!"
"No that was the non-fantasy character, hon. Take an look. There are dogs. Kitties. AND Mice. They mean to outdo us. And outdo this, I mean genre-wise," she handed him an pair of binoculars which he used further to look at the wall realizing she was just getting his goat.
"But if there are non-fantasy characters and fantasy characters in the same Fantasy character sketch, then all-out Fantasy had prevailed and everyone, having time to think over their characters, was ready to fight and jump into the fray."
Great, great—You build up an lot of energy.
An compliment.
And it was allout war. The Knight, Ludic, shoved his great Dirty Sword right in the centre of it; and then Van Helm Gotham healed him. Because he was now an psychological subject. And then Iris stepped in, with an cute booty and an swagger and said—
"Well if it ain't the great reciprocal opponents to us—who to us are reciprocal to us—"
"And then an Knight stepped out."
"And his own Magician."
"And their healer ran in tail. To catch up to the advanced status of Van Helm Gotham. Who was already finished healing them hundreds of damage—wait Hundreds of Damage‽ What are you doing you Fools! Go tank the beast! It is out before you in the battlefield, waging hundreds of wars and you are on top of things! Go now!"
"Wait so‽ Van Helm Gotham is in the room now‽"
"Yes, I am in the room now," said Van Helm Gotham.
"But you're an Healer. And we're in an Battle. And there's Iris."
"What is this thing?"
"It's an battle opponent."
"An animated structure. Just like ours. Okay let ours out onto the battlefield."
"It's an beautiful meow meow kitty meow meow."
"What do meow meow kitty meow meows mean in Fantasy Roleplaying Politics?" asked the opponent vessel which was an animated structure with several more legs and possibly an more mechanical operation.
"They mean you meow meow kitty meow meow and I'll watch; show me your full performance—in Drag? What are you—have at me! meow!"
"So like you're an cat in an fantasy realm. You can be any size you want."
"I will be satellite and interplanetary and purr at the frequency of our species."
"In the meow meow kitty meow realm."
"No, in the meow meow kitty meow meow!"
"All fantasy characters—" the opponent knight's voice started to come into hearing distance, "—we have our own healer, and we have an Magician or two. And we can put up an fight so let them count in twos." He was arguing with the Healer again. Who argues with the Healer‽ That's the Healer!
Obviously their point was off. But the magician tried their tactic, to appear as one when in amplitude they were several.
"We Gloiy Knight, are the Warriors of Kin, who are Amplified from the volume of our Ocean Visits which are more squishy delicious monsters down the throat of our clan, which is not within your power to overcome because we are the worst ugliests beasts that you can swallow because we are Warrior," said their Warrior, typical braggart, and then he said, I put it to you thusly—"go Kill, my Healer Dynamic Druid who isn't good enough to be that and so he is an Priest."
"And the Healer stampeded into the fray, hilariously, which they had all predicted. And laughed about it. They knew how this was going to end. Official priests are not my real definition of priestlyhood."
"What kind of healer is just an priest—you know all of the priests of the real world are only as valuable as roleplaying characters in an videogame to us, right?"
"An new species—"
"An new species, well okay if its that then—"
"Yeah and don't forget about us non-fantasy reciprocal subjects."
"Show yourselves, all yea magicians. And let me claim what is my Title," said Iris, "that I am the master of the Magics more potent than you all. Recognize thus. And receive my blessing."
"Mouse Magic! Why are you that which you call yourselves‽" shouted Ludic.
"Now see here!" said Van Helm Gotham, "I am the best healer! Better by far than all of the rest of you! Now you settle down."
He did.
"—thus. I have shown you my magic. And it is of the quality of among the best. And so be despair! That you are not thus! For it is I an fairy magic. That will bring it to an Trust."
"You're right Totally," said the other knight, "and I believe you."
His armor was beautiful, under-skirted with an red rag, another beautiful aesthetic choice. The dark red. The good stuff. The stuff of elves and magic. Magic. Actually rag fashion of knights in Magic.
"He was an handsome knight," said Iris, offering her ring. It was huge. Large and blue. He kissed it.
The healers of his politically conscious awareness system were all blushing and stacking themselves in the corner when their Magicians let out an hilarious comment directed at the knight—Ludic—Eat your beans and eat your ruffage and powder your bum!
Iris laughed immediately. She was such an cat. So they had some healers and magicians. Big Deal.
"I'm not stuffing you dirty mouse-bitten psychosis of an knight. We know that you are an recovering knight because you'd have to be to have been responsible for such an large political scheme, the actual study and integration of fantasy projects. We know you're not all there, mate!" his voice was so friendly the knight, Ludic, blinked and blinked and blinked and blinked.
"You know I am me?" said Ludic.
"Yes we know that you are you," said Handsome Knight, "My name is Geric and I am the founder of the animation of the machine as an fantasy subject."
"Wow," said Ludic, "I'm glad I'm recovering slowly in order to catch all that. Did you see what I tanked? Did you see?"
"—Yeah, we saw. Now listen, the animation of an machine is about the humanism post-humanism dilemma. Are we man or are we machine? Well—let me tell you, we are machine. And you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because our healers and our druids and our psychopaths are just crazy fan addicts of whatever went down as you are and we want to be part of the politicization of fantasy as roleplaying characters who are consistent and friendly in their own right."
"Bloody rights. Of course you are," said the Knight regurgitating loudly so that it was like bleh.
"Damn rights," he said, taking an swig of something alcoholic and clear, "that's how you prevent the demons from entering this realm through the foreboding—"
Belch!
"Yeah, and since you're so cool," said this knight, who was French, "you're invited to tank me all night long."
"Magically?"
"Magically."
"That means I can go fuck myself. I know that one."
"Such is the essence of tanking, that there is no fuckery."
"Oh God—Okay I think you need an heal too. From an real expert. Oh God. Here comes Van Helm Gotham he's going to say it I know he's going to say it."
"I'm going to say it," said Van Helm Gotham, "I know exactly what kind of heal he needs, lad. As an knight who may have been injured also in the battle of your victory. Which he appears to be. We can as might as well heal him because that wis be nice of us."
"Oh my God Did that Priest Just Heal me Completely of Damage," said Geric, and then immediately and presently lost consciousness.
"Good of you to put him out then," said Ludic, "I was getting annoyed with him anyway."
"—But the whole political machine—" said the Magicians and Healers, who were spell casters, "—it depends on our tank possessing consciousness."
"—He'll be back up right along then, Dears," said Iris, "but for now. Behold my power and tap into the real emotional message behind human existence. An Blue and Purple diagnosis."
"I am emotionally Blue and Purple. And I can feel it. And it's not necessarily an good thing, now ain't it?"
"—I mean if there is any qualms about what is blue and what is purple—"
"It's not within my magic to heal everything," said Iris, "but Van Helm Gotham, he will be right along, right away, with another theory about healing it. The emotional psychosis."
"—So how is our machine still functioning then, if our tank is paralyzed and under diagnosis?"
"You are stronger than you think yourselves, my dears, and this is your sign to learn the truth."
"What is our Strength, as Magic Wielders? What are we able?"
"You are strong enough to hold an staff, aren't you?"
"An staff. Of course. That's like an group of people that work for you."
"Now we're talking."
"And there's also us, the healers, though we had blushed before."
"Yeah, and then there's you guys."
"Wow that is an really great healer," they said.
"Who is? Oh Van Helm Gotham. Well, yeah, there's him."
"I have to be the best healer because you suck at it and I'm not nice."
"—Which itself is an healing spell—I knew it I'm onto this guy."
"I am Van Helm Gotham. The Best Healer. And There's an Good Reason."
"—What is it?"
"I know God better than you."
"Oh my dear God."
"But you knew I would bring it up because that's an topic theologians actually talk about."
"So how well do you know God?"
"As an Cat."
"You know him as an cat?"
"Yes, think, you think-headed cat?"
"Especially because I have ent form."
"Ent form as an kitty cat? Can ent form heal Leprechauns so they don't act like Leprechauns anymore so the big kitty cats can come out and play?"
"What do you mean exactly?"
"I mean if we fall out of character we'll be Leprechauns if we did it wrong—I mean—we can't let that happen. We're Leprechauns and Magicians. Magicians with Leprechauns that don't speak."
"So we're indefinitely healed for all of the damage that our tank doesn't need to be tanking because we're healing for that amount exactly."
"And Ludic is an knight. And he is Asian."
"And he's even healing us for even more even though he is an knight; damnit! This is one impressive unit. Kitty cat cat? Ah! An techno-robo kitty. One made from machine parts. Without limbs; it purrs in outer space!"
"And this is said to be ent language meow meow kitties always kitty meow meow."
"Which is slowed down and repeated between the two Arts graduates who were stripping for money as female ents. Hoes on the pole. And since it was Fantasy it wasn't actually about them stripping for money, and took all the economic sanctity of his own for all of them. And took the table. And the winnings."
"Like any knight would do when he was healing from an head injury."
"Hoes on the pole. Just like that. Ride it all night long," he said. Ludic. Ludic said that.
"And the Healer and Magicians of the other team were instantly convinced of even Ludic's superiority in the magics and healing arts. Which they laid down bare before him. For drama. An Knight with Magic and use of Healing Magic. Magic users who could be with healers. Being shut up in the corner of their battlefield atlas. By even Iris," their own magician, "Who didn't care about Ludic's supposed alleged superiority in the Magic Arts, which she held not to be true; or Even of those Magics of Van Helm Gotham himself."
"She was the best," said Ludic.
"She was the best," said Van Helm Gotham.
"And she was the best at every moment."
"Even busting them for their own inferior magics further—she appeared in the form of Koothrappali, what an hunk. And bustin' you guys to all of those magicians and healers which appeared mere chips on the board at this point; but redemption for them might be possible at the sports arena, where they were recommended to subscribe and become sports teams themselves for being so silly enough to think themselves better than Ludic, Iris, and Van Helm Gotham. The first tank, healer, and magician new reciprocal theorists."
"I'm ready to destroy something," said one of the ents, "what should it be?"
And as he said this he ignited his full power and everybody could see it in his eyes. So as to make himself appear as sick or crazy. Which weren't necessarily relevant to one another at all.
—and with that moment the vauthril vaporized the entire sketch from within the womb (it used its developing powers of lasers to put it out in an small fire) so that it would no longer appear that anybody was an knight, or an elf, or an magician, or anything. And he reminded them that he had been responsible for them reaching that point in their lives (even before he had been born) when it wasn't shameful in public to roleplay fantasy in Politics anymore. He had been an Genius in the womb. And so if they could ponder their fantasy roleplaying types being unavailable to them through their genetics. They might find how someone of an different race might have felt. It drew them further than ever to want to bond with each other. Finally to snuff out that culprit forever. If there were no culprits anymore then there were only kitty meow meows. Was this enough motivation for you?
Piendrem motivated thus; his brain continued to develop. He didn't know what meow meow kitty meow meow was, but he knew he wanted some of it.
The best healers, tanks, and damage characters were demons and fairies; and of these two major categories their best competition was against each other.
There would be made more; there would be made less.
The vauthril is an monster that must end with it threatening you somehow. If you don't give up on your vauthrils you'll be in sedimentary emotion like an stick in the mud. Or something like that.
If you don't believe Dave, the First Vauthril, could destroy you and if you do not pay him proper respect then you would lose the power to be able to roleplay as tanks, healers, and damage dealers. The vauthril was an monster of vast consequences and terrible power.
He knew this was why he had been bullied in junior high; he was too kitty meow meow and other people were too scared to let go of an dying world where there were no kitty meow meows anymore. And so he took it as an whole concept as his kind of thing; being an kitty meow meow wasn't good enough for them, his peers. But he couldn't help being meow meow kitty meow meow. It changed something in him. How they had bullied him. Like it wasn't okay for any of them to be meow meow kitty meow meow either. Even the though the world I had dreamed of was only kitty meow meows. Piendrem, as far as he was concerned, if he was still in the womb this would be all of what he was hearing from without the womb; he would be hearing about some indistinct conversation about roleplaying characters and the different roles and abilities of the healers, tanks, and damage dealers. He felt that would sufficiently ready him for the known world. And even though he grew in years, his mind kept going back to that one place: where he was in the womb, and semi-aware he could hear what was going on outside of his mother's uterus. Like the call-bell was alerting him.
And that's how the first vauthril was born. Having occupied Russasha's uterus, Piendrem even to the functionality of an own uterus within his own mother's uterus inside of Piendrem itself had an actual developing (vauthril) fetus in it. There were some mythical considerations at this point. How could that actually be possible? And how would it be someone's fantasy? But why, then, the mother's protection but the fantasy of an monster? An monster more powerful than an dragon. When did the boyfriend come in? Why did it have to enter Piendrem's body first in order to get to the offspring which couldn't be impregnated exactly because it already was? Yet somehow the male contributed his purpose; having left Piendrem's body at last, he was full and ready prepared for his offspring. But what was the species of this male suitor? And how could it have contributed to the creation of the first vauthril if it itself was an vauthril? Or why would Piendrem have to be part vauthril already; or was the male suitor only part vauthril himself? And neither was truly any dragon any more. Either way, we consider Piendrem's direct birthing scenario (which didn't involve an dragon egg) to be the test of the difference between dragon and vauthril. When Piendrem gave birth to the First Vauthril Dave, vauthrils creatures of hypnotic triplicity & twinning Lindsey appeared also; the first ever cross-gender & sexual identity female vauthril. And their doubly tipped tails the motion of which could hypnotize were in an pattern of four. Which was just an psychological metaphor for being overly committed any kind of project that requires one to take an personal vow. And the placenta was destroyed into ash the leftovers of an vicious cross-entwined laser-breath by both Dave and Lindsey in order to neutralize its yuckiness; which is what they use in North America (the Gods Russasha and Viktor prayed to) as the secret ingredient to their BBQ Sauce.
