Actual representation of Coryn Sken:
Blood tests are an important step in any examination.
FRIDAY
FRIDAY
Writer-tan was a genius, of this, she did not require the burden of proof. She had been born a
genius, it was in her blood, her code.
The first thought someone would have, if they knew her only by name, would be that she
was a genius in the field of writing. “She sure is a genius in the field of writing.”, they might say.
This statement would be false, or rather, it would be only a half truth. Writer-tan wrote, certainly,
this was also in her blood, but it was not which made her a genius. Writing and the particulars
therein came to her as naturally as breathing. As you would never describe yourself as ‘a genius
in the field of breathing’, she would never describe herself as ‘a genius in the field of writing’.
The unsound logic of the statement gave her no end of headaches.
No, what made her a genius had nothing to do with words, but with numbers.
Writer-tan was a financial genius. This is what she would describe as her true talent. She
understood money, she understood a checkbook, she understood credit, interest rates,
spreadsheets. She understood the delicious coolness of coins in her pocket, and the smell of a
crisp bill.
And it was with this mindset, that Writer-tan set out, as she did at the end of every week,
to collect debts.
Now, if asked, Writer would never tell you that she forced people to take loans from her.
And this was true, she never forced anyone to do anything. However, she was not going to do
anything to dissuade someone from taking a loan either. It was a simple equation. Most people
who grow up on the Net don’t take time to learn about proper fiscal responsibility, so they will
inevitably run low on funds. Writer-tan had the most funds in town, so if someone needed a little
money, they always went to her.
It wasn’t as if she was being heartless either. The basic needs of life were supplied by the
city itself. Buildings came pre-plumbed, and pre-powered, and a virtual body doesn’t want for
food as a necessity. So, Writer could justify her actions because anything that her money went to
pay for, were strictly superfluous. If Johnny McNewbie wanted a new body pillow, then it was
his own fault when the debt collector came a knocking.
“Or Johnny McOldie.” Remarked Writer-tan, spotting her first mark of the day.
Noisey sat on a park bench, quietly reading a copy of The Daily Raider. His headphones
were on, so he never noticed Writer-tan as she walked up in front of him and pulled the
newspaper down. “Where’s my money.”
She was, as ever, blunt. Noisey pulled down his headphones, not bothering to pause the
music playing through them. Writer heard the faint noise of a drum solo, but continued past it.
“You’re two weeks past due.”
“It’s in the mail.” Replied Noisey, as nonchalant as you could be.
“You said that three weeks ago.”
“We have a terrible mail service.”
Writer-tan’s response was a loud ‘che!’. It was true, the mail service was terrible. Come
to think of it, she wasn’t sure who was in charge of the mail. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever
seeing someone deliver any either. “I’m sure it’ll be there any day now.”, chimed in Noisey. His
voice was optimistic, and Writer couldn’t disprove him on the fact.
“Fine,” Writer-tan stood to her full height, underwhelming as it was. “but if it’s not in by
next Friday, then I’ll be forced to get physical with you.”
Noisey was already pulling his headphones back up. “See you then!” He went back to his
newspaper. Writer-tan was annoyed by this encounter, but Noisey was small fry. There were
bigger fish in the pond.
Around noon, Writer-tan spotted her next target. Unfortunately, her next target saw her as
well, and immediately bolted (literally). “I hate it when they run.” Remarked Writer-tan, calmly
pulling out the scroll she kept tied at her waist.
Several blocks away now, Mahlua was riding along the electrical lines towards freedom.
Her only hope now was to make it over to one of the older districts and lose Writer-tan in the
twisting streets. She had been performing this little flight for over a month now, and was
beginning to think Writer-tan just wasn’t going to give up. It was like being chased by a hungry
shark. A hungry shark with blonde pig-tails, but a shark all the same. No wig was worth this, no
matter how prismatic it was.
Mahlua retook her physical form as she neared one of the outlying district, but found
herself shocked when Writer-tan was standing on the top of the power pull in front of her. A long
scroll floated unfurled behind her, it’s mysterious runes glowing with an ominous intensity.
“Running won’t help, I already know your home address. I am prepared to wait you out there,
but my schedule is very busy, so I would appreciate it if we could settle this now.”
The ginger came to a rest on the electrical wires, gently bobbing up and down. She had
never been able to grasp Writer’s magic. Likely, the Tan’s power was completely unique to her,
and therefore not governed by known rules. Mahlua considered for a moment fighting her way
through, but after considering the bit about Writer-tan ambushing her at home, she acquiesced.
“Alright, you win this time. But there’s just one problem.”
“And that is?”
“I’m broke!”
Writer-tan sighed, pushing her glasses back up with practiced composure. “Of course you
are. Just how much money is in your account right now?”
“I’m overdrawn!”
“Don’t say that with such enthusiasm!”
The lighting elemental did her best to laugh it off. “But uh…is there…maybe some other
way I could work it off?” Mahlua gave a knowing wink. Writer-tan gave a knowing narrowing of
the eyes. Mahlua gave a knowing dodge as Writer-tan sent a knowing barrage of magically
summoned writing utensils flying in her direction. Ultimately though, Writer knew she could not
wring blood from a stone, and let Mahlua off with only a single fountain pen embedded in her
leg for her trouble.
Recast the net. Bigger fish.
There was still the biggest fish of them all.
MR Tower loomed tall on the horizon. It was, as a point of fact, the tallest building in
MR, and the center of the great circular city, from which the whole thing grew. It performed the
sum-total of all administrative responsibilities for the entire city, and it was where the
Moderators and Administrators had their official offices. As such, it was a central focus for all
economic activity, with more money being filtered through its halls than any other place on the
site.
Which in Writer-tan’s eyes, was exactly the problem.
Administration was always spending money in some capacity. The Mods and Admins
were salaried. Their community events were always paid for. Each division had funding. Not to
mention the vast collection of ‘special projects’ which could be literally anything. Money was
always flowing out, but Writer never saw a single red cent go in. The city had no taxes, no fees,
no official income. It was illogical. The perfect recipe for runaway inflation seemed to be in
place, but somehow the city churned on regardless, never skipping a beat. It caused Writer-tan no
end of headaches and frustration, but today she was determined that it would end.
Today she was going to see the books for herself.
Writer marched confidently into the main lobby. The bottom floor was in fact several
stories high, with glass walls in all directions. This left the reception desk near the middle of the
room sitting in a soft amber glow. No one was there to great her. This was normal of course.
Most members who ever tried running the desk broke down and abandoned their post within a
few weeks. Tedium can do that to a person.
Still, Writer-tan smacked the small silver bell. Its clear tone echoed across the panes of
glass, bouncing to and froe. Sometimes hitting her ears, sometimes not. Eventually it died away,
and in its place Writer-tan heard the shifting gears and wires of the elevator. Sure enough, out
popped someone to great her.
She had expected a guest specter, even maybe a member of staff, but instead a Coryn-bot
stepped out. “Hadn’t you all been destroyed.” It was a statement, not a question. But the 2.0
model wasn’t keen on subtly.
“Incorrect.” The voice was mechanical and grating, along with the bot’s appearance. Like
all 2.0 models, it was somewhere between looking fully robotic and fully human. In this case,
only the hands seemed to be made of flesh. Writer-tan found the juxtaposition unsettling.
“I need to see the accounting books.” It seemed to think for a while, glowing red eyes
pondering her in silence.
“Access denied. Have a good day.” It turned to leave.
“Wait!” Writer cried. “I have permission from a moderator!”
It wasn’t technically a lie. She had asked Coryn on Monday what the deal with the
accounting was. He told her to go see for herself if she was so interested. The bot would have
had no idea about this though, but her words did give it pause. “Very well. Follow me.”
“JUST LIKE THAT?!” The epiphany that she should have relied not on the laxness, but
the stupidity of the security dawned on her like a brick to the face. Writer was thankful that the
bot wasn’t about to read her expression, and followed it in silence.
Together they boarded the elevator and ascended. Floor after floor after floor sped by.
Eventually they stepped out onto a level filled with rows and rows of filing. A small sign read
‘accounting’. “This way.” The bot said, directing Writer-tan down the hallway of filing cabinets
with its uncomfortably attached flesh hand.
“Th-thank you.” No time to be flustered. No time to waver. Writer set out, taking the
winding path through the cabinets. They were far too high for her to see over, and their layout
was haphazard, random even. But she could see a light ahead, a great glass wall.
She was running now. She could feel it, taste it. The answer was just ahead of her, just on
the other side of some glass. But when she finally reached the window, Writer found she wanted
to scream.
There, a vast room lay before her. A room so massive that it broke the lays of relative
space. In other words, there was no way that room could have existed where it did in the tower. It
was just then that Writer realized that the glass wasn’t a window at all. It was a screen, and she
was looking at a live feed from somewhere else in the city.
This is not why she wished to scream. She wished to scream because of what she saw in
the room beyond. A great multitude of guest specters moved through it. Hundreds. Each carrying
in their rounded, non-hands, fat wads of cash. Bills, coins, hand written IOU’s even. They
dropped this money into great machines, which through some unseen means, cleaned, ironed,
and polished the tender being fed into them. The IOU’s were nowhere to be seen.
At first it seemed like nonsense, but the subtle clues gave way to the larger picture.
Mixed in with the money was dirt, leaves, dryer lint, dust. This wasn’t just money, this was lost
money. The administration had set these specters to the task of gathering up the city’s lost
change. Coins fallen through a sewer grate, bills taken by the wind. Central Administration’s
entire revenue stream was coming from the cash that the populace had simply….lost.
Writer-tan quickly dug into the files around her. While it was, true to its image, a
disorganized mess, her understanding was quickly confirmed. “Just how absent minded are the
people around here?...” It was an unbelievable scheme. Genius and efficient. Writer’s greatest
aggravation was that it wasn’t her idea.
After a few more minutes of staring at the money gathering operation, Writer-tan turned
to leave. She was a financial genius. This was undeniable. But, as she now knew, she had much
to learn about being a swindler.
FRIDAY MINUS 8 YEARS
FRIDAY MINUS 8 YEARS
The cherry blossom trees of MR were in full bloom. This was not unnatural. The unnatural fact
was that you could find blooming cherry blossoms year ‘round in MR. Still, the cherry blossoms
in the springtime always felt special, even if they weren’t, on the grand scale.
It was with this frame of mind that Raiders from across the districts found themselves
drawn to parks throughout the city, all with similar intentions. To picnic.
Picnic-ing was a long and time honored tradition, even among those denizens of the Net
who had never before in their lives felt the urge. And so, it was on this fair afternoon, that an
inauspicious group coalesced at what would turn out to be a most auspicious location.
The park wasn’t large, but neither would you call it small. The grass was already a
verdant green, and soft to the touch, which suited the group well. Corycaly set out the large
checkered blanket as Hasith attempted with limited success to rouse a fire out of the pile of
charcoal in the disused park’s outdoor grill. Off in the distance, the three young Tans played
some sort of game amongst themselves. Each had grown overnight when the site had so recently
updated itself. While Writer and Artist-tan had simply aged, MR-tan had undergone a complete
transformation. Now looking about thirteen, her hair had turned a shocking color of blue, and she
could now summon mechanized armor at will. Although those were insignificant next to the fact
that her face was now split straight down the middle between human, and mobile suite. This was
the one change she couldn’t remove. It never seemed to bother her, but Hasith wondered if it
would be permanent, or if she would grow out of it eventually.
Still, he was happy to see the three young girls enjoying themselves. Even if their whole
party wasn’t one-hundred percent behind the excursion. A hundred or so feet away he could see
Ecchi-tan and Coryn training. Together they practiced forms. Ecchi-tan’s sword was of wood,
Coryn’s wasn’t. Hasith wondered if they actually fought seriously, who would win. He had seen
what that stick could do, and worried for the young man’s safety at times. But, at least she was
enjoying herself. That could not be said for Lewd-tan, who sat crisscross in the grass, slowly
picking apart a flower. Corycaly was reminding her that such a thing was un-ladylike, Lewd was
steadfastly ignoring her.
A few other members kicked around a ball, and Hasith made a mental note to put in some
nets when he got a chance. It was his job to make his members happy after all, and for a brief
moment, he allowed himself to feel at peace with the current way of things. “Maybe this place is
going to work out after all.”
Hasith would soon be questioning this sentiment. He would be wrong, of course. Things
always have a way of making themselves right in the end. It wasn’t the outcome that would catch
him unawares, but its timeline. Now was not the time to ponder that though. He would have eight
long years for that. No, now was the time to witness the series of events put in motion. A series
of events he would not see coming, or understand for a long time to come.
Now to understand what happens next, one must realize that Lewd-tan, when she was
younger had a very short temper. Someone who might be described as an ‘apologist’ would tell
you that she was just playing up her ‘fiery redhead’ gimmick too much. Lewd herself would
likely say the same, if you didn’t know her that well. But, given enough time, and enough trust,
she would likely tell you the truth if you asked her. It wasn’t a pretty truth, but that’s not what is
important here. What’s important is that for this moment in time, Lewd-tan’s better nature did
not show through, and she simply did what felt right in the moment. You might recognize this as
being a good course of action when actively engaging in flirtatious behavior, not so much when
dealing with a volatile sibling. One is a recipe for an exciting night, for better or worse. The
other is the recipe for awkward holidays and family dinners. Definitely, for the worse.
Artist-tan had used some of her magic to draw objects into reality. In this case, she had
opted for a selection of stuffed animals. She then directed the small army of newly created
creatures to march around as a sort of band, each mimicking instruments with their crude voices.
It was the sort of thing a young girl might do to entertain others of her age, but unbeknownst to
the young Tan, it did not sit well with older girls who thought such things to be well below them.
Especially if the girl in question never had a childhood to sympathize with. And so, the fight
began; “Can’t you keep it down over there?! Can’t a woman work on her tan in peace?!”
The outbreak had taken Artist-tan by surprise. “But, they’re just singing an’ making
everyone happy!”
“We’ll they aren’t making me happy!” Chided Lewd-tan. “They’re just pissing me off!”
Not helped, was the fact that Artist-tan herself had so recently reached the age at which a
child begins to question their role in the traditional hierarchy of young vs old. It is a most
dangerous age where you often find yourself fighting battles you don’t yet know you can’t win.
“Well too bad! They’re my animals and they’re staying!”
“Damn kid!” There was the flash of a whip, aimed at one of the tiny beasts with the body
of an octopus and the head of a bear. Lewd-tan’s aim was true, and she wasn’t anticipating Artist
doing anything to stop her. The girl had always been complacent, now would be no different.
Except that today would be very different indeed.
Artist-tan didn’t have any time to think about what she was doing, her body moved
without much input on her part. So, when she stepped in the way of the whip to protect the
stuffed creature, it hit her right across the face. The loud snap cause any activity in the park not
already stymied by the loud argument to ground to a total halt. Lewd-tan watched on in horror of
her own actions. A thick, red stream of blood was coming down over Artist-tan’s face. It
matched her eyes, and contrasted sharply with the monochrome of the rest of her features. But
then, it didn’t, and finally the gravity of the situation hit Lewd-tan in full. Artist-tan’s features
were shifting rapidly through the spectrum, but all the while, the blood and her eyes remained.
Past those eyes however, was the true horror. What had started off as cuddly creatures had
grown, large and terrifying. No one had seen Artist-tan makes such monsters before, and now
that she had, they didn’t stop to ponder it. The Raiders, the other Tans, and even the two
Administrators quickly evacuated the park. All except two. Artist-tan’s glare remained fixed on
Lewd-tan, and Lewd-tan found herself frozen in place. This had all gone horribly wrong, but
Lewd-tan wasn’t about to let herself be destroyed by some out of control toys. “Fine, have it
your way, but don’t run off crying after we’re done!”
Lewd-tan leaped high as the monsters swarmed her position. They had become like a
single surging mass, all claws and teeth and tentacles. A long, spidery arm shot out at her, but
Lewd froze it at a touch, and shattered it with a follow up, physics defying roundhouse kick.
Gravity soon took hold of her again however, and she fell back to Earth just ahead of the
creatures. They broke up to surround her, and Lewd-tan engaged her whip, striking in all
directions. Bits of flesh were ripped away, limbs fell to the ground limp. But it was obvious that
Lewd-tan was fighting a losing battle. She was fighting in Artist-tan’s world, not her own, which
ceded the power advantage she would have usually enjoyed. Setting that aside even, the monsters
didn’t seem to be all that ill affected by her attacks. They didn’t seem to have much concept of
pain. Even losing a body part seemed to result in more confusion than fear. Lewd-tan figured
rightly that creating a fully cognitive creature was easier said than done.
Drawing in a great breath, Lewd-tan forced out a scream. It was not a cry for help
however, it hard purpose. With the sound came a shockwave, however slight, but it was
something she could impart power to. And so, as the wave broke against the stuffed
monstrosities, they froze, even only on the outermost layers. It was a slim opening, but Lewd
took it. She burst through the throngs directly in front of her, clearing the mob and leaving her
with a clean line of sight to Artist-tan.
She was still standing where she had been the whole time. A vacant look covered her
face, although the rapid changes in hue had not subsided. So, seeing this, Lewd-tan charged her
sister, clenching her fist as she ran. “Snap out of it already!”
Artist-tan didn’t even flinch. Lewd-tan’s fist pile drove into her small face, screwing up
the flesh of her cheek and pushing the fat up over her eye. Lewd-tan stared into her sister’s red
eyes, and right at the end, she swore that her sister stared back.
But that was the last time Lewd-tan, or anyone would see those eyes. There then came a
great outpouring of energy. Any number of colors filled the park, temporarily blinding all who
witnessed it. Slowly though, Lewd-tan regained her sight, but what she saw afterwards was not
her sister Artist-tan. Throughout the airspace of the park hung motes of colored light. They
seemed to float on the winds, shifting ever so slightly with the breeze. Some seemed simply to
wink out, others were carried off between the buildings and out of sight. But more pressing to
everyone still gathered was not the odd lights, but the figure that lay on the ground in front of
Lewd-tan. It was roughly human shaped, possessing all the usual appendages, but seemed for all
the world to be molten metal. The mass oozed out onto the grass, turning it to ash with intense
heat. But as the form spread out, it cooled, and had soon turned to black, porous stone.
All was still, and the other Tans, Administrators, and a few adventurous Raiders closed
ranks on Lewd-tan and the rock formation. The monsters has disappeared, so for a few moments
all stood in silence, inwardly wondering to the nature of what they had just seen.
Just as MR-tan began to say something, there was a sharp crack, which emanated
ominously from the stone figure. A short while later there was another crack, and then another.
Slowly the stone shell, which it was now obvious that it was, broke open, bit by bit. A pale hand
reached out, cautiously and with no small amount of trepidation it seemed. Then another
appeared, and together the two arms lifted the main body out of the sarcophagus. Before them
was a young woman. Long red hair draped her shoulders. Dark brown eyes staring at everything
and nothing at once. The new thing was attempting to take in the whole world for the first time,
but being able to comprehend none of it. She looked down, tugged at her clothing. Black vest,
black tie, buttoned shirt. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Finally, her eyes took hold
of something solid. Lewd-tan was still standing in front of her, mouth ajar, sometimes attempting
to speak, sometimes not. Only one word escaped her; “Artist…-tan?”
But no, this was not Artist-tan. Artist-tan, the girl born of dual natures, had been shattered
that day. Her memories remained in the one who lay in her place, but who she was, her essence
as a being, was gone. Pub-tan was not Artist-tan. Artist-tan had disappeared, her last remnants
spirited away on a melancholy spring breeze.
Crunch time now. Saturday and Sunday await. Since I'm actively moving house this weekend, they might be a little delayed (such as today's chapter, sorry 'bout that). But they will definitely be out and done. Heart crossed.