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Snippet #2698431

located in Kyrik, a part of Just A Child's Tale, one of the many universes on RPG.

Kyrik

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Character Portrait: Peter Lukeson
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Peter Lukeson

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The night was silent, a soft breeze floated through the trees, freeing leaves from their fragile hold to stability. A few people passed by on the street in silence as they travelled to and from wherever they wanted to, a few cars passed by but this wasn’t an arterial street and traffic was kept to a minimum. No dogs barked, no assholes swore and threw beer bottles, hardly a peep was heard.

Until you looked up and saw the light show happening from the windows of a high rise apartment. That’s where the real action was.

On top of a twenty story building sat a full-floor apartment. Meant for the rich and/or famous, a blaring gathering of bodies was underway with its own light show, entertainment and general rowdiness that one expected of a planned event rather than some house party. Inside was a finely polished hardwood floor, complete with a full bar, more than enough room to get up and dance, a massive living room area complete with pool tables and dart boards, and not to mention a DJ set up in the center of it holding onto his headphones and blasting techno music to the crowd of several dozen attendees.

Women of...questionable integrity danced with less and less clothes by the minute. Men acted like men, drinking lots of beer, ogling the women and testing their strength against each other in a complete hurricane of testosterone and alcohol. Members of both sex acted with less and less inhibitions as the night wore on, until finally a well dressed man stepped up to the podium so to speak, motioning for the DJ to cut the music for a moment. He swept his hair to the side, trying to disguise the sweat starting to slowly bead on his brow, motioning to another to crank up the AC to another level. He clasped his hands together, giving a wide smile as everyone stopped to give him their attention. Oh how he loved this part of the night, where all eyes were on him and transfixed by his very being, as they all should be. After all, he was the host and life of the party.

“Well, needless to say I think we’re all having a hell of a time here, in my not-so-modest abode!” Peter said in a clear and nearly booming voice to the half drugged and half drunk occupants of his apartment. He smiled a toothy grin as everyone cheered, some clinking glasses and others chugging whatever beverage they currently had in their hand. “But I need you all to shut up and try to focus for one second here!” Peter waited for the sound to dim down to a manageable level for a moment before continuing in his most serious voice. “We are here to say goodbye to a dear friend of ours. A man, who to us and the rest of the world, is now dead...because that son of a bitch is moving to New York to head up a new law firm! Get the fuck up here Steven!” Peter watched as a very drunk Steven managed to get his way through the crowd and approach him. He gave a hug, but it took a lot of effort for Steven to even do that.

Naturally the crowd, in their drug and booze addled minds started chanting; “Speech! Speech! Speech!” Peter gave a bow to the crowd and joined them although he didn’t start chanting, slipping past all of them to take a seat at his bar. He watched with a lopsided smile as Steven gave possibly the worst speech in history to people who wouldn’t remember it by tomorrow morning. No, they wouldn’t remember this speech tomorrow, and two weeks from now they wouldn’t remember Steven, but they would remember the party. They would remember who threw that party, and Peter felt his heart pump with the excitement of victory. He had gotten what he wanted, once again, while convincing everyone else he was doing it for someone else.

It was somewhere around the two minute mark in Steven’s speech that he decided to redecorate the floor with whatever happened to be in his stomach at the moment. Peter grimaced slightly at the sight while everyone else simply cheered. Peter snapped his fingers at the bartender, pointing at the disgusting pile of stomach juice, and watched the bartender sigh and walk around the counter with a bucket and mop. “Hey!” Peter yelled after him. “I’m not paying you to give me attitude, do your job!” With that business done with, Peter maneuvered himself towards the center of the apartment as the party took off on a second wind, sliding in between two scantily clad women whose names he simply couldn’t remember, placing an arm around both of them and immediately they pulled in closer. He knew it was because of the intoxication, but frankly he liked his explanation better.

It was because he was a God among men, high up in the clouds sitting in his castle.




Peter woke slowly, a dull pain throbbing in the small of his back as if he had been sleeping on a rock. His eyes opened with the associated blurriness of a morning after a party and he blinked several times, sitting up and rubbing his eyes to help with his sight. The pain in his back refused to go away, but it wasn’t until he was actually able to see that he saw why. The room he was in was anything but his. His was filled head to toe with trophies, achievements, pictures of him and his friends, and exactly 5 mirrors so that no matter what direction he was facing, he would be able to see himself both from the front and back.

Instead the room around him was bare...actually not just bare, prehistoric would have been a better word. Everything was made of wood, including the bed. The bedding must have been made of the worst kind of...Peter wanted to say wool. The window hung open, a cold draft picking up as he looked down and realized that he had fallen asleep in his suit. He was more annoyed at that than anything else as he desperately tried to flatten the creases out of his pants and jacket to no avail. Now he just looked like a ragtag desperate door to door salesman. Peter grimaced to himself, looking around the room for a mirror and finding none. Where the hell was he? He didn’t drink that much did he? Did they go to some renaissance fair and pass out in one of their hotels? Where was everyone else? He could have sworn he didn’t go to bed alone, so where were they at least? Maybe everyone got up and left before him? If they did, he’d make sure they got an earful for leaving him behind.

He walked to the door, scoffing at the old fashioned slide lock on it, and pushed on into the hallway. This revealed an aging looking architecture as each step caused a creak, the wood and stone walls looked barely maintained and everything was covered in dust. He had to admit, they paid attention to detail here. Getting to the end of the hall, Peter descended the stairs attempting to fix his hair as best he could, rubbing his face and feeling the tiny bristles of not having shaved yet. He pushed open the door and was revealed with a campy restaurant/saloon area. A couple of people turned to look at them, dressed down in what he could only guess was medieval garb, looking more akin to blankets than actual clothes. As he stepped into the room, he could feel more eyes fall upon him, and while normally he would enjoy the attention, he didn’t feel like this was the good kind. Naturally his instincts proved right as a burly creature of a woman stomped out from behind the bar table.

“Now who ta fuck are ya? How did ya get up in mah rooms?!” Her voice was slurred and thick, but he didn’t think it was because of alcohol. Peter stared at her for a moment, looking back at the door then back to the woman.

“What?”

The woman pushed roughly on Peter’s shoulder, even though she only came up to his chest she had some heft behind her arms. “Ya heard me ya skinny white fooker! I dun remember you comin in last night!”

“Well that’s convenient...cause I don’t remember coming in here either.” Peter said, everyone in the bar area looking at him by this point. He noticed that they were all dressed down, and his suit was probably drawing at least half of the attention. The way they glared at him gave him a rare moment of unease, wishing he could be wearing something else for the first time since he could remember.

“Convenient?! Ya fookin spent tha night didn’t ya? That’ll be ten coppa! Pay up!” Peter stared at her again for a moment before shaking his head.

“Ten copper? What is tha...you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Peter reached into his jacket pocket and produced a thin black wallet. He pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. “That should cover whatever tab I had.”

“The fook is this?” The woman asked, staring at the piece of plastic as if it were completely alien to her. Peter sighed, gripping the bridge of his nose.

“Look, it’s a mastercard. I appreciate your commitment to the bit, but if you could just swipe that card so I could get out of here and figure out where the hell everyone else went, I would be extremely grateful.” Peter glanced over at her, and she had the most incredulous look on her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a debit machine? Oh for the love of…” Peter reached into his wallet once more and produced ten dollars. “There, cash. Can I go now?” The woman gripped the paper, waving it in front of her face before scrunching it up into a ball.

“Ya think ya can just pay me off in papah? Or...whatever this bloody thing is?” The woman held up the card and scrunched it into a ball before Peter could stop her.

“The fuck are you doing? Give me back my card you dumb bitch!” Peter yelled at her, only for her to grip his collar and pull him down with a rough tug.

“If ya can’t pay, ya work off yer debt! In the kitchen with ya!” She started tugging Peter behind the counter, naturally he tried resisting but the woman had a grip of iron. In a fit of desperation, Peter grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it over her head as he was dragged by. She dropped, groaning slightly as bits of blood started to flow from her head. He dropped the broken bottle, fixing his collar up slightly. He was about to make sure she was alright, even if she was nuts he didn’t want to hurt her like that, but he noticed that everyone in the bar was starting to climb to their feet. He looked at them in surprise.

“You saw her! She assaulted me! She grabbed me by the collar! She dra...None of this matters to you guys does it.” They all started closing in on him as all his hopes were dashed quickly. “Right...fuck.”

A few moments later Peter dived out of the second floor window, landing head first into a muddy road dazed for a few moments. He slowly got to his feet, hearing angry yelling as the people who had followed him up the stairs quickly ran to get back down to the main floor. Peter didn’t wait, taking off like a bullet, not wasting any time to take in his surroundings until he was positive that the bar goers were no longer after him. Breathing heavily from the exertion, he looked down at his suit and found it completely ruined. He slammed his fist into the wall he was leaning against and looked up. He would have to get another made, and while he didn’t mind getting fitted for one, he particularly liked this black model.

Now all he had to do was figure out where the hell he was and get back home. He crept through the alley, and at the end was met with a face full of market square. Horses with and without carriages carried both people and cargo, stalls filled with trinkets, food and other materials played host to salespeople peddling their wares. The square was filled with people of every shape and size, but they all shared something in common. Every one of them was reminiscent of the medieval ages. It took this scene unfolding in front of Peter for his mind to finally grasp the reality of the situation. He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, and his mouth whispered a single phrase.

“Where the fuck am I?”