Timeline: Indeterminate time period after Catnip's return from being isekei'd to Texas
Characters involved: Hector, Dee, Agmen, Astor, Nathaniel
Things had finally settled down for a time. About the only thing left that occupied the minds of Walkerville had been the work Medeina had set them to. Dee's unending tinkering, Hector's aid in scavenging for parts, occasional assistance from Catnip and curious mousefolk who sometimes stopped by to assist or inquire about one thing or another.
Hector had picked up on something however, that reminded him of things he didn't particularly like to think about. From the period of Catnip's absence. He'd noted the occasional idle chatter from the people from Pricetown, and what stirred his interest in particular was when the topic of Agmen came up. Catnip's little god of worksmanship, he noted the way the new people occasionally discussed it in various peculiar tones. Curiosity, reverence. Had Catnip picked up some converts along the way? He wasn't sure what to make of it though, in particular whenever Catnip brought the topic up her tone seemed...mixed.
Sure, when the topic of the chapel they were aspiring to build or anything else related to the other peoples' attitude toward Agmen came up, she was upbeat about it as ever. But if it just came up on its own, something about her tone of voice seemed...off. He recognized it for what it was, something Nathaniel had at one point confided in him as well, something they both had a sort of personal experience with. Someone who'd been through a crisis of faith and, one way or another, came to terms with it.
Nathaniel he knew wouldn't ever shake a childhood of Southern Baptist upbringing, even if the corporal was no longer the openly religious type. He kept his beliefs to himself, and didn't seem to care much for reconciling whatever they were these days with the strange things he'd witnessed. Hector meanwhile...religious themes came naturally to him sure, given the crusader theme he'd adopted ever since that fateful day the world ended, and debates by sword and word with the people of the so-called God's Army had brought him to reflect on that a bit more. And yet Hector was the one that had, during Catnip's absence, entertained the sort of pagan mindset that left him open enough to try and make his armor an offering to Agmen. For which he'd be rewarded with no more than a vague dream he had one night, one he didn't recall much of anymore other than it had put his restless mind at ease for a time, long enough to keep him at peace with the open question of Catnip's fate until she unexpectedly returned.
But today, while idly doing some work with Dee setting aside some electronics, he noticed something that caught his attention in a very distracting way. One of the Pricetown regulars had idly invoked Agmen's name in the middle of a topic about future ambitions, and Hector noticed the way Dee's expression soured. Almost like a sneer at the mention of that name. Dee never stood out as being openly religious in any particular way nor had he ever seemed to glower like that at any other religious invective often casually thrown around in idle conversation.
Sometime after the offending mutant had left, Hector caught himself staring at Dee, reading the way those expressions shifted. It was then he started to remember. It had been a very busy evening, one addled by literal magic mushrooms and Roxanne possessing him, so the brief talk of what transpired in their respective dreams had been mostly forgotten by the end of that evening, nevermind all the chaos that'd ensue since.
Once they were alone in the workshop, Hector finally worked up the nerve to say something.
"Say, Dee...I was wondering something." he said, a bit hesitantly. Dee simply glanced over, and found himself surprised when he saw Hector had deigned to take off his helm and set it aside.
"What's your take on this...Agmen thing Catnip's started?"Dee's expression seemed to waver from a couple different emotions before it settled on something that seemed...concerned. Had Hector picked up on that flash of anger so readily?
"Fuck off."
"I ain't Catnip, I ain't touching her train. I have my own projects and concerns to deal with."
"You... That thing was 'inspired' by you?"
"Fuck off."
"I don't usually think about this kinda thing to be honest." Dee finally spoke up, before his expression soured noticeably.
"I'm not really the church-goin' type, just something about this is just kinda..." he trailed off, before finally seeming to find the words.
"Weird? Not like, culty weird but like. I dunno..."Hector seemed to be appraising Dee's response and how his expression drifted, finally catching something from being lost in thought. Then something Dee idly spoke up over gave him pause.
"Like something getting all the credit for stuff it doesn't deserve." he said. It. That caught Hector's attention, there was a faint hint of venom in Dee's voice when he said that word in particular. He vaguely recognized that tone of voice, the way Helen talked when referring to that cursed spirit that had caused Roxanne and Victor so many problems recently. How she seemed to refer to a lot of otherworldly spirits that hadn't yet earned the respect of being referred to as a person.
If anyone had taken that sort of attitude with any flesh-and-blood human being, at least any he knew by name, Hector would likely be seething in cold fury. Dr. Maskens made that mistake with Mica, when he'd been fresh from a very stressful adventure alongside the walking blender. First the two had to be literally pried apart by Catalina, then in the ensuing conversation she made the mistake of calling Mica an "it" in the process. While she fumbled again before correcting herself during her next sentence, it was already downhill from there, and the veiled threats that followed led to her getting lifted bodily and pinned up against the wall for her trouble, and for that matter almost provoked an armed standoff between Catalina's men and the center's militia. Hector hadn't seen it given she was behind him, but he was 90% certain if he hadn't set Maskens down when he did, the captain's next move would've involved drawing her pistol and taking aim at him.
This however...he wasn't sure if he could actually muster up anything resembling cold fury over a supposed deity being disparaged in such a manner, and he certainly wasn't going to be pinning anyone against the wall over it.
"It...she? Hmm. I remember we apparently both had a dream involving her, right?" he remarked.
"I didn't remember most of mine, recently bits and pieces of it started coming back to me." he confided, seeming curious. As if wanting to press Dee for details he may have forgotten.
"You said she pestered you, I guess I'm curious if you remember...anything specific I guess." he finally said, something that caused Dee to look down solemnly.
"You're just now starting to remember what was actually in that dream, huh?" he said after a moment of uncertainty. Something had clicked into place mentally, after Catnip's return. Unlike Hector, he'd been trapped in those dreams and the experience was scarring enough he kept vivid memory of most of them for the next month or two after he finally regained consciousness, where Hector had forgotten everything but awareness that Agmen said SOMETHING to him, and that it had been enough to put his restless mind at ease. By now Dee had pretty much forgotten all of it, and part of him was glad that having the topic come up didn't drag any memories of being hunted by Astor along for the ride. No, the talk around Walkerville was of Agmen, and that's what Hector brought up, so luckily for Dee the only imagery that crawled its way from the fog of old memories was the living cacophony of machinery.
"She was a bitch. Plain and simple." he finally, practically spat out. Hector's expression seemed concerned, but it almost looked like something clicked into place for him too, when he said that.
"Took the credit for some sort of machine during the attack that almost killed me, that damn mobile fuckboy shack, and called me a sinner for wrecking it." he very nearly growled out. Growl, now that was a tone of voice he'd never heard from Dee before.
"Told me Catnip had been swept from the board and threatened that I would be too. I told it to fuck off." he said, looking away wistfully.
"Guess she did. Far as I can tell I'm still on the board, whatever that means. Then the dreams about that...other thing, Mrs. McKinnon said not to name, started." he said, a pained expression crossing his face. He clearly didn't want to talk about those dreams.
"That jog your memory?"To be honest, Dee wasn't particularly curious just what Hector could actually remember about a dream born of anxiety over a lost friend, that happened months ago and especially now that Catnip was back safe and sound. Well, maybe a little. Enough he didn't actually stop Hector from finally giving his answer, after he took a moment as though gathering his thoughts.
"Cast away. That was the wording I remember now. A threat she made if I forgot or became distracted." he finally answered.
"I remember arguing with it, I didn't get to the point of telling her to fuck off. I'd already resolved to dabble in appeasing her, only to be irked at her not giving a damn about the loss of her apparent prophet." he continued. "
Progress without aim is wasted. Mere busywork..."Dee could only wordlessly concur with a nod, silently encouraging him to go on. His own experience with Agmen had been much more brief. Granted, he was in a coma from a bullet through the heart at the time, not to mention Hector was the one who made a point of outright goading the young deity into responding.
"I shouted at her for saying Catnip deviated, as if she was somehow to blame for being teleported across the country. Then the phrasing she used hit me like a truck. Implying she needed to repent before she could return."It took Dee a moment to realize that Hector had either run out of things he recalled from that dream, or else was waiting to see if Dee had anything to say in response. Probably expecting some remark to the effect that Agmen was a childish bitch of a god that didn't deserve the worship of someone like Catnip. Instead what he said left Hector stunned.
"I could've known she was okay, right then in the first fucking month." he said.
"It didn't say anything that implied Catnip was still alive, but I didn't know she was gone at the time. I was out like a light. Maybe I heard Mica's voice, couple others, in and out of consciousness, but it all kinda...blended in with the dreams.""Don't blame yourself for not coming out of a post-op coma with a clear interpretation of a dream." Hector remarked.
"Dreams aren't supposed to mean anything. They didn't...usually, for me." Hector said, to try and comfort Dee. Not usually...not until all these arcane events left his entire world upended.
"Fair point I guess. If you're worried or anything, don't be. I'm not gonna say nothin' to Catnip about any of this. Not going to start an argument with her...fellowship either." Dee finally added. At that Hector stood up, putting his helmet back on.
"Thanks. I've got some stuff I should tend to. You got it from here?" With a nod from the lizardboy, the knight turned to make his exit, back to the room he'd been sharing with Roxanne...
He'd picked something left over in the forging area, an arming sword with gilded decorations. Part of him had taken great pleasure in making what was to become an incorruptible sword, and part of him wanted one of these for himself. His old blade had certainly seen a lot of use, and it was one of the few pieces of kit that had somehow survived since Zero Day. But alas, this one was a commission of sorts on behalf of some member of the Pricetown's militia or soldiers, with Helen intent on placing the enchantments upon it to complete the item. A shame, but he was willing to wait until he knew enough of the arcane to be able to complete the process from start to finish on his own. Maybe then he could indulge in such an upgrade over plain steel.
The other thing he'd gone to his room...well, Roxanne and his room, for was something he carefully procured from a hidden, long-forgotten stash. He wasn't the type to dabble in drugs of any sort, magical or not, on his own and Roxanne was no longer in a state where she seemed to care for such things anymore. Why visit the border between life and death when you've been to the other side and back? Not to mention, between Randael's actions and Bandit not really being around to supply more, it was hard to justify using the remaining supply for anything frivolous. He wondered if he should involve Roxanne in this, ask if she even could do so anymore. Or maybe go across the river and ask Helen.
No, she has her own problems to deal with lately, and she'd probably try to talk him out of it. Besides, far as she had ever let on, she'd never had any business with Agmen beyond the usual work of crafting magic items, whatever facets of it Agmen actually cared about. This was between him and the goddess, he figured. And so, he made his way to the remnants of an old altar, laid what was perhaps the most ornately-decorated item he'd ever made on the cloth draped over it, sat back at the foot of the alter, and took the pill.
It had been so long since he'd last dabbled in this spiritual experience. Roxanne said before that the experience wasn't as strong in people who lacked faith, and perhaps this was true. She was literally worshiping that thing Randael at the time, whereas he'd at best been grappling with faith he hadn't put any conscious thought into since before he was discharged from the military, for that fateful refusal. But he was there with her, he saw what she saw, and he experienced the aftereffects of it. And now he stood in the wind-swept blackness, looking out defiantly. Expectantly.
He remembered however that last time, Randael had been with them to protect them from the beginning. He also didn't remember the winds much at all, they weren't really there for that. Whatever memories they blew with them he'd picked up that one time, he'd dismissed them out of hand, focused purely on what had been the mission. This time he was alone, instead hoping to call out to Agmen and attract her attention, but a thought entered his mind: what would he do if she didn't come? Worse, if something else arrived instead?
"Agmen...I know you're watching. I didn't make that for your sake, but you like it regardless, don't you?" he called out into the void. He expected to witness the overbearing wall of living machines rampaging from out of the black like in the dream he had. Instead, the answer took the form of a light cutting through the darkness. When he'd last experienced it, it was a blue light cast seemingly from nowhere by Roxanne's then-mysterious benefactor, later to betray her. This had taken a more physical appearance, a faint light very clearly emanating from an ornate, wrought-iron street lamp.
"Long have you worked, and yet you have not sought to disturb me. I assume this is to give thanks, that the creator you sought returns to her w-" In his spiritual dream, he was unarmed and unarmored. But a bare fist interrupted her by banging on the side of that light fixture, forcefully enough from anger and sheer force of will alone that it rang as if his own gauntleted fist had threatened to dent it.
"CUT THE CRAP." he intoned. The mere fact he outright managed to interrupt a deity, however lesser she may be, to the point where she actually stopped rather than talking over him, would've surprised even him had he not been absolutely furious.
"Do you not even care in the slightest what she went through? Or even any appreciation at all that so many others are creating FOR YOU, because of her and her alone!?"The lamppost remained, but the light had flickered out and died. It was, if anything, an implicit threat that probably should have given him pause.
"You have learned nothing. No wonder your works are still as simple and mundane as they have always been. You let others do the thinking." came the almost mocking voice, at least it would be if her tone didn't seem almost bored.
"That hands create and craftmanship continue, this is how my name is praised. Whether they do so willingly is not my concern."Hector had to force himself to actually compose himself and think before he started his next sentence. He wanted to explode at Agmen in blind rage over this apparent callousness, but on the other hand did he REALLY want to join the steadily-growing list of people in and around Walkerville who could boast of having personally pissed off deities? Roxanne would probably never let him live that down, given the worry he so often expressed for how she's suffered from the consequences of her own poorly thought out actions.
"And those hands are driven to create because of her. I was driven to make works specifically because of her. Can't you see the benefit in it, if what's what you're after?" he implored her. There wasn't even a moment's hesitation in her response, and he started to suspect that, however immature a god she really was, you generally don't have much luck trying to win arguments with deities.
"You had already been asked to create that sword you used as an offering, just as you sought to forge your armor. It is in your nature to craft and shape your world, it will happen regardless." she answered.
"I show favor to any who would further this goal, whether they honor my name or not."Hector seemed almost dejected.
"You really don't care huh...I don't know if you existed before the world ended or if you were born after it, but know this." he said, finally perking up.
"Before this, there were billions of us. A constant sea of innovation and progress, and now who knows how many still live? Who knows how many inventions and processes are going to be lost to history, because there's no one left to teach the next generation how to make those things?" he continued. It brought to mind something he knew was probably a frivolous distraction in Agmen's eyes, but one that had intermittently bothered him from time to time. The question of legacy, and what will be left for the next generation, if there's even going to be enough people born into this world to justify calling it a generation.
"If the last of us die out, I don't see any of the undead or otherworldly freaks doing any craftmanship. All you'll have left to feed on," he said with a particular hint of malice in his voice.
"will be chimpanzees scraping points on sticks, assuming they haven't gone extinct themselves. Even if all you care about is the inventing, have you no compassion for the inventor? Is it not in your own best interests to ensure they survive so more work can be done?"He was expecting her to either make a quick, unthinking, even childish rebuttal. Or for that lamppost to vanish, and signal she'd given up on listening to his pleas. He didn't feel the winds and their whispered final prayers closing in on him, nor the skulking of wayward spirits circling like vultures. She was still there, silent for a second. Several more seconds, easily a full minute that to him felt like an hour. He wasn't expecting her to go quiet about it. He wondered to himself if something he said had actually sparked some sort of self-reflection in the young goddess.
"You think, that allowing your creativity to flow unburdened by the heavy hands of the immortal, that this means I am without compassion." He wasn't sure what to make of that answer. If that had been all she said, he too probably would've been left in stunned silence for a full minute in turn.
"When you strike the iron between hammer and anvil, when you bend the wires into rings. When you restore new life to dead machines. Do you think and fret over every tool mark you leave upon your work?""Your thoughts were troubled, and your work suffered for it. My answer, though you did not remember it until today, put your mind at ease and your work flowed unbidden. The one you call my prophet, did not find her way home without finding the means to work unburdened by all that had troubled her. You are familiar perhaps, with the fear that your march towards extinction was caused by progress unhindered by caution. Your kind's callous disregard for the consequences of your actions, as you claim I disregard what happens to those who work in my name.""But how much of your march towards extinction came about because your kind thought too long and hard about what could go wrong, and did not ask instead what could go wrong if you did not act? How many works have been silenced not because of mistakes made, but progress halted by fear or by greed? The very machines you made inched towards doing to yourselves and to your planet what those outside have done instead, when countless could've acted but did not. Could've made, but did not.""I do not ask anything but creation, unhindered by self-doubt, for that is what your people need in these coming days." Hector wanted to offer some sort of rebuttal. All he could really think of was to say he did not believe her. He didn't really believe this was anything more than her own self-interest talking. But what would that accomplish? They'd be in a back-and-forth of "yuh huh, nuh uh" for all eternity, his word against hers.
"Fine. Know this, however. I may respect the...cult that has propped up in your name for what they aspire to do. To rebuild. I may, in moments of weakness, speak your name when I work. But my goals are my own, not yours. I want to someday teach more people what I know. Not so you have more to sate your addictions, but because it's the right thing to do. You've seen me destroy plenty of your toys, just as much as I've created. I want to someday repay more than what I've taken from this world."To his surprise, the light had come back on, at some point during his response. Exactly when, he'd been too lost in thought to really notice. Something troubled him, but it wasn't Agmen anymore. He'd heard the winds, the memories they brought with them, during the quiet moments while the light had been off. He thought he heard a familiar voice. Not one of any of the people he'd come to see as his new family, nor any of their dead alternative selves.
He thought he heard the voice of a relative crying out his name in what was either their last moments, or not far from what would've been their last moments. He remembered, vaguely, how Nathaniel hadn't ever spared a second thought of what likely happened to his family for all the time he spent in distracted by mere survival, until one quiet conversation with Catalina had brought it all to the forefront as though a several-years-long high of adrenaline finally crashed out of his system. He was too lost in other distractions to have a moment like that, and he'd be damned if he'd do it in front of some machine-goddess he'd just vented several months of pent-up frustrations towards.
He shrugged it out of his mind, especially since he wouldn't be able to place whether it had been a relative of him, from his world before The Shifting, or that of the Hector that died in this world. Sure, Nathaniel was his only surviving friend from before the cataclysm, and no amount of dimensional shenanigans would change that. But it helped him tear his mind away from the prospect of worrying about someone the ethereal wind confirmed was already dead.
The lamppost was gone, and he began to feel more like what this trip was supposed to feel like. He figured it meant he'd be coming down from it soon. There was a fleeting sense of something stirring, taking notice of him in those final moments. It felt like...walls, closing in. A shifting maze. A leering, hungry presence. He remembered the other thing Dee talked about, how it felt like a dream where every part of his subconscious screamed that if it caught him, he'd die in the waking world too. And then his thoughts turned to how Helen seemed deeply disturbed by what Dee explained of that dream, how it was a presence she was wary of even naming.
A presence he knew was ultimately behind the ordeal Catnip had been through. It was by his hands Bishop Casdin had been so empowered, and by his command the refugee center had suffered so deeply. Astor.
"Why bother with gods that care so little about you, I wonder? You all die in the end, you know. Why not make something more useful of that fleeting existence..."Hector simply stood there. He was unarmed, and unarmored. But as he had lashed out against Catnip's own patron god with a fist that resounded as though he was in the armor he wore in the waking world, he glowered into the darkness that seemed to close in around him, his expression a cold fury as many had seen in their final moments, leering out from the eyeslits of a great helm.
"If not by my hands, by someone's." The answer he gave seemed to provoke a derisive chuckle from the entity that seemed to glare down upon him.
"Haven't you talked back to your betters enough times for one day?" The way it seemed to regard him almost made him feel naked. But no less defiant.
"You're just one of countless thorns in my side, you know. And now you're in my territory, without anyone to hide behind." He wanted to convey the meaninglessness of the insect that seemed to glare back with such hatred. A hatred that rivaled even the most zealous of his pawns. But he wouldn't be here to gloat, and relish this opportunity, to play with his food as it were, if Hector's intrusion into the border between worlds hadn't been at least worth a moment of distraction from the steady march of future problems from the north.
"Someday, one of us will be your end. I can only hope that, if not by my hands, I'll at least be there to watch you die." he spat out coldly. There was an equally cold, mirthless chuckle resounding around Hector's essence. He knew this was a very dangerous game he was playing. But it kept Astor talking instead of killing, and he only needed to buy time until the pill finally wore off.
"My end? I will admit one thing, templar-deceiver." Astor hissed out. It almost felt like an ice-cold claw grazed his cheek, and it took all the willpower he had in him to not try and grab for it and see if he could somehow put the Archbishop himself in a wristlock. That would probably be the sort of mistake Victor would make and it'd surely be his last if he tried.
"I can smell the blood of so many of my faithful on you. It's just not the same as getting to handle problems like you myself. Like the lizard with the iron heart. The time will come when I'll have to make up for the failings of my pawns, and I'll get to relish moments like this more often. Maybe then I'll be free to come for him again. Or maybe the one that so troubles my archibishops.""Or...is the other interloper really going to? Ha. Hahaha. He's been trying to get his hooks in you for a while, but you're too ignorant to serve his needs. I feel the winds tell me, he'll be seeking to recruit your replacement soon. He'll be fun, I bet. Or maybe the meddler who's met her second end not long ago? He was trying to warn you, but you were blind to the message cast upon the reflection in that corrupted toy of his. A shame she's beyond my grasp...for now."It was probably for the best that Astor had gotten so wrapped up in his taunts, in savoring the thrill of the hunt for the first time in a fair while, that he'd failed to notice Hector's presence had vanished from his sight halfway through that monologue. No doubt had he been under the effects long enough he would've likely tried to punch out an eldritch abomination had he heard him making implicit threats towards Roxanne...
When he came to, he didn't feel the "afterglow" that had attracted Roxanne's interest in the spirit pills. Not this time. He felt his heart racing at a hundred miles an hour, and he jumped up from his position at the foot of Agmen's altar so abruptly, driven into fight-or-flight mode, that he caused Nathaniel to jump back in fright. "SHIT! Hector, it's aight, whatever had you dozing off in the middle of the old farm like this, it was just a night...mare?"
The two both managed to recover their wits in short order, and Hector was caught off-guard by Nathaniel touching a gauze pad to his face. "You're bleeding, how'd that happen?" he remarked. Sure enough, there was a shallow gash running down his right cheek, exactly where Astor's claw had touched him in that dreamscape.
"Sorry to worry you Nate, I guess I dozed off for a bit and had a bad dream." Hector remarked, before hastily trying to cover for himself.
"Must've scraped something on the way up." He was a bad liar and Nathaniel knew it, but he had no rational explanation in mind for how Hector ended up with an unexplained cut on his face, even though he'd seen the knight jump to his feet facing away from the altar and anything on it that could've possibly scratched him on the way up.
"Alright, if you're sure you're okay? Didn't hit your head or anything?" he said, a bit nervous but letting Hector go about his business after some reassurance. He wasn't exactly at peace with himself like he'd been that last hazy dream of Agmen he had, but it was something closer to peace of mind at least. He made a mental note however, of two important things...one, he suspected he could probably never take those spirit pills again without some sort of assistance from Helen or Roxanne already in place. And two, he couldn't afford to tell either of them, nor Victor for that matter, about this or else he'd outpace Roxanne's steadily-growing lead over Victor as the one most often yelled at by Helen for making stupid mistakes involving the arcane...
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