ahit au for hayley!

[accidentallich]

[Gershom had come to Subcon to get away from people.

As far as he knew, nobody actually lived in the dank, dark forest. That made it the perfect place for a new abomination against nature to hide. He could stay in there and not bother anyone.

And presumably Salvador wouldn't chase him into Subcon of all places... right?

At least, that was what Gershom's intention was. He'd seen the small creatures first, from a distance, and just when he was reconsidering the whole 'uninhabited' thing-

-he found himself stuck in the middle of a bag.

This may as well happen. He's already cowering before Avery makes his entrance.]

Comments

[subconmodo]

[The Snatcher laughs long and loud as his imposing, shadowy form bursts up from the ground, his glowing eyes narrowed in the twisting darkness of the trap, arms spread wide in a mockery of welcome.]

FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooo... What the--?

[His arms drop to his sides, eyes large and round.

A skeleton? Did one of the dead bodies finally manage to crawl itself out of the swamp? But there's no spirit attached to this guy. Hell, there's not even a soul rattling around in there.

He leans in to examine the cowering bag of bones in front of him, his eyes narrowed as he strokes his chin.]

Just what in the world are you?

[accidentallich]

I'm sorry I didn't know anyone lived here I didn't mean to-

[Gershom is quivering with terror and babbling, and it takes him a second to realize he's been asked a question.]

I... think I'm a lich? Or something like that...

[subconmodo]

A lich?

[He straightens, thinking back to old magical tomes and bored nights in the library.]

That'd explain why there's no soul in there.

[He breaks back into a grin, clapping his hands together.]

Tell you what! You hand your phylactery over to me, maybe do a few jobs here and there, and I won't scatter those bones of yours across my forest!

[accidentallich]

I would, but, um... I don't have it. My ex does.

[He fidgets, wringing his bony hands together.]

[subconmodo]

[Snatcher's smile remains, though not nearly as big and somehow even less genuine than it was before.]

Your ex has it.

[The words are dry and disbelieving and yet he can't sense a soul on this lich at all.]

[accidentallich]

Right. [Does this look like the face of a man who could lie or joke about this, Snatcher.] But, I could try to do those jobs for you still...?

[subconmodo]

[Well.

This is annoying.

No soul, death probably wouldn't be permanent, and of course some drama with an ex would be in the picture. As if he doesn't have enough of that in his life.

He's silent for a moment, frown deepening as he pours over his options, and then suddenly he heaves a heavy, long-suffering sigh.]

Fine, fine. I guess I'll put you on mail duty for now.

[Having someone a little taller than his usual minions (and just as dead) could come in handy, after all.]

But! You don't set one bone out of this forest. Your life is mine. Got it?

[accidentallich]

I didn't want to leave anyway... [There's probably nowhere he can safely hide from everyone, if even Subcon is no good.] Yessir.

[subconmodo]

[If he could arch an eyebrow right now, he most certainly would. Instead, his glowing eyes perform the closest approximation.]

Huh. A masochist, eh? I suppose it was only a matter of time...

But! As long as you follow the rules, I guess it doesn't matter to me!

[accidentallich]

[He's a monstrosity, where else would he go? And besides, Salvador surely won't think to look in Subcon Forest for him. He's safe... as safe as he can get in a place like this.]

What should I call you?

[subconmodo]

"Snatcher." Or "Boss." I'll take either one. Heck, I'll even take "sir!"

[He jerks his thumb in the direction of the wavering walls of the trap, where the distorted single-eyed faces of the minions on the outside can barely be seen trying to peer in.]

They all tend to stick with "Boss," though, just so you know.

[A contract appears from nowhere in a puff of purple smoke, and Snatcher grabs a pen, quickly scribbling something out before handing both parchment and pen over to Gershom.]

Now all you need to do is sign and we'll be in business! Oh. And don't worry about that scratched out part. We've already gone over that little detail.

[Said detail being the whole soul part. He may have just grabbed one of the generic template contracts he had laying about for these sorts of purposes]

[accidentallich]

[Gershom reads the parchment carefully. Do what Snatcher says and you can access some of the forest, etc. etc.

He signs his legal name - Kuni ben Monash. It already sits wrong with him, but it's what's legally binding.]

Thanks, Boss.

[subconmodo]

[This guy learns quickly. That's a point in his favor, at least.

The contract disappears before the ink can even finish drying, and the barrier surrounding them disappears into nothingness.]

Glad to have you aboard! And since you've been a better sport than most of the losers who wander through here, I'll even let you off easier than usual today. Follow my minions back to the village. They'll get you set up with, uh... Something. Probably.

[He doesn't think Gershom is going to fit into the stump houses. But they make things work here so why can't Boney?]

[accidentallich]

[He's pretty tiny, maybe if he crouches he can fit-

Obediently, Gershom follows the minions back to the village. Along the way they ask lots of questions - what's his name (Gershom, he decides on the spot), where he's from, why he looks so funny. He answers them as best he can, because it's quickly apparent that these are children.

One asks what he does for a living, and he says that he's a poet.

"Do you write stories too?" one asks. "Bedtime stories?"

And that's why a few days later, Snatcher finds Gershom in the center of the village, surrounded by minions. He'd found paper from somewhere to write down a story on.

In a silly voice:]

"I know what I'll do, I'll have my two boys carry me to the rabbi's house. That way my shoes won't make footprints, and the snow will stay fresh and-"

[Gershom notices Snatcher, belatedly, and the silly voice drops.]

Oh - h-hello, Boss.

[subconmodo]

Storytime, huh?

[Something involving snow, too. Not what he would have picked.]

I assume you've all completed the tasks I gave you before you decided to sit around telling campfire stories.

[accidentallich]

O-of course, boss.

[He’s responsible! And also not stupid.]

They asked for a bedtime story, so...

[subconmodo]

Good. I don't keep all of you around for you to sit around and be lazy.

[That's HIS job.]

Though I'm also curious to know why my stories suddenly aren't good enough.

[There's a chorus of "UHHHHHH"s from the minions.

It seems that, as good as reading from a law textbook is for putting kids to sleep, it's not good story material.]

[accidentallich]

[One brave minion makes an attempt. "They're not... actually stories, boss."]

They were asking what I did before I came here, and I told them I was a writer.

[subconmodo]

[That manages to get an arched eyebrow out of him. Or the closest approximate on that big ol' jack-o-lantern face of his]

A writer, eh? So that entire story came right out of your head.

[accidentallich]

More or less? ...um, can I go on?

[Don't want to keep the minions waiting for the ending.]

[subconmodo]

[He gestures for Gershom to continue and makes himself comfortable, a hand on his chin as he watches.]

[accidentallich]

[Clears his throat!]

"I know what I'll do, I'll have my two boys carry me to the rabbi's house. That way my shoes won't make footprints, and the snow will stay fresh and beautiful."

He ran to his sons' beds and shook them. "Wake up, boys. I need you to carry me to the rabbi's house in time for prayer."

Sleepily, the two boys put on their coats. Then they put on their shirts, then their shoes, and finally their socks. (That's how they did it in Chelm.)

Still hardly awake, the boys lifted their father up upon their shoulders, opened the door, and carried him to the rabbi's house.

Rap, tap tap. The shamash gently knocked on the rabbi's window, proud that he hadn't made footprints in the snow.

"Okay, boys. Now carry me home." The boys turned around. All three yelled in surprise when they looked at the ground. There wasn't just one set of footprints on the ground, there were two sets!

"Who made those horrible footprints?" the shamash screamed. "I tried so hard to make sure that the snow would stay beautiful, but someone else came out early in the morning and ruined it. Look how silly people can be!"

[subconmodo]

[The minions all begin laughing uproariously, and even Snatcher quirks a smile that seems a bit less menacing than usual.]

Ha! Talk about a family of fools! They just ended up screwing things up even more!

[accidentallich]

[Even if he's more confident in his skills as a poet than a storyteller, seeing everyone laughing and smiling makes Gershom feel like his lot in life isn't so bad right now.]

I'm glad you all liked it. Have a good rest tonight, nu?

[subconmodo]

[The minions all nod and rush back into their treehouses, leaving Snatcher alone with Gershom.]

Well then. Looks like you've just signed yourself up for an extra job.

[He hardly looks like he's complaining.]

[accidentallich]

I don't mind. They're good kids.

[Morbid, yes. But good kids.]

[subconmodo]

[He could talk about how they're all dead, but given the state of the guy in front of him, Snatcher gets the feeling that it wouldn't have as much of a spooky impact as he would like it too.

Pity, probably, and pity is the last thing anyone in this forest needs.

Unless it's him. Snatcher is, of course, allowed to pity whatever and whoever he wants.]

Better get to writing, then! They're going to be hounding you for a new story every night, no doubt.

Just let me know when it starts to get to be too much.

[It almost sounds like a sweet offer on his part. Almost. The smug, almost condescending tone doesn't help.]

[accidentallich]

I’ll do my best, sir.

[It may be condescension, but it doesn’t change that these are innocent(?) kids who deserve something nice in their unlives. ]

Although I’m more used to writing poetry...

[subconmodo]

[An idea is already starting to form in his head]

Well then... Go ahead and write some of that too. Stories for the kiddos and poetry for everyone else. I'd be more than happy to help you with publishing.

For a cut of the royalties, that is. Ink and parchment are expensive, you know!

[accidentallich]

You would? That's - still very generous of you, sir.

[He's never written poetry for the money anyway, so it's not like he cares too much about that. Besides, what does he need money for now that he's like this?]