Starling- A Lovecraftian Comedy Chap. 2 Sowing Seeds

“You really don’t know the city until you have eaten your way through it,” I said, as [[Marti]] and I walked briskly toward her pine tree. I had gallantly offered my arm, which she had ignored. Shame, but that’s how it goes sometimes.

“Oh, a gourmand?”

“No, just a food-enjoyer. See, you think you are in a generic Canid neighborhood, but check it out- the street food vendors all have killer vegetarian and vegan food.”

“Not my cup of blood tea, but ok.”

“Aww! C’mon, Marti! Look who’s cooking. Taurens!” A particularly beefy… a particularly LARGE minotaur was carefully flipping roast eggplants over charcoal. Teensy little eggplants, most bright purple, some eggshell white. Once he had them charred up, he peeled off the skin and smeared the smoky, rich flesh into a bit of flatbread and topped it with a ferocious little salad. I wanted some. But I had no money.

“Buy us some?”

“No. Use your own money.”

Blast. Still. Mustn't sulk. I can always have one some other time or some other loop.

“So how does this connect to knowing the city? Because this really is a Canid neighborhood.”

“Ah! But, you know what they say about Canids and Taurens?” 

I pointed. A frankly average Canid lady had sauntered over to the cooking Minotaur and pulled him in for a kiss. He grinned foolishly. She slapped him on the ass and informed him that she would be seeing him tonight. Her place. She strode off, tail wagging. He nodded happily and got back to cooking. Nobody blinked an eye. And why would they? Just another big city scene.

“Well. That’s one example.”

“Oh, come on! The guy is shredded, decent looking, has his own business, and can cook.”

“So? What if she can cook?”

“Bet?”

“No.”

Mmm hmmm.”

“Still. One example.”

I pointed a long finger at a stern-looking Canid instructor, ears perked up over his brush cut hair, leading a yoga class in a tiny park between two multi-story stables. It felt a lot tinier, given that the entire class was made up of holsturs and one optimistic minotaur.

“Two examples.”

I laughed, and Marti had the decency to chuckle along with me. She’s good people that way. 

“Alright, so it’s a Canid neighborhood with a strong backbone of beef.”

“Marti!”

“What? I’m allowed to say it.”

“Elves are the LAST people allowed to say it. Didn’t you people breed them for food?”

She laughed even harder, sliding into that strange, bleating laugh of hers. “Exactly! So we’d know.”

“Oh, my ears and whiskers. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You aren’t taking me anywhere. I’m taking you back to my place, remember?”  

“Yes, normie run this time.” I nodded.

“Say what?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Now I’m just confused. Are you feeling ok, Marti?”

“I’m starting to wonder. It should be definitionally impossible for me to go crazier.”

“Nonsense, one can always go crazier,”  I spoke with firm authority. I was an authority, in my own firm opinion. 

“I’ve learned something new today.”

I smiled up at this beautiful city of ours, our Raleigh. “I learn something new every day. No matter how many days it takes. I love this city. Oh, do you want to stop in at the stables?”

“No, why?”

“Fertilizer.”

“First, ew. Second, manure needs to basically cook down before it can become usable, so shoveling up this shit does me and you no good. Third, I am a creature of woods, ancient, dark, and deep. I’d be better off taking a dump in my own flowerpot.”

“Oh? I’ve learned another new thing today. Which pot do you prefer?”

Marti started talking again, glitched out for a second, and sped up her walk. “My, what lovely weather we are having.”

“It is always nice today.” I agreed. The sky was piercing blue, shading to reds, greens, and purples around the edges. Every now and then, some snaking torrent of plasma, sun bright, would worm across a piece of the sky, but it never did any harm. At least, I don’t remember it doing any harm, which is more or less the same thing.

It was only a few pleasant blocks from Leeroy’s, and the people-watching was a joy. The canids, of course, ran briskly in and out of their brownstones and railroad apartment buildings, save for the few flopped bonelessly in chairs out in front of the stores selling liquor and drugs. 

They only looked asleep. Try to pull a smash and grab, and you find out that a two hundred-forty-pound abuela can bite clean through your femur, and will, but only as a first warning.

Wait, do we use metric here? I am pretty sure we don’t speak Spanish. But the currency is Pesos, so…

“Marti, what language are we speaking?”

“At this point, I don’t even want to guess. What language do you want it to be?”

“Well, I think I grew up speaking English.”

“I am absolutely certain that the only language that has ever been spoken here is English, and you have nothing to worry about on that front.”

“Really?”

She nodded seriously, the heartbreaking beauty of her face gilding the lily of her sincerity. “Yes. ខ្ញុំប្រាកដថាអ្នកមានសុវត្ថិភាពទាំងស្រុង។”

“Whew. I was worried for a moment there.”

“Can’t imagine why.” She nodded at the doorman, who wasn’t literally a door, though he did seem unquestionably male. Sort of like a tree without leaves fused with kind of… goats, maybe? And humans? Maybe some other things? A bunch of them worked around these tree-apartment buildings. Not chatty and a pain in the ass to kill.   

I waved cheerily and was ignored again. Such is life in the big city.

Marti stopped and looked back at the doorman. She opened her jaw, her head tilting back far more than should be possible with even vaguely human anatomy. A weird piping sound, like reed flutes from the back of a fume-haunted cave, escaped her. It seemed to mean something to the giant doorman, who looked me over, sniffed for an uncomfortably long time, and nodded.

“Alright, he knows you now and will let you in. Come on. I’m on the third floor today,” Marti said.

“Today?”

“Yeah, I may decide to move the apartment around later.”

I nodded. Sure. Why not? That made complete sense. I violently shook my head and walked up the stairs with her. I was tempted to let her walk ahead as the swish of her skirt was deliriously delightful to watch, but it was doubtless too soon for that. 

Patience, patience, all that. I have all the time in the world, apparently.

“Funny, I thought you would try to drop behind me and leer.” Marti said, in a “playful” tone.

“Don’t be obscene. We only just met.” I frowned at her. “Bit rude, you coming on to me this way.”

“Wait, you thought that was a come-on?”

“Wasn’t it? You were speaking playfully.”

Marti nodded, then violently shook her head. “You are a very mysterious stranger, aren’t you?”

“Oh, how kind of you to say so!”

____________________________________________________________________________

Marti’s apartment is, or was at that time, a vile studio. Box-spring and mattress on the floor, a beat-to-shit and frankly smelly couch the color of old eggplant shoved up against one wall, a little charred wood altar surrounded by bonsai, and a hot plate next to a sink. The attached bathroom had a really good shower because Marti might live like a punk but refused to smell like one. 

Do I need to mention that all the walls were painted black, with lightning jagged streaks of lipstick-bright red running across them? No, probably not. It was a look, to be sure. The fridge was a custom job, made to look like a human torso. It wasn’t. It was just a standard white box fridge with a load of bones hot glued to it.  

I swear, she’s great company and a better cook, but damn, does her aesthetic get old. We all get it, Marti. You are a goth. Yaaaay. Wooo. Except nobody dancing with you is going to be staring at their shoes, that’s for damn sure!

“So, here is your glorious accommodation. I don’t think you are going to fit on the sofa, but hey, you are renting it, so enjoy. Are you bringing luggage along? As you can see, there is ample space on the floor for storage.”

“No, this is everything. Thank you, this is going to be lovely. Are we setting up the pot in the window?”

“Which pot?”

“The one you are taking a crap in? I am really curious to see how this seed grows.”

“There will be no pot pooping. None. Not now, not ever. Remove all fecal speculation from your mind. The seeds will go in one of these planters, which will be fertilized in a perfectly normal, hygienic way.”  She seemed very firm on this point.

“Oh, that’s a relief. I was worried it was going to be a bit smelly sleeping next to that, but I didn’t want to contradict the expert.”

“MOVING SWIFTLY ALONG! Which seed do you want to plant first?”

I nodded. There were a lot of seeds, and they were just loose in the sack. “I have a theory. Try to identify which one has the least Qi in it, and let's plant that one.”

“The worst seed?  Oh wait, you hope this will help give you a spirit root, right?”

“Exactly. Cultivation works in stages, so start from the weakest and work my way up.”

“Works for supplements, might not work for giving a mortal a spirit root.”  Mari raised a finger of shattering, lucid beauty, then tapped it against her bewitching lips. “No, I think we will need to sort for spiritual density and then go from there. Forming a spirit root is no joke, and any plant that could give you one would be special.”

She shrugged her shoulders, whose perfect curves would have made Leibnitz cheer and Reuben weep. “Let’s take a look.”

Marti squatted down and poured out the seeds over the blackened altar. There was a soft murmuration, like the wind through the canopy, like the coming rain, that seemed to be born in the bonsai grove around the altar. The seeds began to make their own sounds, humming and droning, some ringing like a bell, others like a struck glass or a bronze bowl. 

Lights drifted up from the altar, little will-o-wisps of every color the size of a thrown spark spinning up and around the seeds in their own harmonies, each seed covered in traceries of light and sound. It became a mysterious, joyful noise and a riotous picture as each seed contributed its own uniqueness to the whole. Rising from the black earth of the altar was the intangible expression of life itself.

Marti smiled then, softly, happily, treasuring the little scene in front of her. You could see it in her. For all her wildness and savagery, there was that part of her that would always be tied to life. Maiden, mother, and crone all rolled into a dizzying unity, packaged in back fishnets and torn-up combat boots.

We took a moment to quietly appreciate the scene, and then she called one of the seeds to rise up above its peers. It wasn’t terribly grand looking, sort of beige, lumpy, like a chickpea with a gland issue. It floated a bare hundred centimeters above the altar, clad in absurd dignity by its rumbling basso sound and the almost invisible brown-red light around it.

It was trying its best. I got that. It was trying its best, but really, this was too much to ask of it. It was always going to be a lumpy mess.

“This is it?”

“Maybe. Certainly has a special feel to it.”

“A… special feel to it?”

“Yeah. All these seeds need some serious specialty care to cultivate. This ‘lil guy definitely has some special needs. Spiritually potent soil, spiritual water, some very particular NPK requirements that will have to be adjusted over the time between planting and growth-”

“NPK?”  

“Nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. AKA Potash. Standard ingredients in fertilizer.”

“Makes sense. Doesn’t sound very cultivator-y, though.”

“Oh, it is. They just dress it up under a load of other nonsense, then cheat with Qi.” Marti snickered. “Cultivation is overrated. But hey, why not. Let’s graft a “spirit root” onto you.”

“Wait, graft?”

“You don’t have it now, and you are taking something from a plant and adding it to yourself. What would you call it?”  

“Doesn’t the fruit or whatever… awaken a dormant spirit root? Or something?” 

“I guess that is something that could happen, sure.”

We looked at each other for a long moment. 

“Spiritually potent soil and water?” I asked.

“Those are easier to come by.” She left the glowing, singing altar and sauntered over to the sink. She ran the tap over some paper towels, gave them a little squeeze, and swished her way back. 

Then she stopped halfway, turned around, walked the two steps to her bone-fridge, and picked out some old takeout in a container with a clear plastic lid. She delicately sniffed, snorted, and dumped the remains in one of the bonsai containers which directly absorbed the waste into the soil.

“So here’s what we do. We stick the seed in between the damp sheets in the closed-up takeaway container, cracking it just a smidge for airflow. We then stick it in a window for a few days, up to a week, until it sprouts.”  She looked at my face and started cackling. “Ok, ok, I’ll cheat a smidge. It will be ready to plant in the morning.”

“And the spiritual water and soil?” 

“I provide the soil. You get to provide the water. Lucky you.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“… on her knees and spitting cheese all for sixpence. But that’s religion for you- always a happy ending.” I chuckled, then realized I had been rude. “Oh, I’m sorry, I never asked your faith! Would you like a mint?”

“Please. Please stop talking. I don’t know what you want. Please just tell me what you want.” The clerk looked enervated. His little otter whiskers seemed to spasm under bloodshot eyes. He probably didn’t get health insurance through work, poor bastard. 

“Spiritually dense water, of course. Why else would I come to Padget’s Ponds?”

“Oyster. Mussels. Clams. We sell bivalves. Fish. Not water. Never water.” He gasped.

“Disgusting. Do they consent, or is this some kind of slave ring?” I frowned. I wasn’t much of a fighter in my heart, but I’d had more experience than a dozen so-called experts. On the other hand, otterkin were notoriously sick bastards who gloried in gore. It would suck to reset the run already. But damned if I was going to let-

“This. This is a mussel. For eating. What… do you think people do with them? They aren’t sentient. Some people think they are vegetables because they don't have nerves.”

“OOOOHHHH! Oh man! I am so sorry. I completely forgot what a bivalve was. I mean, in the sense of using it for food. Wow. That is embarrassing. Dang. Look, tell you what, as an apology, how about I take a couple of liters of water off your hands, free of charge. No, I won’t hear a word otherwise. I will feel bad all day if I don’t. No need to fetch a jug, I brought one.” I plunked it down into the pond-shaped tank and watched the happy bubbles of air claw for the surface. 

“But… but how does that-”

“Oh, the system is very sensible. You see, they pump water from the bivalve tank into the fish tank, then the fish tank into the bivalve tank. The clams and whatnot filter the water, making it perfect for the spiritual fish. And, of course, spiritual fish give you spiritual excrement, which feeds the spiritual water grass and the spiritual plankton, which gets filtered by the increasingly spiritual clams. A really elegant harmonization of natural processes and aquaculture. You have to admire it,” I said, keeping it cheery.

The otterkin was opening and closing his hands around nothing, his mouth similarly working without purpose. Had his eyes grown a little more bloodshot? His face more pale and wasted? Hard to tell under the fur, but probably. Damn shame how the owners treated their staff here. I should write a letter. The rest of the floor staff had all vanished for a quick smoko too, despite there being customers on the floor. The younger generation just seems to lack the Clerk Spirit that made Raleigh great.

Jug full, I screwed on the cap and wiped off the excess. Spiritual water always makes my hands wonderfully soft, but if you leave it on too long, you get sores. Or at least I do. “Well, it was lovely talking to you. Do consider our service in the future for all your water disposal needs. Our rates are very reasonable, and often payable in money. Stay safe out there.” 

Good deed done, I walked out the door, whistling merrily. The unlocked bike was where I remembered someone leaving it. I popped the water bottle in the basket, and off I went. 

Padgets was in a so-so neighborhood- little mushroom houses growing around and over other buildings. A mixed neighborhood, which I always like to see. Always a chance of running into some species I haven’t met before. Not a big chance, I grant you. But look- a five-handed humanoid whose eyes extended from their human-ish face on bony plates. And the plates could move independently! Wow! What’s their deal?

I wanted to go over and immediately find out, but the weight of the water in the basket reminded me- I had a mission! Marti was waiting for me. And If I had to pick between the all time high five champion and Marti- oh, I had started pedaling faster without noticing. Good going, lizard brain. Good going.

I love Raleigh. Even in a middling sort of place like this- commercial operations next to high rises, myconid slums on top of discount wig suppliers- there was always some mystery to explore, some wonder to discover, fascinating people to talk to and learn from. It’s why I’m so glad that I’m the Mysterious Stranger. What could be better than walking through these myriad lives?

I frowned a moment. Some memory tickled the back of my mind. I didn’t come here often on the first day of a loop. Was there something that happened here in the evening of Day One? If there was, I didn’t remember it. A man came staggering out onto the street. There was a glowing machete lodged in his neck, but the man was focused on the slim book in his hand. Gasping, he stretched it towards me, mouthing “Please!”

A quick swerve and I was straight past that nonsense. Gods below, did he take me for a tourist?  The book flapped back towards the sidewalk, its lure trailing faithfully behind it. Guess he did take me for a mark. Must be a kid- freshly bound cover. 

OH RIGHT! That’s what it was. I got into a huge fight that one time, wound up going to war with a whole library when I pinned their kid open and wrote limericks on him. Which I thought was a pretty moderate reaction, given what he had done in a previous loop. “Unprovoked hate crime,” my ass. 

Boy that takes me back. Haven’t thought of that in years. Ah, youth. I am much more mellow now. Although it was a good reminder- I was still broke, and dinner was coming up. That’s the problem with grand gestures. Sometimes you overdo it, and then you screw yourself. 

Hmm. Where to go to eat around here?  Or rather, who would feed me? Oh, I suppose robbery was an option too.

Didn’t want to stage another accident. Might mess up the execution, and then it would be right back to the beginning with me. Oh, hang on. Wasn’t there another useful thing around here? Oh, come on… think, brain, think! Got it- the public baths. 

The locks on the public lockers were shitty. If you knew what to do, and had the practice, you could get them open faster with a bit of string and a plastic shim than you could with a key. I spotted a crushed red solo cup in the gutter, stopped and grabbed it. Money problem solved.

A brisk thirty minutes later, I was pedaling away two hundred pesos richer and considerably hungrier. Now, Marti was a great cook, but our relationship in this loop was pretty fresh. She probably wasn’t up for fixing me a home-cooked meal just yet. I should grab us takeout. God knows she seemed to live on the stuff half the time. 

I pulled up outside a local joint- the usual blends of foods from who knows where, dished out by who knows what. Well, I know what- squiddies were ok but finicky. It was the way they were easily startled. Smart, playful, and the slightest unexpected noise would make them jump. Poor bastards.

“I’ll have two portions of ewedu, extra locust beans, extra crayfish, the fufu and- hey do you add plantain to the cassava in your fufu?”

“Heck yeah, brother. Best way.” The clerk nodded, his tentacled face wiggling in approval.

“Good stuff, good stuff. Alright, two fufu and the tomato stew. Actually, better make it three portions of fufu.”

“Can’t recommend the tomato stew today. We are out of tripe.”

“Oh damn. Well, got anything else with a lot of meat in it?”

“Seafood count? We got some beautiful akotonshi.”

“Been a minute since I ate a stuffed crab. Sure, load it up.”

Now, if that wasn’t a feast fit for a queen, I don’t know what was. And given she had the charisma to drive me to my knees, I was prepared to call Marti an empress! Though I do seem to have some vague memory not to do that. Kneel, I mean. Yeah, something about that specifically.

Meh. It’ll come back to me if it’s important. 

Dinner acquired, I returned to the apartment. Marti was watching something on TV. She must have liked whatever she was watching, because she was wiggling on the sofa in an intensely interesting way. The flush in her cheeks inspired terrible thoughts, dark desires of the most carnal kind. I could smell blood and lust and hear the susurrus of the wind through dark pine. My teeth ached to catch her neck before she could chew my throat open and-

“Hey Marti, got dinner!” It’s every time with her, I swear. I think it’s her looks but damn, it could be pheromones or something.

“PRIVACY!”

“You are the one getting her jollies on my bed. Is that Animal Planet?”

“No!” She lied. Then she sniffed. Then sniffed again. “Oh damn, is that akotonshi?”

“Yep.”

“Lead with that!”

She hopped up and bounced over to the kitchen. It was an animal pleasure to watch her move. “Did you find the water?”

“Got it right here. Two liters enough?”

“Should be more than enough.” She set out some plates. You didn’t need a fork or knife when you had fufu, but napkins were advisable. As was carefully washing your hands beforehand. Which I did, then stared in a judgy way at Marti until she did too.

“Alright, let's dig in while it’s hot.” I said. “Sorry, they were out of tripe, so I skipped the tomato stew.”

“It’s not tomato stew without the tripe. It’s just… tomato juice and beef liver. And other things. But it’s not right.” She sniffed adorably, and tore into a crab. She crunched right through the shell, and it didn't bother her a bit. Strong, strong white teeth. Must be a strong gut too. Well, since she was happy, I wasn’t going to say anything.

“Where did you get the water from? Not a lot of places outside of the cultivation sects have the good stuff. Not where the public can access it.”

“Oh, I know a specialty brothel, Padget’s Ponds. You ever hear of a fetish called vore?”

Her smile was unnaturally wide. For a moment I thought I saw… something. Something impossible in three dimensions. “Oh yes. I know it well.”

“Yeah, they sell live organisms for people to just… ingest. Swallow them right down. Apparently feeling the texture as it slides down your throat is part of the pleasure.”

“It is. It really is.”

“Well, they say they are a food provider for some of the sects, and that’s why they have water tanks full of spiritual water, but. Come on. I know a knocking shop when I see one.”  I shook my head. “Made me sick to go along with their “It’s all consensual, it’s all just for food,” routine, but… dammit, I needed the water and didn’t feel like trading hands with otterkin right next to a pond, you know?”

She wiggled her hand. "Yes and no. They are all offence. Once you know that they are coming, they leave themselves wide open for counters. Or you can play defense and tire them out, but I say counter and be done with them."

Wise words. I nodded in agreement as I went in with some fufu and grabbed some ewedu. God that was good stuff! 

"Scrap much with otterkin?"

"Meh. Not a lot." She was doing real damage to the crabs, and I snagged one before she could eat them all. She glared at me. I glared right back. Then she continued. "You get old enough and you have been in fights with basically everybody. It gets boring, so you figure out how to get it over with quick."

"Trapped in an endlessly repeating loop, where the only changes are the variations you force for your own amusement." I nodded. She pointed a finger at me, eyes going wide.

"You get it. Exactly that. It's why Elves become so addicted to pleasure. Everything is boring, so if you find something you can completely lose yourself in, you do it. You obsess over it. It becomes the only thing that matters."

"Always wondered why the elf suicide rate wasn't higher."

"Big cultural taboo and, more importantly, literally against our brain chemistry. We are wired for survival. You could reduce an Elf to a brain capable of only two things- experiencing pain on every level of it's existence and in every possible meaning of the word, and committing suicide, and it would still pick an eternity of pain." 

She smiled with an alarming degree of satisfaction. 

"Tested that for yourself?"

"Oh yes. Both ways."

"Really?!"

"We get _very_ bored."

"You seem so chipper. Always out at the bars and clubs, having a grand old time," I said. This was all news to me. How fascinating.

"Well naturally I have found my delight." She smiled wickedly. "So many, many ways to enjoy the flesh, from eating to birthing."

"You have children?" I asked. Naturally I knew she did, but it was polite to ask. 

"Mmm. At the moment, I believe there are still several hundred of them alive." She seemed to count on her fingers for a second, then nodded again. "Yes, a bit under a thousand. Cute kids, but rambunctious and they do tend to get hurt doing the silliest things. Bless them."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Oh the usual. Going to war. Fighting each other for mates. Trying to stab a tornado to death. That one happened a few times." She shook her head reprovingly. "And sometimes it's just plain bad behavior on their parts, and a few dozen of their neighbors band together and burn them to ashes." She shrugged. Such is life, apparently.

"Hands-off mom?"

"After who knows how many thousands of years and more than a thousand kids, you think I get all warm and fuzzy over them?" She laughed, then traced a delicate finger along her cleavage. 

"I'm all about sensation. Making 'em. Carrying 'em. Birthing 'em. Feeding 'em. Once they are weaned, they are on their own."

"Tough momma."

"In fairness, I have tough kids." She giggled. "I have never heard them say a single bad word about me."

I gave her a look. She looked back, all wide eyed innocence. Which the low cut tank top and mini-skirt didn't really help sell.

"Twice." My voice was utterly flat.

"Pardon?" She batted her lovely eyes.

"You have never heard them say a bad word about you... twice."

She put a finger on her cheek and cocked her head to the side in wide eyed puzzlement. "You know, I think you are right."

I nodded, then snorted at her, and mimed someone exploding. She shook her head vigorously. I paused, then shrugged. I reached for the Fufu, and gasped. 

"Betrayal!"

"Never! How dare you!" Marti shot back.

"Rank, vicious betrayal of the lowest sort. You ate all the food while I wasn't looking."

"I would never." She shook her head, surreptitiously wiping away some sauce.

"And after you ate almost all the crab too."

"There were so few! And they were so small!"

"Stuffed crabs, though. Big, juicy, flesh packed crabs."

"I hunger." She looked hurt.  I didn't buy it.

"Hunger for what? More cowbell?"

Marti tilted her head back and laughed and laughed and laughed, her voice sounding like a braying goat, and her mouth flashed with triple rows of teeth, brutal teeth, crushing teeth, tearing teeth, the mouth spreading wider and wider!

“Well the seed is planted. I can’t wait to see what grows.” I chuckled too, digging into the thin remains of the dinner.

"Me too." There was a pause. "What sauce do you put on cowbell?"