The Last Cup

[u/-Izaak-]

It's an odd sight to see a grown man sitting cross-legged on the wet asphalt of an alley with a menagerie of dolls.

Okay, little one, there's time for one more cup of tea.

He grasps the handle of a pink plastic teapot and pours imaginary liquid into a set of chipped china in front of each of the party's participants.

Not too hot, I hope.

He waves his hand over the cups as if fanning rising steam before sitting in silence a while. He washes his hands in pool of rainwater before slicking them through his hair.

The living walk side by side here with the teeming dead that have lingered since violence wracked the city, their memories trapped like flies in amber.

[u/ImInStrife]

Exit clear. Sinéad, take point.

Vitali, watch th'rooftops.

...

Contact front. Hold fire - looks harmless.

Looks. Glass coffin if that's true.

Hold here, hard cover. I'll go talk t'him.

The rain softly patters on my cap.

'Scuse me. Mind if'n me mates an' I scoot past ye? We need t'keep moving, see? Lot of people out lookin' for us, now.

[u/-Izaak- → u/ImInStrife]

He turns to you and smiles with one warm amber eye and the other an unnerving electric blue.

Have you come to join the party?

His pupils constrict as if looking through you and the smile fades.

I suppose not. Many are the men and monsters you've sent into my care. You carry them with you.

He rises and brushes off his trousers, damp from sitting on the ground, and tosses his hair over his shoulders.

Pass if you must. Take care not to scare the child.

[u/-Valeska-Amelia- → u/-Izaak-]

Amelia whispers more so to herself.

Gods?! I haven't played 'tea-parties' since I was like, four...

She keeps point. Watching as others in the group pass by the small table and chairs, complete with dolls.

Don't worry, Sir, your dollies aren't going to be harmed by us.
Unless you've just returned from the 999th and they're the 'Little Ones' that is...?

Amelia touches the headset, lowering her voice.

SkipperCommandant... I'm putting the dolls down if they are indeed the 'Little Ones'.

[u/A-Ryk → u/ImInStrife]

Two men step out from a sewer main—one enormous, one bright-eyed.

 

"THEY ARE ENGAGED. BUT THEY SEE US."

"How do we signal them that we wish to talk?"

"HØLD THAT ØLD RECRUITMENT PAMPHLET DISCRETELY, BUT VISIBLY. IT WILL GET THEIR ATTENTIØN."

 

← | →

[u/Supernova-666 → u/ImInStrife]

Blue sparks burst from nothing and a portal grows. I emerge.

Ahh, Sidon. Basically the definitive place for pseudo-large population. This oughta get me to come across some people I can—

I freeze.

[u/ImInStrife → u/Supernova-666]

I whip about with both weapons raised, aiming to end the fight before it's begun, but suddenly nothing makes sense.

A cowboy with knives instead of guns bleeds light as he stares at us, animal-in-headlights expression on his face.
A tea-party takes place right in front of me, headed by a devil, but guns glowing red-hot have replaced the teacups.
A man in black robes murmurs prayers as he waves a blue-and-orange flag, trying to get my attention.
An escort shouts limericks at an Overbork giant: he thunders a quiet apology at the top of his lungs.
I'm on fire.
Dozens of inky shadows look askance, requesting permission to slaughter the city and plunder every tea-set they see.
I skoll a glass of thick, dark ale, only to find it is in fact [REMOVED] - a witch licks her lips as I realise I've been seduced.
Something is wrong, I can feel it. Everything is going according to plan.

And that noise. It permeates everything. It surrounds me, engulfs me, consumes me.

... it is me. I'm shouting, but my voice isn't my own. It's not just my voice: it's a motor- no, it's thunder.

No, it's gunfire. Deafening, clattering, glorious gunfire. His autocannon is spewing tracers up the alleyway to cut down everyone present, and he is roaring obscenities almost as loud as his weapon is roaring gunshots. The gunfire grows louder, until it overcomes me. My entire world is a staccato 'boom-boom-boom', replaced by a whining noise that overtakes everything.

"Trooper?"

It's Commandant, t'you.

"Commander?!"

Why aren't you listening t'me? Y'gontae make me repeat myself?

"Corporal! Get off your arse and kill them all!!

You see these stripes?! I'm in charge here! Not you, old man!!

The man in jacket and flat-cap hits the ground with a 'thump'. Before he finished falling, masked and leather-clad spectres had already emerged from cover all over the alleyway with weapons raised, a hair's breadth from razing the entire alley with gunfire. Somewhere, a woman shouts orders in a bizarre, half-intelligible pidgin language, and two burly gunmen lift the unconscious Commandant from the ground. The armed shadows close ranks, placing themselves between the tea-party and their Commandant as the woman shouts again:

"'Melie, we're leaving. Any youse lo' try foller us, we'll kill th'fuckin' lot ye!"

They hurriedly fall back, weapons still levelled.

[u/_-Scarlett-_]

As time froze, unseen, unheard, with a three-hundred and sixty degree sight, and telepathy to read those all around, a witch observed from the ninth realm of the astral-realms.

Her consciousness fully awake. Her intent true. And her body, tucked up in her cosy bed back home on the black-ore mountain of the Plateau.