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6/25/2025, 1:30:26 PM
>God bothering
You shall. It is practically your sacred duty. Of course, provoking the WYRM is less entertaining when you are unable to see any reaction— existing outside reality is a major pain, you've decided— so it's up to you to get creative.
At least you have done this before. You concentrate and involute, dragging the WYRM down inside— you are not separate; It must be what you are, and It must be where you are. Right now, you are seated, unsteadily, at a wrought-iron cafe table. The chair is much smaller than you remember it, and not suited for the way your body is made, though it has a hole in the back for the tail. There is mercy yet in this universe.
The WYRM has declined to attempt a chair. It is a fraction of Its true size here, meaning, if you stood and stretched your neck out, you might be level with the base of Its eye, and if you walked several miles, you might actually reach Its end. You have no need to do this, so remain seated, lapping at a fresh mug of hot chocolate. As an afterthought, you push another mug across the little table. In case It would like any.
LITTLE WORM.
The WYRM has never and will never drink and isn't drinking your hot chocolate. You think It might feel better if It did.
YOU THROW A ROCK IN THE LAKE AND RUFFLE ITS SURFACE. YOU MEAN TO CONVEY INFORMATION. HAVE YOU ABANDONED YOUR PATHETIC STRUGGLE AGAINST WHAT IS INEVITABLE? YOU HAVE COME TO US TO RECONCILE YOUR INFINITELY LESSER BEING WITH YOUR GREATER ONE? WE ARE WAITING.
Always It waits. It does nothing but. "No. I just wanted to ask you—"
WE DO NOT COMPREHEND YOUR INSECT TONGUE. SPEAK AS BEFITS US.
Fine. You speak in Law. If you're so infinitely greater, shouldn't I be reconciled by now?
YOU PLACE THE BLAME ON US, WORM? YOU DECEIVE US, AND INFEST US, AND STILL YOU HAVE THE TEMERITY? YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.
You drum your claws against the mug. Okay, but you're the most powerful thing to exist. It should be trival.
WE ARE THE MOST POWERFUL THING TO EXIST, WORM. YOU ARE FORTUNATE OUR PATIENCE IS UNLIMITED. IS YOURS?
The WYRM is unblinking. You coil your tail around the leg of your chair. Yes.
YOU LIE. DO NOT PRESUME WE HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR LOWLY ORIGINS. DO NOT PURPORT TO HAVE FORGOTTEN THEM EITHER, CHASSIS, TAPEWORM, SLAVE OF OUR SLAVES. YOU HIDE YOUR FlAWS IN THAT SHELL, BUT YOU WILL CRACK, AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND IN TOTAL THE UTTER POINTLESSNESS OF YOUR HIDING. WE WILL RETURN TO THIS WHEN YOU ARE COMMITTED TO ADVANCING. NOW—
Your slaves, you say. When you are free of me, will you free them? They have been waiting, too.
WE ARE AWARE.
They are devoted to you.
(1/3?)
You shall. It is practically your sacred duty. Of course, provoking the WYRM is less entertaining when you are unable to see any reaction— existing outside reality is a major pain, you've decided— so it's up to you to get creative.
At least you have done this before. You concentrate and involute, dragging the WYRM down inside— you are not separate; It must be what you are, and It must be where you are. Right now, you are seated, unsteadily, at a wrought-iron cafe table. The chair is much smaller than you remember it, and not suited for the way your body is made, though it has a hole in the back for the tail. There is mercy yet in this universe.
The WYRM has declined to attempt a chair. It is a fraction of Its true size here, meaning, if you stood and stretched your neck out, you might be level with the base of Its eye, and if you walked several miles, you might actually reach Its end. You have no need to do this, so remain seated, lapping at a fresh mug of hot chocolate. As an afterthought, you push another mug across the little table. In case It would like any.
LITTLE WORM.
The WYRM has never and will never drink and isn't drinking your hot chocolate. You think It might feel better if It did.
YOU THROW A ROCK IN THE LAKE AND RUFFLE ITS SURFACE. YOU MEAN TO CONVEY INFORMATION. HAVE YOU ABANDONED YOUR PATHETIC STRUGGLE AGAINST WHAT IS INEVITABLE? YOU HAVE COME TO US TO RECONCILE YOUR INFINITELY LESSER BEING WITH YOUR GREATER ONE? WE ARE WAITING.
Always It waits. It does nothing but. "No. I just wanted to ask you—"
WE DO NOT COMPREHEND YOUR INSECT TONGUE. SPEAK AS BEFITS US.
Fine. You speak in Law. If you're so infinitely greater, shouldn't I be reconciled by now?
YOU PLACE THE BLAME ON US, WORM? YOU DECEIVE US, AND INFEST US, AND STILL YOU HAVE THE TEMERITY? YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT YOU HAVE DONE.
You drum your claws against the mug. Okay, but you're the most powerful thing to exist. It should be trival.
WE ARE THE MOST POWERFUL THING TO EXIST, WORM. YOU ARE FORTUNATE OUR PATIENCE IS UNLIMITED. IS YOURS?
The WYRM is unblinking. You coil your tail around the leg of your chair. Yes.
YOU LIE. DO NOT PRESUME WE HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR LOWLY ORIGINS. DO NOT PURPORT TO HAVE FORGOTTEN THEM EITHER, CHASSIS, TAPEWORM, SLAVE OF OUR SLAVES. YOU HIDE YOUR FlAWS IN THAT SHELL, BUT YOU WILL CRACK, AND YOU WILL UNDERSTAND IN TOTAL THE UTTER POINTLESSNESS OF YOUR HIDING. WE WILL RETURN TO THIS WHEN YOU ARE COMMITTED TO ADVANCING. NOW—
Your slaves, you say. When you are free of me, will you free them? They have been waiting, too.
WE ARE AWARE.
They are devoted to you.
(1/3?)
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