The Story of Friday
May. 4th, 2009 12:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Because I’ve owed
nekonexus this one for a while.
A long, long time ago so long that it might have been a Friday, on an island so far to the west that the west was ending there lived a shoggoth by the name of Tuesday. He hadn’t originally lived on the island where he was now but had travelled there through mythic dimensions and strange corridors quite some time ago, and having found the island and its inhabitants to be quite personable things had somehow remained there quite contentedly. For the island was the home of a mysterious enchanter who gathered to himself many strange denizens in his castle.
The itself castle was warm and filled with many books and the curious voices of machinery that reminded Tuesday of something he supposed he must have forgotten so it suited him well enough, even if there were a pair of devious twins who weren’t really twins at all who occasionally made “Tekeli-li!” noises at him. So there he stayed, dozing happily, dreaming of magnificent R'lyeh, wondering what ol’ Nyarlathotep might be doing these days and even, sometimes, pondering whether Yog-Sothoth’s boys were still up to no good. It was a peaceable life and though the occasional crash and bother carried along the castle’s corridors Tuesday knew enough to not be bothered by it. He didn’t mind at all that there was a small cat-demon who played with cabling or that there was a scantly clad ifrit who dropped books everywhere, nor was he bothered by the white marble goddess who talked in the plural or the other shoggoth who wasn’t really a shoggoth at all and occasionally claimed to feel ‘bowlish’. It was a good life after all, a quiet one and Tuesday was content with his lack of fuss and bother.
Then one day, on a day out of all others that might have been a Tuesday, quite suddenly something lay down beside him, placed there by the enchanter’s hand. And Tuesday opened his eyes and peered, lifting his eyes to the enchanter in questioning but the enchanter was talking to himself in numbers again so he merely patted Tuesday absently and wandered away. The enchanter sometimes talked to himself in numbers Tuesday had discovered, in two numbers specifically and they made a strange sort of language that the cat-demon and the wicked Fürstin and a few others could easily understand. Tuesday hadn’t learnt the language but he was content to listen to its lyrical song mostly, none of which helped him with his current situation for he was greeted by a black eyeball and a waggling of grey tendrils.
“You’re not a shoggoth.” He stated curiously in the language of the enchanter’s castle.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not one of Yog-Sothoth’s boys are you?”
“I’m not that either.”
“You’re not- I know this game, you’re a Deep Sea Prawn, aren’t you? And if I state three things that you are not you will share only the truth with me.”
“I am. But you’ve not said a third.”
“I haven’t.”
And they stared at each other.
Then Tuesday closed his eyes. “My name is Tuesday and I am a shoggoth.”
There was a rustling as his strange companion moved closer. “My name is Friday.”
“It is a good name.”
“I like to think so.”
There was silent for a moment and then rustling again as Friday moved closer still.
Tuesday stretched his limbs out further, comfortably and considered a nap.
“You’re a curious sort of shoggoth: you haven’t asked me any questions.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You don’t?”
“No, you’ll tell me in your own time.”
Friday moved closer again and peered at Tuesday’s great eye. “What an odd sort of shoggoth you are.”
And so began one of the finest friendships in the enchanter’s castle, for Friday had found in the most curious of places the one sort of shoggoth he could easily get along with: a shoggoth who didn’t ask questions. For as everybody knows shoggoths are naturally curious sorts.
Of course as the days turned into months, into years, Friday told Tuesday the tale of his journey across the great western sea and of his summons from the depths by a mysterious cat upon two feet who kept a fifth claw on each foot, just for tessering. But that, understandably, is another tale.
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A long, long time ago so long that it might have been a Friday, on an island so far to the west that the west was ending there lived a shoggoth by the name of Tuesday. He hadn’t originally lived on the island where he was now but had travelled there through mythic dimensions and strange corridors quite some time ago, and having found the island and its inhabitants to be quite personable things had somehow remained there quite contentedly. For the island was the home of a mysterious enchanter who gathered to himself many strange denizens in his castle.
The itself castle was warm and filled with many books and the curious voices of machinery that reminded Tuesday of something he supposed he must have forgotten so it suited him well enough, even if there were a pair of devious twins who weren’t really twins at all who occasionally made “Tekeli-li!” noises at him. So there he stayed, dozing happily, dreaming of magnificent R'lyeh, wondering what ol’ Nyarlathotep might be doing these days and even, sometimes, pondering whether Yog-Sothoth’s boys were still up to no good. It was a peaceable life and though the occasional crash and bother carried along the castle’s corridors Tuesday knew enough to not be bothered by it. He didn’t mind at all that there was a small cat-demon who played with cabling or that there was a scantly clad ifrit who dropped books everywhere, nor was he bothered by the white marble goddess who talked in the plural or the other shoggoth who wasn’t really a shoggoth at all and occasionally claimed to feel ‘bowlish’. It was a good life after all, a quiet one and Tuesday was content with his lack of fuss and bother.
Then one day, on a day out of all others that might have been a Tuesday, quite suddenly something lay down beside him, placed there by the enchanter’s hand. And Tuesday opened his eyes and peered, lifting his eyes to the enchanter in questioning but the enchanter was talking to himself in numbers again so he merely patted Tuesday absently and wandered away. The enchanter sometimes talked to himself in numbers Tuesday had discovered, in two numbers specifically and they made a strange sort of language that the cat-demon and the wicked Fürstin and a few others could easily understand. Tuesday hadn’t learnt the language but he was content to listen to its lyrical song mostly, none of which helped him with his current situation for he was greeted by a black eyeball and a waggling of grey tendrils.
“You’re not a shoggoth.” He stated curiously in the language of the enchanter’s castle.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not one of Yog-Sothoth’s boys are you?”
“I’m not that either.”
“You’re not- I know this game, you’re a Deep Sea Prawn, aren’t you? And if I state three things that you are not you will share only the truth with me.”
“I am. But you’ve not said a third.”
“I haven’t.”
And they stared at each other.
Then Tuesday closed his eyes. “My name is Tuesday and I am a shoggoth.”
There was a rustling as his strange companion moved closer. “My name is Friday.”
“It is a good name.”
“I like to think so.”
There was silent for a moment and then rustling again as Friday moved closer still.
Tuesday stretched his limbs out further, comfortably and considered a nap.
“You’re a curious sort of shoggoth: you haven’t asked me any questions.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You don’t?”
“No, you’ll tell me in your own time.”
Friday moved closer again and peered at Tuesday’s great eye. “What an odd sort of shoggoth you are.”
And so began one of the finest friendships in the enchanter’s castle, for Friday had found in the most curious of places the one sort of shoggoth he could easily get along with: a shoggoth who didn’t ask questions. For as everybody knows shoggoths are naturally curious sorts.
Of course as the days turned into months, into years, Friday told Tuesday the tale of his journey across the great western sea and of his summons from the depths by a mysterious cat upon two feet who kept a fifth claw on each foot, just for tessering. But that, understandably, is another tale.