Nekyia's Threshold

subject:
Lady China - Balor's Bottom Bitch
post date:
2007-08-12 18:25:41
views: 6 comments: 0 ratings: 0

(This story is MY story. Well, a part of me. My dear Lady China, the wife of the Merc's Guildmaster, Balor. In some convoluted way she lost her place in the affections of Balor, when her mistress - Monica (me) met and married the Master of Balor. Poor Lady China. To be so alive, and yet pretend. She must be how a ghost feels when it tries to interact with the living world. So ineffectual, so powerless, so ephemeral. And yet so many jumped at her throat when she laid it bare in flung taunts and giddy laughter. So who is truly powerless? Perhaps not she...)Once upon a place without time there existed a creature who's purpose had been removed. She'd been downsized. The current economy had no need of her product. The supply was immense because the demand was nil. She was going bankrupt and the only creditor banging on her door was herself. "I have no alms for the blind..." - she told herself when she opened the door to see what all the banging was about. She fashioned a sign out of odd bits of memories and desperate hopes for the future and hung it on the door. "WILL WORK FOR SOUL FOOD"The only eyes to see her sign were the industrious deadlights of a bilge rat. It gnawed a hole through her door and began to speak to her of worlds it had seen. Places far removed from the consumer shortaged world in which she'd determinedly opened shop in order to be near her warrior husband.The bilge rat squeaked on. Occassionaly he'd bring in a corner of an exotic fabric and tell her he knew where they made it. He knew where the very fibers of the plants were grown. She should use the map he drew with a tilt of his whiskers into a pot of pink flamingo blood (Lady China always used that, even when her scrolls weren't read. Even when the paper she used to write on was downgraded to outhouse scraps) and go see what there was to see see see. In the bottom of the deep blue sea sea sea. With her new rat friend on her shoulder she looked in her closet and told him a story for each of the treasures it held. The bilge rat listened intently. When the urge took him, he urinated on her shoulder. He was a rat after all. Finally all the treasures had been viewed, their history related. Vampire teeth, a crown of dark fire, a cod piece of ridiculous size, a tambourine, a vial of blood coated with shimmering sand, a gnawed bone - those were just a few of the things the trove gave up. They were so precious to her. Each and every one was a link in the silken chain that bound her to her warrior husband. But she'd been downsized, the economy had changed. The currency had been replaced and her tokens of love no longer paid for passage. With a wave of loving fingers she bid adieu (Lady China always tried to swing from an old black woman "Yes Honeychile, I ken beat yo ass with mah teeth out an' mah sexy on." to a sultry whip cracking seductress "Adieu, ma petit mouton.") to her warrior husband, who didn't hear because of the clanging of the other warriors' swords. The rat washed his paws and then his face and told her that it was time to display the fountainhead. The new world economy wanted only that. Supply and demand. She had so much to give. Spill the water into the parched land. If she could help to grow the fibrous crop, more exotic material could be made. She dripped. Drip, drip, dribble, drop. Sploosh.