Breaking the Mold

Larry was not a happy man. Here he was trying to coast on by, mind his own business when that fat bitch of museum curator Stacy decided to call a meeting. He already didn’t like her at the best of times and wasn’t dumb enough to not know that any “sales meetings” just meant more work.

He wondered why he, a janitor, had to attend these damn things when he can go back to doing more important things like hiding out in the backrooms doing fuck-all. After all, he just cleaned the toilets, why the fuck does he need to know about how sales are going? Dumb bitch, no wonder why there wasn’t enough money for the company Christmas party.

Regardless, he was right. As he sat in a meeting room with broken AC, he listened to Stacy speak in that high-pitched voice that seemed to drone on and on. He didn’t pay attention to any of it but he could still remember her going on about how kids do not care about Assyrian relics. ‘No shit lady, why the hell would kids get excited over broken pots and crude drawings?’ Then she shifted to how there would be more budget cuts because of yadda yadda and bladdy blah. He didn’t care as long as he got his union guaranteed $22/hr. Finally, she got to what he already expected, more work.

In hopes of bringing in more kids, she is bringing in an entirely new exhibit of ancient Chinese culture. She excitedly talked on and on about paintings, weaponry, and even how she was bringing in 12 Terracotta Warriors. He had to resist the urge to sigh knowing that he and Jim would be the ones moving all this shit. Each of those “warriors” probably weighed a couple of hundred pounds at least. She finished off talking about some incredibly valuable gem some emperor had. Was supposed to grant eternal life or something but Larry didn’t quite believe that since, well, the dude is dead. For all he cared, it was just some rock people wasted millions on. In any case, “The Emperor’s Jewel” was going to be the lightest thing, so there’s that.

3 Days Later…

2 out-of-shaped middle-aged men grunted in effort as they pushed and pulled on a pallet cart loaded down with several stone warriors. This laborious task was made all the harder now that one of the wheels buckled under the sheer weight of the statues. As both men were blaming each other an unnoticed pair of eyes watched them from his stony prison.


‘What's this, more relics?’ Regis tried to get a better view but when you can’t move your head or even your eyes, it is a task much easier said than done. ‘Looks old, Mesopotamian? No, doesn’t seem right. Looks eastern though…I wonder…'

He tried to activate his ancient power and focused intensely on the statues before him. He willed himself to swap places with the unknown statues before him but felt nothing. If he could sigh he would.

‘Figured it wouldn’t be that easy. Not like I could’ve done that even outside my prison.’ He lamented.

By now the 2 janitors had managed to fix the buckled wheel and faded out of sight leaving Regis alone as he had been the last few thousand years.

It was a fine, clear evening.  The moon was full and beautiful in a partially overcast sky, the clouds were gray and particularly fluffy, and there was a playful little breeze that hinted of Autumn.  The air, which smelt faintly of rain and rose petals,  was soft against the skin.  Truly, a beautiful night.

And Montessa Maeda-Moretti was bored out of her skull.

If she was being perfectly honest with herself, Monte could come up with less perilous diversions.  Hell, she had just spent the last 3 hours waiting to snipe Keanu Reeve's undershirt from the movie Constantine, and that had been a fine chuckle. She was so going to make an inappropriate body pillow out of that thing.  Mm, exorcise me, beard daddy.

What was she doing?  Oh, right.  Grand Larceny.

Now, the problem with makeshift masturbation aides forged from the discarded costuming of an older but still damn fine-looking gentleman was they were a bit pricy.  Hell, that was putting it mildly.  For some reason, people wanted to stick these things behind bulletproof glass and were willing to pay baffling amounts of money for the privilege.

Take Museums, for instance.  Thousands of years of recorded human history and they stuff the lot of it behind a bunch of security so gormless losers could press their faces against the exhibits and opine about how weird or stupid or primitive their ancestors were.

Well, Monte was not gormless, no siree.  She had the gorm of twenty men!  

And her gorm was telling her right now that she needed cash, and fast.  She might have bid a... smidge to high.  But, hey!  What was the fun of E-Bay if you didn't go a little crazy once and a while?

Besides, DorthyBear2221 had kept bidding one cent over her.  So she miiiight have lost her temper a little bit and bid 75,000 over the next lowest offer. Hey, she had it coming, the bitch.

So, she had grabbed a fast cab to the nearest place she could think of that might have a bit more value than the local ATM.  The Natural Museum of History.  She would liberate Keanu's shirt and some history both!  Her gorm would be so proud of her.  

At the front door of the establishment, she reached out and gave the museum entrance a faint 'tap' with her cane.  She heard a click as the lock disengaged and the security alarm deactivated.  With a thought, an illusion settled over her of a female security guard.  She probably got the uniform wrong, but eh.  Details.

Picking a direction at random, Monte strolled down the dimly lit corridor, whistling as she went.  The first hurdle came when an actual guard saw unfamiliar blonde woman strolling along in a strange uniform.  He immediately pulled his weapon.

"Stop!  Show me your hands!"

"Hey, it's all right. I'm supposed to be here," Monte said, smiling at the gun pointing at her face.  As she spoke, a purple light lit her eyes as her Lie took hold in the guard's mind.

"Oh, Jesus, you gave me a heart attack," the guard said with a relieved laugh.  He looked down, his shaking hand making it difficult for him to re-holster his weapon.  In that moment of distraction, Monte reached up and gave them man a tap on the head with her cane.  He crumpled to the ground without the slightest fuss.  

Resuming her jaunty whistle, the thief's illusion shifted to match that of the bludgeoned guard's appearance.  Before stuffing him in a broom closet, she checked his pulse and his head to make sure she did no lasting damage.  Satisfied, she confiscated his radio and strolled into next exhibit.

Hrm, bunch of old Roman shit.  Montessa sighed heavily, then gave a heavy shrug.  She began to run her fingers over a row of old bronze spears, then considered the frescos on the far wall.  She tapped her foot and shook her head.  Maybe she could check out that Chinese exhibit next door?  They were supposed to have an emerald there bigger than a rhino testicle.

Shrugging, Monte began to walk in that direction when the faintest tingle of awareness caught her attention.  She sensed it, like someone walking over her grave, an icy spider of understanding crawling up her spine and grabbing her attention.

That statue.

The sensation grew stronger as her lavender eyes scanned the rocky surface of the exhibit. Her breath caught with the horror of what she was looking at, and her hand tightened around her cane.

When Monte thought of death, she was never really dead in it.  She was either in Hell or a ghost or something even more exotic.  Yet, the nightmares that terrified her the most, the ones that woke her up shivering in the night, were the ones when she was trapped in a tiny pine box unable to move, unable to breath.  

Death for Monte wasn't a distant concept.  For her, the Reaper was just a guy currently stuck in traffic that would be with her when he could finally get out from behind that damned semi.  He was the sheriff banging on her door with an eviction notice with the smug landlord standing behind.  He was real and present, as was her nightmare.

Her cane was raised before she even realized she was doing it.  It swung down through the laser net of the alarm system, causing it to begin its wail.  Monte ignored it and swung again, calling upon the River.  All she could see is her fated coffin and the desire to pull someone out of it.  

With each tap of her cane, she struck at the surface of the stony prisoner, her eyes bright with terror.  

"Just hold on," she said in a shaky whisper.  "I'll save you."  The alarm lights continued to flash, and Monte brought the River down again.

962

The old man with the pencil thin moustache and powerful, if aged physique walked through the halls of his realm. This was his domain, after all. Or rather it was for so many years. He looked like an old movie star, and carried himself with the confidence of someone who spent years of his life as a fighter. But he knew that if he ever stepped foot out of the great museum, ur would be killled. You don’t spend hundreds of years as a collector of curiosities both mystical and mundane without making powerful enemies, and Pierre had made many enemies and none of them were weak.

All stories come to an end, and for Pierre, his story was long overdue to conclude. But just because one’s story was over, didn’t mean he couldn’t become a supporting character in the sequel. After all, what kind of grandfather doesn’t support his grandchild?

David O’Neil spent his morning as his grandfather had trained him to, sparring with a mystical mace taken from one god or another. When it smashed through his defenses, it quite literally laughed in his face. [color:9014=“yellow”]”So. The thief tastes his own blood again.” The mace had a south Asian accent, most likely stemming from the Indian subcontinent if he was forced to make a guess as to where it originated. ”You know I rescued you from the British museum right?” He asked, rubbing the opalescent “blood” from his chin as the wound healed exceptionally quickly.

The mace struck him square in the chest once more, before furiously stating, ”If your incompetent imperialist grandfather hadn’t stolen me from my true wielder, I wouldn’t have been stolen from his custody either. Should I explain to you the myriad reasons that I hope you die and soon? Number one, you are a terrible fighter. My original wielder could hold off hundreds of rakshasa by himself.” ”Your original wielder was a four armed war god!” Blurted David, trying and failing to keep his cool in front of the sacred artifact. ”And you are a stupid, stupid boy playing with the power of creation itself. Must I remind you of the time you got cheeto powder on the book of life?” The mace said, with just a bit too much smug self-gratification for the young Curator to take, who raised his sword ready to strike the sacred weapon in half.

Through the rings he and his grandfather shared, David felt the pull to go to his office. It was an urgent call, one that he couldn’t ignore. ”We’ll finish this later.” David said, snarling at the rudest weapon one might ever meet.

When he arrived in Pierre’s office, the old man sat in an arm chair and smiled. ”Fighting with Sharur, David?” The old man’s smile widened, becoming a self satisfied grin. ”Thats what you told me to do, so I’m doing it.” David said a bit more hautily than he really wanted to, his hackles still raised from the argument with Sharur.

”It is not important now, David. For now, we will discuss your new target. I have located the Emperors Jewel. Legend says it can bring eternal life.” Pierre said, with a grave tone. ”So what? I have like four of those on my person right this instant.” David said with a raised eyebrow, he knew his grandfather wanted to collect as many dangerous artifacts as possible, but at some point there was a line that had to be drawn about taking all the mystical life giving artifacts. At what point do they just become greedy? Pierre shook his head, ”Let me finish before you cast your doubts at me. In addition to the user gaining eternal life, they will become the controller of the Chinese state, given the Mandate of Heaven purely by its touch. We cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Despite asking clarifying questions, such as “How it could do such a thing”, “Why were they the right people to have the artifact” and “Wasn’t this just a little bit white savior-y”, his grandfather refused to answer. So David put as much of his stuff by the front door as he could, and walked through to the brisk New York night. He wasn’t exactly sure why his grandfather had built their museum inside of a liminal space, or how he had gotten in to begin with but he was quite thankful that he had. It made travelling the world a breeze. It was only moments after stepping out of the front door that he heard the alarms of the other museum. It would seem he was already late to the show, as tended to be the case with these things. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to spend as much down time as he liked to do before getting down to the justified robbery.

He raised his green gauntleted hand, clutching the staff of Was. It’s eyes flashed red as it met the light of the moon, he called upon the ancient authority of the pharaoh and with it, created a sandstorm that blocked visibility for several blocks. Even among those outside and closest to the museum would have trouble discerning his shape as David drew Fragarach in his other hand and walked straight into museum, careful to pull his cloak tighter to his frame. The mantle of Arthur kept his identity hidden from man and God alike, but it was never an issue to be too paranoid in his line of work. He moved past a crumpled guard, probably the only poor bastard dumb enough to do his job in Villain central, USA.

It was when he entered the second floor and saw the security guard desperately trying to destroy a statue that his Curator senses began tingling. He could almost smell the traces of magic in the air, some lingering from the statue, but most centered around the emerald that was nearly the size of his head. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He grunted in frustration, before curiosity overwhelmed him and he ran to the woman, desperately trying to stop her blows. ”What are you even doing?! Aren’t you supposed to be protecting this thing?!” He shouted, trying to get her out from this things control.

There were many things Regis didn't quite understand about his current existence. Obviously, he wasn't able to move, being stuck in the rigid stone and all, but he never felt hunger, sleep, or even the coldness of the night's air. Part of him wondered whether or not his entire being was solid stone instead of just surrounding him like a second skin but that didn't feel right. There was a sense of warmth inside him still and at times of thinking over an exciting idea he could almost feel the beat of his heart. Either that or he was truly going mad after centuries of misery. Still, he held hope that he was still himself underneath it all.

Without much to stimulate his mind as the minutes turned into hours and hours into weeks, he had learned how to simply stop thinking about anything. In the hours when the museum was dark and quiet, he often found himself in a sort of dreamless sleep only to regain consciousness days if not weeks later.

A vibration rang through his prison as the fog over his mind vanished. While his mind rebooted he looked at the same grey wall he'd always looked at but something was different.

'Hauh, oh...'

His focus centered on the security guard before him.

'Just another guar--...Wait...You don't look familiar. Are they new?'

There was something about this woman that felt different than others, a sort of magical air to her but stronger than even the outliers of normal people.  

He felt another round of vibrations as she hit him with her cane. His eyes would have widened in surprise as he realized what was going on.

'She's trying to destroy me? She's trying to destroy me...Don't stop damn you! Don't stop!'

He tried to move within his confinement, tried to stretch arms and flex muscles he hadn't seen nor felt in lifetimes. He wasn't even sure if he was moving at all but he tried whatever he could to put more stress on the stone in hopes that it would help her.

”What are you even doing?! Aren’t you supposed to be protecting this thing?!”

Sheer dread overcame Regis as he heard and saw another stranger yell out to his savior.

'No, no, don't listen to him...Please.'

With each tap, the vibrations grew stronger.  That was the power of the River.  Time and force could erode all barriers.  The first tap had been as one might expect.  The one following it a bit harder.  And so the pattern went, until the blows Monte rained down could shatter stone.  Yet, it was only a mere dozen repetitions of her labor that she was interrupted.  

Shit.

Her lavender eyes shining from beneath a stranger's face, she took quick stock of him and his garb. There was magic about him; bright and potent. That staff wasn't exactly standard ordinance for a security guard, either, nor were those gauntlets or anything else he was carrying.  He was a super, or someone with an interest in keeping her from mischief.  Best to tread carefully here.  

Monte's eyes immediately went back to the bound being, and then she pointed at it, frantically. It was her own fear, but she dressed it in a stranger's clothes. With long years of practice, she sculpted her truth into the shape she needed.  "It's Frances," she said, her voice quivering with terror.  "The statue... it did something to him. It ate his soul or something. He started raving about dark gods and the end of all things.  We have to break it open!  It's the only way to free him!"  Monte lifted up her cane again, cursing herself that she didn't disguise it as a nightstick or something.  

And steeling herself, Montessa Maeda-Moretti took a breath and with it, an awful risk.  She could almost feel the intricate spell matrix covering her skin crackle as she spoke her Lie,   "You know that I'm right."