The Gate

Cloud Gate, Chicago, Illinois, USA

"It's remote, actually. The Gate's not that far from the House by design so main issue's actually lack of time, but… Anyway. Snake'll get you up to speed, Switch'll get you through the firewall, at which point you two will reassume control, for some definition of "two" and "control". We'll be waiting for the connect and install."

It was a lot to be confident about, but Rez seemed to be managing. In V's defense, getting dragged through a giant looking glass by your not-reflection–

–had a certain effect on their response time.

"...right."

"Do you really need me to-- oh. Right, you do." Rez sighed, crouched down to V's level, and fixed the veil of grey shrouding her face between one ear tip and hat. "So you shove a tap in god's eye, that's one thing. You do it when there's a rarely occurring and multiculturally significant cosmic event that looks like-- and let's be fuckin' real, it's a hole-- main thing is it's not itself, anymore. It's not some inherent sort of attraction." Her hands twisted and pushed together for effect, but it was lost on their currently captive audience. “You gotta connect things."

"What if they're the same thing?"

Rez's lips split like a Cheshire beak. "Oh, especially then."

"Not without a catch." V stretched their head back, surveying the inner chrome of the gate. The shimmer was the same, but the ribbed arches and associated din of machinery was another minor surprise. "You know, like yanking me into a giant sea-bean."

"Looking-glass sea-bean. That you poked at, otherwise I couldn't have. I mean not without considerably more collateral damage." Her patience apparently spent, Rez returned to her mostly full height. The spike of twisted rebar they leaned on shuddered in a flurry of flaked rust, but held as steady as the grin. "You also ate my heart and sent the body down the river with a fucking legendary necromancer and thought that wouldn't come up again either. And you know better, because I know better. Mother's the drowning, but the Allfather is the dredge. Or, y'know." She thrust the staff straight down a bit in front of V and then slowly dragged it back to her own support. "The troll."

"Fair enough." V shrugged. "Not going to claim I really knew what I was doing."

"The more things change." She left a beat or two of silence before leering down again with a familiarity that V had extremely mixed feelings about. "No. No, you can't; you have to say it."

"The more they stay the same." It wasn't worth fighting about, and getting grazed by a now somewhat-familiar line of seemingly sentient crimson and gold projectile orbs was suddenly a more compelling query. "What're they called, again? My neck itches."

"Your neck's done worse than itch over this. Unless you're planning on invoking Mímir I suggest you suffer the side effects of your reinforcements. Also that's safer than repeated wounding, but not a hole you want clogged. I'm just saying." The moment of almost responsible exasperation was a brief surprise, but again it came with an unnerving familiarity and aftertaste. "And they're Dorothies."

Of course they were. "I get it, but we're not in Kans... right. Yeah. Fine. Nobody's in the right goddamn state anymore."

One flew over to them then, hovering with a low whirr in between the pair. "We are the Exception. Remember?"

"....Yeah." It looked like one, but the cheerful and choral voice implied many. As was becoming a trend today, it was also correct. V did remember. "Guess it's a good thing there's a lot of you."

The glass and bronze orb spun with delight. "Oh, yes. We don't know what we'd do without us!"

Identity apparently described to its satisfaction, the Dorothy bounced and twirled a few times more, and then jetted off back to join its friends. Rez’s gaze followed approvingly. "See, that's the spirit. Take notes, mayb--"

Again their conversation was interrupted. This time, however, the incursion was less physical and more audial: a low, rough hum, almost growl, that had been present in background crashing through the soundscape, turning into the frustrated rev of a stationary throttle and screeching tires, before winding down to a low idle. It was enough to make even the so-far unflappable Rez turn alongside V to investigate the source of the continuing, if dwindling, echo.

It was Nóttkeyrandi Hefnir, a slight way across the expanse of construction by what looked to be a temporary work station. Said station was currently manned by another figure in thick, likely fireproof protective gear and a welder’s mask, which they were removing. Not that V, at least, needed it: the iridescent film that followed around and through the figure’s long, tight ponytail and the height that matched Nóttkeyrandi’s was very familiar, as was the voice that came after the face shield’s final removal. It was Griðr, and while ‘lacking a bedside manner’ was often an appropriate descriptor phrase, she did appear to have some skill with it when her son was involved. "I'm sorry. But you'll need that iron later. You'll see."

That he looked about as thrilled as V regarding the day’s proceedings was oddly comforting, but Rez was already motioning to them to turn back from the familial welding incident to their own business, which less oddly V agreed with. "No offense, but weird roommate.I mean very nice, but weird. Great family, though. Lady G's been one of our top contacts for Queen Hum since the beginning... and pair of hands, I should mention. Not enough folks really prepared to do that sort of thing, present company excluded. Including the ‘pair’ part." Rez cocked her head with a genuine curiosity, full attention now back to her other self. "Incidentally though, dude does not seem like the type to toss the bálhrafn through a black hole strapped just at the neck."

"Poetic effect." It was finally V’s chance to return a small smirk. "And sure. If you're going to feed your head, it's good to have a port."

“Huh. I’d say I was unfamiliar with Jawbreaker’s mad game, but that reflects poorly on me, and we can’t have that. Anyway, not that this is news to you, but in all honesty the House isn't conveniently located. Which works for us mostly, but--"

"I could stand bypassing Omaha."

"You got out." The dead girl's eyebrow raised. "Guardian of night-journeys. I didn't get to be that. Or a cursed sword. Trade-offs."

A few moments passed before Rez pushed the silence for a reply. "Well?"

"It's not reticence. I just dunno that I have much of an answer for you." They shrugged, shoulders heavy. "Fun is the wrong word. But it's an experience."

The gesture was understood. "I believe you. But there's the other thing, I guess. We had our fuck around year, so you know-- no one rides for free, especially if the terminal doesn't even exist yet. But-- if you can't come to the House... maybe the House can come to you."

V watched Rez's hands skitter forward in space with her words, and sighed. "A venture for which I would need my shit back together, surely."

"Depends what we mean by that. And I said "fuck-around," not "wasted." The pat on the shoulder was oddly conciliatory, but V would take it. "Not like Stella couldn't use the gap year."

Ah. A subject change, even if slight. "Surprised they agreed to gatekeep again." And a perspective one, as Rez next pointed out.

"You'd be surprised what a change of scenery and management can do. And they're on the flag!"

Well. Awareness of some perspective, at least. "Do they know that?"

"They-" -Rez paused for air quotes- "-will if they need to. Or not." Rez's shrug came with a bit more disturbing gaiety. "I dunno. We do what we're good at."

"So. If you don't mind me asking--" V stopped, gesturing in silence at the machinations going on around them.

"Nah. I mean, I guess it's a little weird for the one called Rez to be stuck inside a tomb, but! When you think about it, that is where the fun usually happens. And, for better or worse--"

V remembered the answer to this one, too. "I wasn't really doing anything."

"Mm." Rez shot them a quick nod before leaning in a bit more, their rebar staff serving as support. "Anyway, knowledge gained: one; yes you can fix that in post, but there has to be... something to fix. Two: it's about grafting as much as it is hacking, and three: yeah, you might have wrote yourself into that one." They twirled the staff upwards and over their shoulders in a pose half casual and half crucifixion. "And see, that's the weird thing about you."

It was V's turn to raise an eyebrow. "The one?"

"Admit I missed a lot of the deeper probing but--" Rez shifted sideways, the twisted top of the metal rod now pointed at V. "Traditionally swords are good at killing people and severing things, often at the same time. You? Not so much."

"Must be the curse." The gesture wasn't particularly threatening, but it was enough to make V finally rise to their feet. "Though I think we've gotten a few good bites in."

"You know, that is one way to do it. I stand corrected." The change in posture seemed to please her, and Rez shifted back so the two were face to face. "Not really an issue what you do with your time, I guess. At the end of the day you're the dead man walking in this scenario, so becoming the Holey Spirit isn't really a feasible permanent gig. And don't look at me like that; the hole jokes could have been way worse throughout this."

I didn't say anything."

The dead girl's head cocked, and the grin narrowed back into a tight smirk. "I know. It's cute."

"Right." V crossed their arms. "But that was the deal."

"Sold my soul for rock and roll? I mean. Yeah. Basically. Just not sure why y'all act like that's nothing."

The answer was unexpected enough that V finally met her eyes dead on. The grin slowly returning was less of one, though the angled shadow of her hat’s brim shading all but that and the one shining eye– well.

It wasn’t a surprise either, but on some level it really felt like it should’ve been.

"Besides,” she finished, "Where'd you expect to find Rez? The Overworld?"

"It doesn't really matter anymore. But it was the game, once." Didn’t mind and doesn’t matter were two different things, but V presumed their continued compulsion to correctly name their theft victim was enough that she’d pick up on it.

"That's usually how it starts, yeah." Rez furrowed their brow and reached a hand into one pocket, pulling out a worn silver arcade token with the inscription '1 UP' and slowly flipping i through the fingers of her left hand. "Hell. No one rides for free, but you did toss me a coin. And a few more for the fare here..."

It was a nice knife. The handle had a black corvid's head; the wide, long blade resembled a reformed railroad spike. But V knew the knife, which along with everything else had made its presence on Rez's hip less remarkable until she was shoving it in the port at the base of their skull. The pain in their neck was duller than expected, which was... something. Whether it was a decent trade for the blinding flash was another. The breath of searing was short, but the realization that eyelids snapping shut had done nothing to stop it was a horror that spiraled loose with less speed and more fracture. There were lines now, too-bright now as well but closing in and thickening, planks that they recognized as the ribs of the Infinity Blade closing in– that is, until more lines appeared, the world freezing and cracking in a webbed spiral, the noise of the Gate’s construction halted at once alongside it.

It was silent, but it was stable now, to some degree. Occasionally a fracture flickered or flared into neon and thick static bands cut through the constant overlay of static. An incompatible weapon, but barely.

"Everything is true. God is a revenant. Himinbjorg is over the rainbow." Rez's voice came through now, clear but with the metallic edges of a headset microphone. "And the Hávahol is where you come to ride."

With that, she jerked the blade out of V's upper spinal column and split her lips wide one final time at their accompanying hiss and wincing head grip. "Now scram. We made our deal long ago on the mound, death transistor. Aaaaand I have housewarming shit to do."

"...you seem like you can put something together, yes."