Busboy Blues short: Ball O'Frayed Twine
Should’ve edited this to chop out the RP refs and had it as the first page of Busboy Blues issue #1, as it gives a good chunka background info and makes the plot a whole lot less confusing. Maybe for issue #2?
I heard a theory once, bout folk bein’ made from stars. Guy who told me was pretty gorram adamant ‘bout his opinion, too. Somethin’ with cosmic dust, Earth-that-was, and the Big ruttin’ Bang. I bought him a drink for the entertainment. If folk are made from the stars, then I’m the reincarnation of Siddhartha. And that’s hardly possible, me not bein’ very monk-like. But a tale like that, it gets ya thinkin’. ‘Bout the ‘verse, ya self. The significance of every little thing ya do and the role ya play on the living, breathing stage of life. Tale like that, ya start to touch upon what those baldies up in their temples are all about.
Identity. I’m a man who got his innards fermented in the waters of death; who don’t let no one close to protect…them? Myself? Don’t matter. S’my role, ain’t it? And this introspective shit is all speculation anyway. Got to clear my head somehow. Can’t share these thoughts with no one but myself, lest I get vulnerable all over again. Been down that road, and it ain’t done me no good.
I see the ‘verse as one interconnected ball o’frayed twine, mine to shape like the way they terraformed the planets. Every one’sa pawn in my chess game with whatever fuckin’ deities pissin’ down upon my cranium. Least this is what I tell myself. ‘Everythin’ for my own gain.’ ‘Wouldn’t save no souls if it don’t suit me.’ Naiya didn’t take to that spiel one bit. Cap’n always saw right through me, down to my very soul. Someone I couldn’t manipulate. Drove me gorram crazy, her not buyin’ my routine. But it done well taught me a lesson: never put myself in a position like that again. Cos it eventually gets me out from behind my wall; it gets me where I ain’t just dependin’ on myself no more. And of course soon as that starts happenin’, somethin’ goes horribly wrong. The curse of the Von Dyetrich’s, or just trials m’meant to overcome to build character or some gorram shit? I ain’t built nothin’ but resentment, and anger, and a whole hearted need to take my revenge out upon the entire ‘verse. But even when I’m gunnin’ for vengeance, I can’t seem to hurt folk lest they bring it upon themselves. I got a lil’ man in my head that pulls the plug on those schemes, the bastard. Mebbe I got more zen then m’aware of.
I tried goin’ back. After I found what killed Johnny and almost took Naiya down too, I knew I couldn’t take revenge on their killers. Not without an army at my disposal. Resigned myself to that fact and tried workin’. Flyin’ regularly. Don’t suit me no more. It things what changed, it’s me. Ya can’t go home again. Ever. Ya can only go on ahead. That’s what m’doin’. Movin’ on, formin’ new alliances, tryin’ to beat out the dust of the ancient past.
‘Round X-mas, did somethin’ that surprised me. Sure, was for someone that I wouldn’t have said no to; the kid. Lee. Said I wanted to do it for the thrill. Little part of me, though? Well, let’s just say it weren’t thinkin’ such selfish thoughts when the charity it all went down. Hopin’ nobody gets a hold of this journal and ever reads that. Word like that got out, might have me stripped of my machismo faster then ya can catch a venereal disease from a whore on Ezra. Identity, again. I ain’t no altruist; Ain’t a romantic, or a dreamer. I just pull strings and say what the audiences wants ta hear to get what I want. Tell ya I love ya, then dump ya on some barren, backarse planet. Tell ya that ya can trust me with ya life, then turn my back on ya, laughin’ all the way–
Ah, now m’fuckin’ lyin’ even to myself. Best leave this beast in its hidey-hole with its head in the dirt. Unless I wanna get my dick bittin’ off by its razor-teeth. Way my luck runs, it would probably get lockjaw.
Folk bein’ made out of bloody stars, though…gorram, that guy was some kind of nutter.