Lachlan was in the downstairs study, typing away on the brass and byzantium keys of his most treasured typewriter, when he heard the door on the floor above open. He sighed to himself, and quickly finished off the last sentence of his reply telegram, pulling it off the paper table and neatly rolling it into a tube. He'd only gotten as far as dripping hot wax on the seam of the roll, about to stamp it with his insignia, when a shrill voice called out.
"Hi honey~!"
He couldn't help but smile to himself. Lachlan pressed the stamp down to leave the mark of a decagram onto the red wax. "I'm just finishing up!" he called in reply. He slid a drawer open and nestled the latest scroll in with two others, identically stamped.
The door slowly opened, and the tips of a pair of slender, rough horns were immediately visible; under them, a mop of long, pale hair and one visible eye with a vibrant red iris stared at him, its twin concealed by strands that fell over them.
"It's snowing."
A rather simple statement. Lachlan had no idea what she meant to imply by that. He waited for her to continue.
Chloe swung the door wide open, revealing the long tartan scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders and draping over her usual seasonal overcoat. With a spin, she reached the other side of his mahogany desk and sat upon it as if she owned the thing. "How do I look?"
"You really have to ask?" He leaned back in his armchair and kicked his feet up on the desktop. "I always just say you're gorgeous no matter what you wear."
If Chloe could blush, she would have, he was sure. But she couldn't, and it was harder yet to tell what she wanted when she leaned over to look at the Angloc keys of the typewriter.
Lachlan lowered his legs to avoid kicking her in the head. "What now?"
"This thing is magic, right?"
"...yes?"
"With the narrative tracking thing?"
He scowled, slightly annoyed. "What in tarnation are you trying to ask me to do?"
"Well…" She slinked back to the edge of the desk, hopping off. "Do you know what Christmas is?"
Lachlan couldn't help but burst out laughing, a hearty bellow that most of his clients would certainly deem uncharacteristic.
It was Chloe's turn to narrow her eyes. "What?"
"S-Sorry, hehe. I was expecting something seriously lifechanging." He cleared his throat and sat up straight to regain his composure. "You got around to A Christmas Carol?"
"Uh, not yet. I was reading up Alpine mythology because of the dish last weekend, and they mentioned Krampus, and when I looked that up it had a lot to do with this festival the humans call Christmas."
"Aaaaaaand…?"
"And I know what it is, but I want to actually see it."
"So since you can't leave yet, you've decided that my expensive thaumaturgic typewriter is the next best way to get a feel for what this actually is?"
She nodded quickly.
"Have you thought of reading A Christmas Carol?"
Chloe just started at him.
Lachlan leapt to his feet, springing out of the armchair. "Fair point, they're not comparable. I'll instruct, you can have a-hey!" He reached up instinctively to grab the long mess of a scarf being thrown at him as Chloe sped into the seat, poring over the keys.
"What do I do?"
"Well for starters, calm the hell down." He threw the scarf over the back of the chair and went to the bronze switches on the wall next to the door, flipping them down one by one. Desk lamp, ceiling light, television. He closed the door. "I need to explain how this works first."
Chloe sat there intently, slightly illuminated in the darkness by an incredibly dim glow from the veins in her horns.
"First rule: never try to force a story," he said, now the one sitting on the edge of the desk. "The machine guides you to write a story, not lets you create one."
"Easy enough."
"Rule number two: control your breathing. I didn't give you human lungs but if you get excited like you usually do and inhale too much of the fumes it's going to be bad news regardless. Capiche?"
Chloe took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if meditating.
"Last rule is in case of emergencies, like if you're too immersed in the process. I may have to punch you really, really hard to knock you out of it."
"That's not really a rule now is it?"
"The rule is you can't get mad at me for it."
"Ah. So really hard."
"Correct. There's a dial on the left side. Crank it forwards, slowly."
She did so, and underneath they keys came a faint pink glow, something wafting up along with it. "Whoa."
"Yeah, that's going to go in your system, but this much should be fine."
"I'm starting to see stuff. Is that normal?" she asked, her eyes going from red to a slightly more pink shade.
"Perfectly." He gently took her hands and guided them over the keys. A fresh roll of paper went right in the top. "Do what feels natural. Think of Christmas. The words come to you from the aether."
He wasn't sure she had understood, or how well it would work with her unique physiology, but then again she had asked him nicely, and of course he just couldn't help it.
And then she began to type.
Comments (0)
See all