The Count of Many A Boodog
Kane was, per the metadata, in full Mongol warlord regalia: embroidered silk dragon deel under lamellar plate, fur-trimmed conical helmet, gutal boots silver-tipped, and a tug bearing eight white horse-tail tassels — one shy of Genghis Khan’s sacred nine.
Genghis, per the metadata, wore plain white silk deel, gutal boots, and the nine-tail white tug at his right hand. The Great Khan in three items. Kane’s eight-tassel tug across the room suddenly read as a confession.
Multiple other masters awaited the coming meal.
Cy kept outside the ger, viz. Gary, where the master sat to avoid the multiple stimuli. He asked Gary to keep Kane and Genghis inside for now. Gary noted, “Yep. Nobody gets out of Gary the ger without a high sign from the Cy-man!”
He checked in with Pip and PipPrime, “You have the rest of this on auto-pilot, right? I’m going to start the Count’s first approach and will leave CyPrime here for my work on the rest of the boodog.”
Pip qua Artoo chirped affirmatively while PipPrime qua Threepio respectively noted the relative risk of their undertaking as unfavorable at all to any of them who would deign to listen.
CyPrime asked on the support channel, “PipPrime. I truly hope you did not purchase that avatar?”
Cy shut down the discussion, “Enough. CyPrime. You’re here with the whole zipper the marmot from head-to-tail scene right?”
CyPrime issued, “:Sigh: Yes. The marmot seems friend shaped. But, I guess he’s needing to be inside out soon? He’s so friendly.” The AI gave the marmot a small snack and it nuzzled his leg.
Cy assured his friend, “The marmot is really tofu. Just run the routine, ok?”
CyPrime nodded his assent as Cy flew behind the gathering. The AI hummed and sang to himself as he waited, “It sounds like, I’m keepin’ it a secret. It sounds like I’ve got a song that nobody knows”.
Cy asked Pip for the Count script to fire and Pip hooted and whistled his confirmation back. The script acted on Cy’s avatar immediately.
Cy felt but did not dare look as his clothing was transformed into a traditional houppelande in white satin trimmed in faux ermine.
His eyes lost their irises and became milky white. His tablet and palm reader were reskinned as a long white cane.
Juni smiled at him, as the final touch, a vibrant red hat with a foot tall plume stood proudly upright. It slowly descended on Cy qua the Blind Count. The cane tip was crowned with Dolomites, a mountain range in Italy.
The Count came on the channel and asked Pip to bring up the intro script. Pip whistled and PipPrime said, “Oh my! He’s really going to do it!”
A full marching band, all in white, except for red upwards feathers, appeared and the drum corps immediately started banging out the tempo. They surrounded the Count and a few carried a litter for him to ride. The drum major swung the baton, blew the whistle and the march began.
The drums beat out a familiar, ancient rhythm. ▎ BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. tat-tat-tat-TAT. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. ▎ tat-tat-tat-TAT.
The band members yell out “WHO IS THIS! ITS THE COUNT!” and then clap once.
The band swayed as they snaked towards the ger. The Count had both hands in the air from his seat in the litter. ▎ BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. tat-tat-tat-TAT. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. ▎ tat-tat-tat-TAT.
The band members yell out “WHO IS THIS! ITS THE COUNT!” and then clap once.
Kane and Genghis ran outside the ger to see the source of the booming sound. The band slowly surrounded the two men as the brass began to play. ▎ BAH! BAH! BAH-BAH-BAH-BAH! BAAAAAAH! … BAH! BAH! BAH-BAH-BAH-BAH! ▎ BAAAAAAH!
The music shifted to an ancient throbbing pace.
The Count dances in his litter as he sings out, > It sounds like, I’m keepin’ it a secret > It sounds like I’ve got a song that nobody knows > And I heard it in a post when I was twelve years old > I didn’t know it would score the 64-bus home > Turn a Monday to a memory and change my world
His dance team keeps the beat around him.
The Count keeps it moving fast. > It sounds like iPod Touch, little crack in the screen > FL Studio so late, I fell asleep on the keys > With it looping through the speakers, bleedin’ into my dreams > It sounds like > It sounds like > I’ve got a song that nobody knows > And I heard it in a post when I was twelve years old > I didn’t know it would score the 64-bus home > Turn a Monday to a memory and change my world
CyPrime was tapping his feet waiting for his cue.
Kane asked his support channel, “Cy, Pip? What is going on? We’re about to kill the marmot and there’s a marching band in here? Did someone fuck up and run the wrong script? The marmot is supposed to …”
CyPrime sighed and executed the script that read “execute_marmot.bat”
Then, the marmot turned inside out suddenly, and the tofu innards were, well, very realistic and steaming. CyPrime said softly, “Bye, dude…” and then started humming again to himself: “I’m keepin’ it a secret, it sounds like…”
The Count was lowered from his chaise and remarked at the scent of reversed tofu marmot, “Why boys! I had heard you were all full of shit? No need to prove it immediately! Ha!”
Kane smiled while pinging “Cy? Where did this person come from?”
CyPrime snapped awake, quickly replied from his notes “I have no idea. Do you know if it’s safe here with Genghis? I didn’t see anything fishy, but you know how people just leave keys around? Somebody could have just found it and used it?” He exhaled deeply after it was done.
Kane snapped off the channel and smiled at the Count who failed to smile back. That disturbed Kane and he asked, “I’m sorry. You’re a bit, well, underdressed and overdressed at the same time, good sir.” thanks to Lin.
The Count smiled and countered quickly, “And you must be somehow nearsighted and farsighted to be able to tell how little I give a flying fuck what you have to say about my clothes, homestuff.” (thanks to LinPrime). A band member gave the Count a low five in celebration.
Elira arrived dressed in something radiant but The Count kept his eyes averted. The outfit’s metadata made Juni very happy and she remarked, “Oh. I’ll save this for my scrapbook later.” Aida was trailing almost invisibly behind, but her bright violet eyes shone almost as if backlit. The Count looked at Aida directly and expected to see her clearly. Aida met his eyes somehow? She saw his pupils even though his eyes were completely white. She blinked hard, three times.
Lin, watching the Count’s feed for material, inserted, “What just happened there, Cy? I mean, Count?” The Count replied in channel, “Don’t bother me. I need to focus on Kane and Elira.”
Kane paused briefly seeing Elira had arrived. “Did I get your name, good sir? Or, pimp? maybe?”
The Count looked dryly at Kane’s general direction, “You got nuthing because you are no thing I know. But if you come closer, you can meet my backhand. Then, then you’ll know if you’ve met a pimp or not. I could not give a flat damn what you think my occupation might be. I bet …”
The Count pantomimed looking at some invisible paper “Lemme look at my job description right here. Oh yeah. I can’t fucking see.” He tossed the pantomimed note away.
The Count continued “But I know it by heart, fool! It doesn’t say nothing about telling a bitch your name without them telling theirs first. How bout you, Candy? What is your name?”
The group of masters had their mouths open in shock. Kane replied without waiting for Lin, “Kane.”
The Count exploded with laughter and said, “I’m not talking to you, sugar. You can be somebody else’s candy cane over there I’m sure, but I’m talking to your missus! You dear? I can just tell when a beautiful gal just waltzes on by. Even when her beau seems to smell like the insides of a dead marmot who ate too much barley. What is your name, dear?”
Elira looked at the Count and simply offered, “Elira, and now you are, sir?”
The Count bowed at the waist and said, “Why, dear Elira, how gracious, I am, when properly met, a gentle soul. I come from Italy, the Dolomites. I have a small noble line in my family. People still call me the Count even though my mother, the whore, left me blind you see. Her wanton ways stained me like your boyfriend has seemingly stained his drawers recently. Does he bathe in these adventures? Or is that just him? Maybe it’s the food around here…”
A band member gave the Count another low five in celebration.
Elira laughed in spite of herself, and Kane raged on his channel, “WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE ON THIS THING?”
LinPrime stalled and offered, “one moment.” LinPrime signaled for a swap and they flipped pointers which swapped them instantaneously. Lin got in front of Kane’s mind and soothed “We need to lay back, Kane. He knows more than us somehow. We might have a leak somewhere. Keep the chatter down. That said, this Count is dangerous and we need to figure out what he’s getting at, but it’s obvious right now. He wants Elira.”
Kane smiled externally and then ad-libbed, “It’s good to meet you, Count. Are there reasons to be so hostile? I apologize for the slight. You’re obviously very well bred indeed.”
The Count turned and faced Kane. He approached the master and invaded whatever personal space the man needed.
The Count coolly accepted the poisoned reply and said, almost nose-to-nose with Kane, “You’re right, good, Kane, was it? I’m sorry to have been so rude, but this odor is quite, well, loud and with my lack of other senses, it can be too much.”
Kane backed up a bit and the Count did not follow him, but continued, “Maybe we could meet another time? Say I come to another less intensely olfactory experience? I hear your parties are the best and I just had to see for myself.”
The silence after the Count’s last sentence caused Gary to ask, “Hey, you all ok in there? Gary keeps the carbon monoxide out even with fires inside? You guys all still alive?”
Genghis and Elira stood mutely by Kane as he ignored Gary and spoke to the Count directly, “I’ll send you tubmail. My fleshman will handle it. I assume he’ll be able to find yours easily enough on the lower communication layers right now.”
The Count bowed toward Kane’s voice and said, “Thank you for the raincheck. I’ll anxiously await the mail. I hope I don’t wrinkle in my tub waiting for it. Good bye!” His smile was the last thing to disappear as he and his band vanished in a caustic black hazy smoke.
Kane seethed as Cy carefully signaled the shutdown and cleanup scripts to fire. He gave a quick thumbs up to his group and their Primes as Kane angrily shut down his ruined boodog. CyPrime looked at the marmot as it faded away. He hummed, “It sounds like iPod Touch, little crack in the screen…”