concern%Traited Monstrosities

Without any further problems, our party made it securely atop the Ledge encircling the Entrance. A faded red sign stated: Gutterson’s Guns Galore* over a pair of Double-doors, lackluster in almost every way imaginable.

However, the Thick Timber Doorway itself was inset with two barred windows, & a majestic Carving been set into the woodwork. Flower shoots frolicked around a quail & Boar, nestling daintily across the crack between the touching doors. Those features quietly bolstered some hype! I noticed the chain-bolt, unlatched, dangling as usual. The swine Whined and groaned in protest as I parted the opening for our crew.

We entered a new world.

Dazzling lights bombarded my dilated pupils (amidst transferring from the gloom and humidity) as if pierced by the beam of a high-powered flashlight -- then my skin inhaled & stiffened to attention as it collided with the arctic blast of the air-conditioning. Now that’s what I call mixing pleasure and pain.

Shading my turquoise eyes with a hand, I looked down at my feet while waiting to Adjust -- at once pulled by the itch to titter at the reception. ‘Welcome to the Nut House’ was printed on the door mat, a Greeting swirled with assorted acorns & leaves around a plump, crouching squirrel.

Finally normalized, Siggy and I descended three steps into the depression that contained all the extravagance. We exchanged stares of awe and relief. His eyes went as big as saucers. Yep, no matter how many times I dropped in, it was always the Grandest of spectacles.

Furniture camped out all over the Penthouse. Incandescent colors exploded off the tedious background of polished wood and tiled floor. Scads of couches and decorative tables twinkled amidst the landscape of carpet. Framed pictures and posters inter spaced along walls in a harmony of decor, like Stars* and pl(@)Nets* perfectly nestled among a backdrop (which might be interpreted as the King-size television screen plastered to the ceiling, [sticking out like a charred Brownie] dwarfing all other items.

Siggy gave my shoulder a slime of fatigued pats. “I’m gonna go bury myself in that bed over there in the far corner.”

“You do that,” I agreed. “And hey, say a prayer for our families just in case.”

“Well, that’s a nice thought,” He mentioned, and trailed off down into the center Scoop of luxury furnishings. He was an atheist, and so didn’t always playfully tug at concepts about philosophy. *Whereas I believed in a connection to Structure, ancestors, and possibly rebirth cycles.

“PYRAM! Good to see you,” a familiar rumbling baritone boomed to my attention with unusual urgency. Every time it came as a surprise to hear that honey-filled husk; the good surprise of a long-time Pal. Only this time it’s apprehensive edge was amiss. I split to my left, staying on the yellow tiles that hedged in the blue and orange carpeted areas of the center Pit.

Beckoning from behind the mini-bar countertop, stood an aged man. Short, gray hair formed a horseshoe atop his head. He was put together like a bowling pin: narrow head, with muscular swell of youth clinging to his torso, inelegantly out of transition. Since I’d been here last, Gutterson had added a juicy chocolate finish to the counter. I probably wouldn’t have detected this latest edition if it not for the sweet illumination of five cordial lamps dangling above it.

On one of the elevated white stools, Dal Capone sat across from the elderly man. He was drowning in liquor. I guessed that, since no one else was around when the coward flew in, that he’d swiped and guzzled the dark brown contents of that half-empty bottle greedily in lonesome trepidations. The others were trying to soothe their nerves by dissolving into cushy sofas or bean bags. Only one glass was in sight on the counter. Caphony was tilting the bottle again for what appeared to be more than merely a second round.

“Slow down there, sonny,” Gutts advised Dallas, dragging away the bottle by the neck -- to the Tyrant’s protest. He airlifted it from further abuse, & then pulled out a different glass from a shelf beneath the counter, offering me a drink instead. He didn’t care so much about minors and legalities; no enforcement agency was going to bother him about something that didn’t even exist on the maps. It was highly unusual for someone of non-drinking age to visit besides myself -- never mind that he didn’t get much company out here in the marsh. Because of its seclusion, appointments were predetermined, and drinks typically on the house for returning customers.

“I don’t drink,” I said. “You know that, Gut.”

“From what your lad here disclosed, Now’s as good a time as ever to start,” Malibu replied gravely, returning the cup and bottle to their respective homes.

He only had a small stash of such beverages on hand, in about twenty cubbie holes behind his head.

On second thought, … Nah, stay focused. Concentrate.

After all, this wasn’t exclusively a pub, it was mainly about the firepower & armory lode. (Of which i had never actually been invited to see the Strongest tools). My Biggest source of attraction on this venture. Other stuff said about the Pirates I was expecting to be heavily exaggerated.

“Shout out to Buck, that Mop-haired sucker,” Dallas whined and washed down one last swig. I suppose even his type could be tender—in a snarky sort of way.

Gut’s wide glittering eyes settled back onto me. Stocky brows slanted on the slopes of his forehead, mouth firmly knit. His thin, snowy goatee seemed as if it was a second, larger mouth -- Open in silent fear. Never had his age been directly divulged, but it seemed he had to be sneaking up on 60. That was otherwise based upon what history I knew about his Service in wars.

“I’m prepared to help you Beyond the degree initially planned buddy,” he began. “Cause y’all look stunned beyond all reason. I realize PTSD is kinda settin’ in. Now, before we can get to business, I gotta know what happened on your way over, so maybe we can get the jitterin skittles outta yer systems.” He stopped and examined me further.

I probably didn’t look too great. I glanced around at my companions. Same as the others. Two of the guys were sitting back there in the Depression of the room, staring around mindlessly or rubbing their face. The Prowleys and wounded chatterbox arrived up behind me, surely to inquire what kind of remedies the snowy man might possess.

Right on cue, Bu began scanning the approaching bang-for-it’s Buck Outfit. “Huh, this must be pretty grim.”

I blurted. “You don’t even know the half of it, Dude!”

“What on earth could be so traumatizing?” he demanded. But somehow, it sounded rhetorical.

Rovone answered. “This guy was attacked by some unidentified creature right before we arrived.”

Gut stammered, brain trying to process, “That’s not, Wa... was… What are we talking exactly? Shapes, features?”

“God only knows what it was man,” Rovo clarified. “It’s amphibious and not real big, but wicked speedy.”

Dead space followed. I lingered on my own fresh memories.

“I have a history with monsters.” Gutt's voice came slow and somber. “It didn’t track you to the Shack, did it?” Although I was horrified in many ways by this new prospect of this “History with Monsters” there was no time to explore all that that entailed.

“We don’t know,” Pheo and I futilely affirmed. At the echo, my train of thought dislodged and I peeked sidelong at her, while she didn’t hesitate to continue: “But it got a chunk of this kid,” she stated of the sobered individual against her collar.

“I see,” The words dripped off Malibu’s lips, suspended in the air on little nooses.

“I’ll need to fetch some ointments and gear.”

“Don’t you have ANY Grenades or Ka-Boomies?” Al Capone seethed from his seat. “We're at WAR!”

“War,” the former soldier repeated. “But we’re fighting what we don’t understand.”

Great ya hammered Boozehound! Just use that word & dredge up memories from the jungles & Gulfs to hang him up inside.

“You do have a good PowerPlay idea right??” I politely asked, trying to take stock of everything at once. My eyes buckled back into their seats, surging into Gutt’s as he revolved back around. “Because we have one enormous advantage, of course?” I prodded.

“Yes I have plenty of gadgets,” he confirmed. “But we’re all fairly safe here I imagine. So one thing at a time now, which is your friend’s foot first. NEVER rush into things, boy. Think. We are rational creatures. Don’t let anything take that away from you. We will always make time to decide a course of action.”