Mad Dogs and Englishmen

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The characters have just had to do a carjacking and are trying to get to White Sands before Azathoth eats everyone. Rudy is a human, Kai is a Deep One. Kai helped scare the people out of the car by screaming at them in Deep Tongue.

“I know.” Kai shrugs. “I just-”

“Hate this.” Rudy echoes. He gets a more gentle squeeze. “What did you say to them, when you were scaring them?”

“From the fire of the sea to the scarcity of the sky, I am so incredibly sorry.” Kai gives a huff of helpless humor. “It doesn’t translate well, it’s a lot more abject than that. It’s like a- ‘sorry I ate your kitten’ apology. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

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It’s a Lovecraftian thriller. I’m really proud of this snippet: meet Cthulhu.

It has laid there in the depth for billions of years. Cthulhu had come waking when the world was made, when the star- their star- had been white and dancing and so utterly alien. It had slumbered as it had cooled, settled into comfort and the middle age grind of turning hydrogen into helium and the world had cooled. And now- the star was right again. Hot, blazing, turning the world into living blood and fire, and the living beings within in nothing but living dust, watching, waiting, breathless in the airless world.

The doors open, something within stirs.

It is too large to possibly fit inside the building. A long claw scratches out of some great, forgotten door, tearing and parting the liquid ground and cutting a rivulet deep and wide enough for the Nile, the Amazon, those long-gone deities of water, to flow into and be lost. A tentacle long enough to coil about the world cracks and cracks, searching from a break into the swift-melting stone. A great eye the size of an ocean opens, with a tearing sound like birth of a new moon.

And something, far away, beyond the dying world and the dying star and the whole solar system slowly slipping into its dotage, something looks down at them.

The God, the no longer Dreaming God, turns eyes or something like eyes back up to meet that gaze, lifts itself in beatification from Its bed, Its city, Its tomb. The world around It bursts like a dandelion clock, Rudy flying into his component parts to join those thousand seeds of possibilities, flying into the void to grow.

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Wondering about the taste of putting Rudy (blind black char) in a position where a bunch of american cops find him at a crime scene (not his fault) and he’s got got time think of how badly he’s fucked before a Deep One rugby tackles him to the ground and a Shoggoth eats the cops.