VAGABOND FUGUE Gypsy D. Sideshow
The Vagabond Fugue Book One: The Xandromachia
Chapter 6
Following the Elysium Octopus
Xander blinks. “Dark as fuck.” Sophia shakes her head, looking at him. “You also kept saying to follow the octopus.”
Xander’s pupils contract in a hint of Sophia breathes deeply before speak- inky recognition. “Yes, some octopusing. “Yes good, so you saw Romero like creature ripped Romero away in your fugue state.” She wipes her from me and sucked him down.” hands in a towel. “You also said a few things while you were semi-con- “So follow the octopus at Elysium,” scious, in particular, two things that may be helpful.” Sophia says, hesitating. “We will have to dress the part and you will have to, “What did I say?” how do I say....follow my lead.” “What?” Sophia places a warm open palm “You’ll see.” against his bare chest. “One thing *** you said, almost in a swallowed mur- In Elysium, it is the familiar frost of mur, sounded like, “Elysium.” waves, the peach and periwinkle of twilight, approaching the island fog Xander frowns, “That is where I first and mooring their yacht on the leelanded, like a place of souls, almost a ward side of the lighthouse. From paradise...but it was all blurry.” there, they nimbly step into an empty wooden dinghy and Xander rows “Well, if that’s the case, we may be in dutifully toward the shore; Sophia for some shit,” she tells him, tracing sexed up like a goddess in charge, the scar at his chest, “There is an Ely- and Xander, shirtless with a spiked sium Island in this virtual world, and collar around his neck. Images waver it’s beautiful like you say, but it’s also in the dark as they come toward the dark as fuck.” shore- barely clad bodies dancing.
“Stay calm Xander,” Sophia reassures him as she looks him up and down, his bare chest greased and ready to submit. “The fake burn scar on your face should throw them off a bit, as well as the removal of those tubes from your head. Just stay close, keep your gaze mostly downcast and make sure you don’t let your eyes linger too long on anyone.” Sophia pulls a chain out from her bag and fixes it to the loop of his collar.
“Now, act like you are my slave and they will pay little attention.” Together, Sophia and Xander weave in and out of the crowd from Elysium’s entry stairs; in and out of the intermittent whisperings of scattered conversations, mostly masked by the underground drumbeats and siren songs cooing over the island speakers. Scattered snippets of conversations, aromatic secrets whispered throughout the darkened fortress, this perfumed nightclub.
Th pi e li th ng f ght low e m rom s gl m pr ant th ow ch en a ofil le o e ce boo th airs t th e, X f th ilin zy ag eir m . Li e fee and e lo g, w red, di ain, ist ke, t of er l ung ith wi fro sem as t ress also the eas e. S a s th t Xa m bod hey es. , th ir la hed oph ad f ape lik nde Sop ied we The e b die at t ia ace strie fla e th r’s hia’ me ave pep are s w he n and of s d he she e h spik s fin mo in a tid che ho r eck Xa a m rap lar r ey s of ollo ed ger ries nd es in sted ecli to nde oos ed, tio ; th es. Sop wed coll s to , im out Xa m ne b Sop r at e pr alm so n to e pu Som hia ou ar, his ag of t nde en o are hia tem esid ost a , h e m f eth thi rple eth ’s fa t rem nd lea s tr e g r’s d n th oot like pt t ing drip th sh av list igi e in m o k ov in s in m ing ce, n g e to oo a lo an e e , pa eli en tal da plu os ee er nt xic d o bou oki ts lec rk ng ing bo nce sh t o p a f ire at f t i d n o ly ing vin t be g b f m ric e ng a like crow y b floo back the ne m ta in ac em el nd el d egi r w? is ge g l k a or fla b ec , fi n t wi ed tre de ed t h y, sh ob tric rin o fi th s ss. vo by im ca es bi g r Is tio th sm tte of ng curr wit e h th n, is r is a v w ilin ed s ima towa ents m o g em ine ma g w lide es f rds or -tet n o ith sho eel y, he n lo w or re th ve s, is d c is th on co in is l fee nec lin g
Sophia turns toward him, sensing his faltering steps, a concerned look on her face. “Hey,” she says, “focus babe,” then turns back to navigate to the crowd while tugging lightly at his leash. Weaving, the drumbeat mood pulses with bent sounds, as if almost playing backward, dizzy music casting a mood of fire and winedrenched blanks, of losing time. And again, losing snippets of time each time. Xander’s head pounds, a dizzy whir as if the gyroscopic poles of his world are shifting, the blinking circuitry of light inside his head turning against an ocean of empty space, pushing to the outer reaches of his memories, as if there is nothing left to recover inside of him, as if something has been either externally removed or hijacked or — Then, there. Just beyond the weave and bob of dancers and silhouetted lips whispering against eager ears, a
woman sits alone at the bar. Sitting askew on her stool and facing the crowd, the woman’s face sets slightly downcast, one side made up like a pixie doll and the other half painted like a skull, and then, down her throat and collarbone and breastbone, the tattoo of an octopus. Octopus. Xander taps Sophia’s shoulder to get her attention, trying not to break his gaze on the woman across the room. But Xander thuds into Sophia’s back, who is stopped and frozen still. Xander’s eyes search across the room to see the once occupied barstool empty. The woman with the octopus tattoo is gone. Xander turns his head back to Sophia, who is pressed against the belly of an obese undead clown. His glowing eyes, mangled teeth and gums. A low gargle in his deep voice as he hoarsely says, ”You two, come with me. Now.”