Behind the Scenes: Booze Break

Subject: John Doe. Somewhere. Somewhen, after 8chanmania x MFW - IN/V/ASION
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John could hear the Boxcar’s many wheels squeal, his body pulled gently forward as the train decelerated to a crawl. He stood, bracing himself against the back wall. He’d been sitting for a long while, and his first few steps were the wooziest as he tracked over to the nearest door.
He flipped the door’s wooden latch and got a nice, tight grip on the rusty handlebar dangling off the wall. When he was braced and ready, he shoved hard against the door. It ground away from him slowly, halting no more than two feet away, and there it sat. This rickety old train was slow enough changing speed that John wouldn’t have to worry about the door shutting on its own, so he followed it over, one hand firmly on the door’s cusp and the other on the train’s own.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore. There wasn’t anyone around to hear him, but it was something that needed to be said.
He had hopped on the train on a hunch. When everything was said and done he’d been dumped in a snowy tundra devoid of nearly all life; the only thing he could see for miles was the train-track, so he’d tried his luck hopping on the train as it passed by. If he missed it, he might have been stranded for days, though by that point he would have stopped caring on account of freezing to death. More principally, John’s intuition said that ‘if he hopped on some vehicle and zoned out for a bit, he would reach his real destination’. 
Here he was, four hours later, in the midst of a perfectly green countryside. This picturesque mountainside, complete with tons of fat-leaved trees and full-to-the-brim farms and fleets of small tan-roofed houses gathered into towns, was just as unthinkable in rural Siberia as it was in rural Alaska, and the temperature was much too warm to support snow, let alone a whole ocean of it like he’d seen before boarding.
Hop on a train alone in the cold, leave in warmth and good company. It was convenient.
It was too convenient. Like a game.
John threw himself from the train. He balled up and rolled cleanly on the relatively soft dirt and grass below, quickly gathering his bearings. By the time he looked back, the train had already begun accelerating back to full speed, as if on cue, and the far-off locomotive blew its horn while it sped off into the distance.
He spotted a dirt path leading to one of the nearest settlements and set off, trying not to think too hard about his circumstances. Frustration, anger, disbelief, even plain old curiosity- those things were distractions. They could wait until his job was done, and the job wouldn’t get done if he stopped moving.
In what felt like no time at all he had reached the buildings, the trail widening up to accommodate more traffic. One of the nearest was marked “Tonio’s Trattoria”; John thought he could smell fresh bread, and he realized that he was mighty hungry. It was tempting to ignore the feeling and move on, but after a little deliberation he decided that a full stomach was an efficient one, swinging around to walk in the saloon-style swinging doors.
He regretted that decision immediately. It was packed and the food smelled even more fantastic inside than it had on the roadside, instead it was the clientele that caught him off guard. 
Off in the corner a half-unconscious old man nursed a massive gourd of a flask; he was laughing with a huge squirrel person thing who waved a flagon of beer at him while they chatted. Some felt familiar, like the headless, armless mostly-torsoless, log man with a huge stick of bread sticking straight up out of him like a flagpole. It was jovial, even if one of the other patrons was a bald man wearing a pitch-black suit who had left his blood-stained chainsaw-glove contraption sitting on the table as he ate. Gentle music on violoncello wafted over to flavor the scene, keeping the mood clear and clean.
This wasn’t just any gathering, it was vibrant, alive, with a bunch of people John was inclined to either want to meet or to want to avoid. It was intriguing.
It was too intriguing. Like a game.
Before he could back out, a man noticed him and veered to intercept, smiling a big smile.
“Hello, amico! Are you English?” The man shouted, waving John down. He reluctantly turned back to face the man, forcing down his discomfort.
“American,” John said, “who’re you?”
“My name is Tonio,” he said, stopping about a foot away from John and clasping his hands together, “welcome to my tavern! Would you like a beer?”
John couldn’t say no to that, eventually nodding. Tonio waved him along and set off towards an unattended counter at the back of the place and rounded it, adeptly whipping out a fresh pint-size stein and filling it with a golden fluid that started to froth up almost immediately.
The Italian held it out to him, and he took it. “What brand?”
Tonio’s smile deepened. “Local fresh,” he said, “you’ll love it.”
Gingerly, John took a sip, and then a drink, and more of a chug- Tonio was right, this drink was heavenly. It gave him a taste of home that he hadn’t felt in years. It wrapped around him like a cloak, as if to shield him mercifully from his worries, if only that little bit.
Once the stein was about half a pound lighter he set it down on the counter, where it was promptly whisked away. Once the sensation faded, John patted his pocket, frowning. 
“How much for the beer?” He asked, looking for his wallet.
Tonio shook his head. “First one on the house, take a seat, look around,” he said, “you look like you need a breather, friend.”
John stopped the hunt and scratched his chin. Scraggly, a thin film of stubble. Bruises on his forearm from time in the ring. He probably looked pretty haggard, and he sure felt that way.
“Appreciate the hospitality,” he said, “I just might.” He looked around. There weren’t too many empty tables, but a breather might be nice. “Where should I sit?”
Tonio waved that thought away. “We do things a little different here,” he said, “pick a friend and get to know him. Or her,”
John laughed and shook his head, “I’m a married man.” He stepped away from the counter, looking around more intently. He decided to avoid the guy with the chainsaw and to pass on the corner with the overly busty, poorly clothed lady waving around a huge wood stick, so that left the corner with the drunk and the squirrel.
He walked over slowly and picked out a chair. The squirrel turned to him flagon-first, the fairly violent turn sending a little alcohol splashing over the rim as John moved to sit. 
“This seat open?” John asked.
“Sit on-n-n down,” the squirrel slurred, “you don’t gotta be polite.”
John shrugged. Once he was situated, he asked “Any idea where we this is?”
“A bar,” the squirrel said, “I think.”
John shook his head slowly. “What continent? Planet?”
“You ask weird questions,” the squirrel said, “are you some kind of alien?”
“No.” He frowned.
“I fucked an alien once,” the squirrel said, pausing only briefly to choke down a decent chunk of his flagon, “it was out of this world.”
John opened his mouth to reply and realized he didn’t have any words.
“What brings you to these parts, stranger?” The squirrel asked, hardly breaking stride.
John rapped on the table. “Hopped on a train.”
The squirrel squinted at him. “Real life train hobo?”
“Nothing like that,” John said, “so how about you?”
The squirrel keeled over, dragging the flagon to his mouth. “I was king for a day,” he said, “king Conker.”
“You got deposed?” John asked.
Conker shook his head. “I quit,” he said, “my favorite bar burned down, the rest of the job sucked, everyone was an ingrate and my girlfriend was still dead.”
John sat back and whistled.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Conker said, “now I’m here. Have you tried the beer?”
John nodded. “What does he put it?”
Conker downed what little was left in the flagon and slapped it down on the table. “It could be elf ears and unicorn shit and I’d still drink it.”
“No elf ears in there,” Tonio said, refilling the drink with that fresh golden beer. John hadn’t noticed him show up, but it was good to see him. He hadn’t had this much attention since he was a cadet, and that sort of attention wasn’t nearly so kind. Though, it was making him nervous that he hadn’t noticed much at all ever since he started talking to Conker- he was already a bit dizzy, in fact, which was odd since he was no lightweight.
When he was done pouring, Tonio passed the flagon back and turned to look at John. “Are you ready for another, friend?”
John realized he did, he really did, but he also realized that was a bad idea. Here he was chatting with some squirrel and half drunk in some tavern and he hadn’t even had the food he came for. 
“Could I get some bread instead?” He asked. Conker threw in a quick “for me, too,” as if he’d just remembered Tonio’s place served things other than beer.
“Ah, you smelled the Tuscano?” Tonio said. “I’ll bring you a bowl.”
The man practically vanished, easily weaving his way through tables and his impressively day-drunk customers, reappearing with a bowl of fresh bread.
They were fat, round, and well-browned, each of the big lumps of bread a far cry from the standard white or wheat he was used to, but they smelled fantastic. Conker snagged a loaf and he took one gingerly, tearing off a bit.
It was remarkably savory, but bland. Confused, he chewed through it, but no burst of flavor came.
Tonio tittered. “It has no salt. You should eat it with something else, if you would like a menu?”
John shook his head. It was a shame, but he really didn’t have time for a real meal. He forced down another bite of the bread. At that the other man sighed.
“You are in a hurry,” he said, “but such a thing is not healthy. Stay a while,”
John kept eating, refusing to make eye contact. He had the feeling that if he caved, he’d never leave. The bread quickly disappeared.
“I insist, this is a good place,” Tonio continued, “you could be happy.”
John stood. “You are very kind, but I don’t need this kind of ‘happy’.”
He began to head for the door, keeping an eye on Tonio but not too closely.
“It’s a mad world out there. Why leave?” called a deep voice from behind, and he turned to see who’d spoken.
The man with the chainsaw was staring right at him, hand splayed across his face.
“Let it be mad then, I’ve got a job to do.” John said, still moving cautiously for the door.
Chainsaw man slammed a fist on the table and it shook. “You think you’re brave? Some good soldier, are you?”
The tavern was empty and John wasn’t moving. The walls were rustic grates and fences, the furniture scattered and overturned, torn and broken, and his nose could smell sulfur and only sulfur, the homy smell of before long forgotten. He looked down and realized the floors were made of the same fence and grate as the walls. It was a strange kind of eternity.
He blinked. Tonio’s place normal again and the chainsaw man was still glaring at him as if nothing had happened. John took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes.
“You’re goddamn right I’m a good soldier. Aren’t you?”
The other man sat back as if he had been struck, but then he laughed.
“‘think I might have forgot,” the man said, and he stood. John realized with a start that the chainsaw hadn’t been sat down on the table at all; the ‘contraption’ was, in fact, the man’s right hand. “Call me Jack… just Jack.”
John waved Jack along, turning back to head for the door. The pressure threatened to smother him, sudden anxiety about what it’d be like to be out of the tavern, away from good food and new friends, but he was locked in now. He didn’t need to check behind him to feel the massive man’s presence as it fell in stride, pushing him along.
“What kind of job we talking about?” Jack said.
“There’s a ma…a THING out there fucking people’s heads up real bad. He got ta me, he gonna get others..” John said.
Jack grunted. “You look fine to me.”
“If I were fine I’d still be happy, stuck at the hip with my wife and kid. I’ll explain more if you’re really in,” he replied.
“I’m in- but only if I get paid.”
“I’m not exactly a wealthy man-” John started, but someone grabbed his sleeve. His head whipped around in surprise only to see Conker, stumbling along as he desperately tried to match their stride while unconscionably drunk.
“I can get you more money than you could dream of,” the squirrel said, “if you’ll take me along.”
John stopped to stare at him. “You’re in too?”
“You’re not the oo-only one who’s been fucked around with by-” he paused to half-way vomit before choking it back down, “things you don’t understand.”
“You heard him, Jack?” John asked, looking over. 
The big man nodded. “Long as he’s telling the truth, I’m good to contract in. Blood or paper.”
They went for the door, making little progress with John half-dragging Conker for a while before Jack lifted his feet and they both hauled him along.
John put his hands on the swinging doors, alarmed at how heavy they were- in more ways than one it seemed easy to stay and hard to leave.
Tonio was beside them in an instant. “Please stay,” he practically begged, “it isn’t safe and happy out there!”
John shoved hard on the doors, forcing them open. “I can’t,” he said, “and neither can they. Not forever.”
He stepped outside, a weight suddenly leaving his shoulders.
“D-damn right,” Conker said, and then other two were behind right him. He turned to look at them- and saw Tonio stare out at them, his face twisted halfway to tears.
“If I can’t convince you to stay,” he said, “at least be wary of Il Automa. She is about.”
Then he was gone, probably off to cater to other customers. It was then John knew they were truly alone in their mad world again. The comforting pressure that had been building on his shoulders while he had been inside the tavern left his shoulders in an instant, and without it he felt lonely again, nervous- but also free.
The sensation of freedom didn’t last long. In the brief time he’d been inside the bar, John had nearly forgotten how cold it was out in the open. It was enough to make him want to turn around, to give in to Antonio’s pleading, but John knew deep down this wasn’t something he could run from. It was, after all, inside him.
He could see the fog setting in from afar, the beautiful mountainside slowly locking itself away, interminably out of his reach. To his eyes at least, the world’s color seemed to be fading, a rot of grey and brown overtaking now-cracked buildings. 
“Do you feel it?” John asked, now himself brought to pleading. They had to feel it; it couldn’t just be him alone trapped in this encroaching hell.
“Feel what?” Jack asked in return, looking at him blankly. He didn’t seem even the slightest aware of what was coming, or what might happen if he got too close.
John took a few steps backwards, shaking his head. “This was a mistake,” he said, “I shouldn’t have even tried-”
Conker waved a finger at him. “Whadda-ya mean?” He asked, still a bit inebriated- though now that they were outside he seemed soberer by the minute. “You can’t just chicken out!”
“You really don’t understand,” John said, awestruck. Visions of twisted flesh and a beast of rotted fur danced across his sight, promises of what would come if he got too close. He made the decision in an instant- that being alone was for the best, that he was doomed to it. He grit his teeth and bolted for the woods, not looking back.
When he first started running he could hear some movement behind him, but then no more. They didn’t care so much after all, so why should he? The mission came first. Revenge came first.
Then John ran onwards, never pausing; he ignored the tinges of darkness that swallowed his periphery, he ran past the patches of grey that ate away at whatever he touched.
No matter how close he got to dragging himself out of this mess, this thing that had been plaguing him since that day, it always seemed to pull John back in. One thing however was certain-
Scuttlebug would pay for what he had done. He would make sure of it.
“What the hell was that all about?” Conker asked, poking gingerly at the wall of fog; it felt as solid as any wall did, much to his conclusion. It slammed shut behind the runaway not-hobo when he took off; intuitively, Conker thought it was something like a gate. If it was a gate, though, it was locked to them. Chainsaw man had run into it head-first the instant the bank of mist first fell and it dented him more than it had dispersed smoke; taking a chainsaw to it wasn’t any more successful.
“Not sure,” Jack said. He let his arm down, saw-hand falling to his side. “Does that mean the job’s off?”
Conker frowned. “I guess so. What a jerk, working so hard to get me all riled up and then and getting abducted by bad weather.”
“‘Hear that,” Jack said, “guess I’ll head back in the bar then. Didn’t expect the weather to be quite so chilly when we got out here, I’m already missing the beer and the candles.”
Conker’s frown deepened. “I’m not going back. I can’t bear to waste away any longer, not if there’s guys like that running around out here, trying to follow through where I never did.”
Jack started to walk back towards the bar, but as he turned, a bizarre voice piped up. “Looking for a job, eh?”
“Agh,” Conker said, turning to the voice that had spoken. He hadn’t even noticed him approach. “What do you mean?”
“What if I, told you, that I know something about the menace,” said the person, “of which your friend spoke?”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the air felt chillier all of the sudden. It didn’t feel like a coincidence.
“Wouldn’t quite call him a friend. I didn’t even catch his name.” Conker said, eyeing Jack. “Are you interested? Chainsaw guy?”
Jack chuckled. “If the money’s still there.”
Conker turned to the strange person. “We’re in on one condition. Answer my question.”
The person rocked excitedly in place. “What might that be?”
Conker grimaced. “How long have you been able to talk like that?”
Category:Lore