Homecoming (Open) Nov 2, 2019 11:02:55 GMT -6
Post by Maple on Nov 2, 2019 11:02:55 GMT -6
(Thread PL: 80,000)
Time could play funny tricks here in the Demon Realm, and that’s why Maple spent his first few weeks home watching reruns of shows he missed while away. The last time he’d visited home -- thousands and thousands of years ago, back when togas were in style on Earth and bronze was all the rage -- there’d been a great crystal-cast about two hatestruck Demons trying to murder one another to gain the throne of a little demonic princedom, and Maple had missed all of the second and third arcs.
But now the show was over, his crystal ball was dim, and his Mom had finally caught up with him. Maple sighed. He’d flown to the highest branch of their household, certain she wouldn’t be able to reach him here, high in the red clouds.
Her lumbering steps crashed through the branches below. The massive bole of the hometree trembled against her immensity. Glancing down, Maple could see trains of leaves thrown free of their branches, the tumult rising steadily, only pausing as she drew in huge gasps from her efforts. Eventually, she was revealed, a fifty foot demonified Jiggler in a domestic apron and polka dot dress. To complete the pathetic display, she wore a curly blonde wig.
“Maply-Boooo! I baked a thousand of your favorite bloodbutter cookies!” She shrilled.
Peering down, Maple could indeed see an overstuffed sack on her back, filled to the brim with the pink morsels. He also noted her plump scaly hands wringing together and the desperation on her face. There were tears, actual tears, in her eyes.
“Go away, Mom. Before I vaporize you.”
The tears streamed freely. “Oh Maple, I’ve missed hearing your sweet voice, my dear boy!”
Maple prickled. “I said, begone!” He stretched out a hand, aiming to finally be rid of her bothersome blathering, but something held him back from delivering the deathstroke.
Killing your parents (along with the rest of your family) was a time-honored demonic rite of passage, but Maple could never manage it, even though his Mom was so annoyingly Good to him. She’d never once thrashed him, never once tried to eat him. He never had the proper childhood that most Demons received, and was probably worse off for it.
Who knows what evil depths I would have reached if not for this lumbering love-blubber holding me back?
But still, he didn’t destroy her. Something indescribable held him. His New Philosophy of Evil permitted him friendship, but having a loving family? That was inexcusable.
Maple’s widespread fingers slipped into a fist, leaving his index finger outstretched. “I’ll have one cookie. If you promise to go away.”
An hour later, Maple was walking down a broad thoroughfare of Makai Castle, where many other hometrees flourished, a pouch of bloodbutter cookies on his waist and big red smooch mark on his cheek, which -- try as he might -- seemed cursed enough not to rub off. He pulled the hood of his dark cloak up around him instead, hoping it’d cover up the evidence of motherly affection.
Maybe I’ll go down to the city and start a riot. He thought, swerving towards the direction of the ruins below the Castle, where plumes of smoke and cosmic fires burned. The castle-city was ever-changing, in constant flux as its inhabitants destroyed and created and destroyed. It was the perfect place to unwind.