(no subject)
Author's note: No wonder they think Im a crazy.
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The Trucker's place was notoriously difficult to get to; skeletons of every vertebrate littered the sides of the steep outcropping of rock. Of course, only about half of those skeletons perished en route to the Trucker - the others just had their flesh rended from their bones by the trucker's multitude of hands.
To describe the place in full, the outcropping was a sort of teepee of rocks - 300 feet tall, at about an 80 degree angle. The rocks here were burned orange from the heat, and the ocean below this outcropping burst hungrily against the breaks, taunting any who would climb.
Leon looked at this small monument to danger from afar, not particularly enjoying what he had to do, but knowing that the Golden Lady would have his head on a platter of he didn't get this damned top.
Leon's spine rose from it's slumber. "...What're we doin' here?"
"You lazy piece of shit. Have you been out for the past few days?" Leon seethed, not particularly pleased that his partner would often clock out for days at a time, leaving him stranded in this ocean of grotesque intrigue.
"What're ya gonna do, fire me? Yes, I was out. Now if you'll answer my goddamned question, we could move onto something productive"
Beat.
"The Golden Lady wants a top. Guza said-"
"Guza?! What the hell are we doing with that joker? He wants us dead almost as much as the board!"
"Shut the hell up and let me finish. Guza said the Trucker had the top, which makes sense. We're going to pay the Trucker a visit, and if he has it, make off with it, give it to the Golden Lady, and collect our check, alright?"
"How much is she paying for this?"
"Base of 13 pounds, plus the condition of the top"
"..."
"Yeah, I thought that might make you reconsider. Lets get started."
Leon walked through the small seaside village adjacent to the Trucker's villa, pleasant looking stereotypes of all sorts mingling about their own business. Men with moustaches buying bread, street musicians playing jazz, a normal metropolitan scene condensed into the size of a village.
As they neared closer and closer to the Trucker's villa, however, the stereotypes became less pleasant. Houses grew weary and weak, sitting on their foundations crookedly. Pedestrians became a sort of legend. Twisted and mutated visages looked cautiously out their windows to see Leon strolling down the dilapidated street, when finally, at the base of the outcropping, two dead willows have grown in such a fashion to form a twisted, blackened, decaying gate.
This would have all been extremely unnerving to Leon and his spinal compatriot, but they had been here a few times. The trucker, as it was, was a collector of artifacts. Every time something esoteric yet powerful rose up in the universe, it was extremely likely the Trucker had already cloistered it away inside his fortress atop this outcropping.
That said, they were relatively unhappy that no one had thought to install a staircase yet.
Leon and his spine began their slow ascent, gripping a rock, hoisting themselves up. Gripping a rock, hoisting themselves up. Rinse/repeat for well on an hour. However, the closer they got to the sky, the hotter the rocks became.
It's a well known phenomenon that Geese, for whatever reason, will often migrate here to perform their ritualistic suicide. Geese, having reached the end of their lives, after their young had gone, would fly here to perish. This wasn't a seasonal thing; geese from all around the globe would travel thousands of miles to spend their last minutes here.
I only mention this because of the sound and smell it makes. As Leon continued to climb the ever-warmer rocks, geese, flying in tight-knit chevrons, would scorch themselves to death as they flew too close to the sun. The quiet, accepting honk of the dying goose, combined with the stench of burned flesh and feathers contributed to the unnerving nature of this particular residence.
As leon stood atop the outcropping, he saw a familiar site - A naked tree, it's branches snaking towards heaven, wearing a crown of flames as smoldering geese lead noxious rainbows of smoke to this small patch of earth 300 feet above sea level. The heat was extreme; enough to bleach rocks, enough to keep the crown of this tree perpetually ablaze, and enough to kill millions of geese each year.
Leon sighed, trying not to breathe through his nose. "We're here."
His spine looked around "I really, really hate coming here."