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Character Interview
amusedPrologue:
It is midnight, and the dungeons of the quaint and scenic deathfort of Utter Desolation echo with silence. Even the ghosts of those who had committed suicide in their cells rather than face slow execution in Ser Jeugwy’s Boiling Pot are depressingly silent. They’ve gotten quite fed up with themselves for hanging (literally) around these dank and rat-infested halls so much, and are considering separate vacations to Sihulsamor.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there is a flash of brilliant purple light, signaling the disintegration of the fourth wall. A slight figure dressed all in black and exuding the smell of old lace steps out and swears as she steps on a particularly large rat. The rat swears back in Sung and scuttles away. The black-robed figure regains her dignity, straightens up, adjusts her grip on her little black notebook. She flashes a crooked smile at absolutely nothing.
This is Quavi. She’s a lich. A quite senile one. Mainly harmless, but you never know.
She potters, seemingly aimlessly. But she knows what she’s looking for. Somewhere here in the dungeons of Utter Desolation are four (or six, she tells herself with dotty optimism) people whom she has the terrible pressing need to talk to. It’s for a tag, after all. Must never pass on those.
Abruptly, she stops before a seemingly empty cell. Silence puffs around her in clouds of dust and rat droppings. Quavi knows better, though. She gives the bars a good rattle and steps back.
The straw nearest to the bars moves a bit, and a grimy adolescent shakes herself out. She’s terribly plain, but her eyes are really quite marvelous and her lips are shaped in permanent expectation of kisses. There’s something obscenely adult in the way she holds herself, even though her breasts are still very small. Her name is Lesser. She shivers and gazes up with her great, round eyes. “Hello,” she says politely.
“I’m your God,” Quavi explains.
“Oh, I see,” Lesser says. “How can I help you, Ms. God?”
“YOU MAY ADDRESS me AS ‘Quavi.’ I want an interview with the
“But if you’re God, Quavi, why would you need to interview us?” asks Lesser reasonably. “Wouldn’t you already know everything?”
Quavi turns quite invisibly pink underneath her hood. “JUST DO IT.”
Lesser gives her God a mildly reproving look and then goes off, whispering “Hello” into seemingly random patches of straw and ducking quickly if an irate fist happens to swing out. Presently, she’s called up three equally grimy people, in varying states of distemper.
curious