milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There are several large books stacked around Helen. Three in a language known in some worlds as Russian, one in a language known on some worlds as Greek, one that died out on most Earths long enough ago to not be known by anthropologists (but one significant slice of Earths became very prominent and important), and five in English. They all have titles about cross-dimensional travel.

She decided to stop researching in her room. So the young girl is researching at a table down here--that's totally the same thing as socializing, right?

Right.

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"Naw, jest weird." He chuckles. "I said thet Gran'father thought thet a Dark Gawd would make a good son-en-law, didn't I?"

"But you did not say that he was one," Helen continues, cautiously, her right arm under the table.

"He wasn't 'un. My Father was." He shrugs.

Helen meant a good son-in-law.

"Ah." Helen replies.

Her first thought is about compatible biologies. Her second is to move away. Neither are diplomatic, so her hand under the table just continues to bunch the excess fabric at the end over it, until she catches herself and lets go.

"A demon?"

"Imagine creatures sew strange thet et hurt jest tew look et them. Creatures thet dun't think en any way thet humans kin recognize, yet seem ter have some great an' terrifying Intent.

"Then imagine whut they pray ter, an' yew'll have some idea o' whut my Father es like."

Wilbur smiles sadly. "Ur better yet, dun't dew any o' thet an' fergit I ever said et."

Helen doesn't quite have to imagine the first, she thinks. (She's wrong. Her demons are far different from Lovecraftian ones.)

But the concept of something--greater--bothers her.

"Why?" She asks, head going up as she tucks her hair behind her face. "There can't be a way to protect the world if you don't know the dangers."

Wilbur breaks out laughing. "Protect et? Ur yew kiddin'? Thar ur 'uns among my Father's kind who could destroy awll o' Creation en thar sleep! The best yew kin dew es see ter et thet the End es swift."

Helen's mouth thins, obstinately, at the laughter. She doesn't believe in giving up. Ever.

That is why she wouldn't last two minutes in Lovecraft's world.

Not that anyone else would, either, but . . .

Presumably she'd follow in the steps of Dr. Stantz. Less succesfully, but for a time.

"Is everyone in your world, then, so ready to die?"

She'd try to learn about it, go nuts, try to summon Nyarlathotep backwards and teleport herself to the Throne of . That's what happens to nosy people in Lovecraft's world.

"Most o' them dun't know about et.

"An' most o' the 'uns thet dew ur stark ravin' mad. They kin't take et." He grins. "An' trust me, yew dun't have a clue how dangerous my reality es."

She'd be a bit more sensible than that.

Helen's chin sets, and she tilts her head slightly at him with an air of go on. She is, maybe, wondering how many worlds he's been to that he can make that easy declaration. But, then, she's too curious of why his world is dangerous beyond random lack of existence to challenge him on the matter. For now.

(Sorry, bed was calling)

In Lovecraft's world, curiosity turned the cat into a tentacle monster, drove it mad, melted it, and remade it as a ghoul.

"The very Names o' some o' them kin warp reality ef pronounced right. Thar's un thet will kill yew ef yew say His Name--an' 'un thet will kill yew ef yew read et.

"Thar ur books thet drive yew insane ef yew read them. Thar ur hidden cities populated wit witches, demuns, ur ghouls.

"Once yew start tew notice thet thin's urn't whut et seems, yer doomed."

"If," Helen says, clearly irritated, "the books drive you insane by reading them who wrote them?"

"Madmen, o' course!"

"I don't see," Helen hisses, chin stiffening, "what about this has got you so flippant."

. . . blink, blink.

"Because et's common en my world."

"I'd think if madmen writing books about Dark Gods was so common, most of your people wouldn't be ignorant about it!" She shoves some of her hair behind an ear. "And there's never reason to be flippant about the destruction of a world."

"Most people ur stupid, blind an' unaware. Thar ur lawts o' people who ur proud thet they have never read a book en thar lives!

"They deserve tew have thar world destroyed."

"Oh, and you're the one to decide, are you? Who deserves to live or die? What about the creatures on the world that aren't humans--you'll gladly accept their destruction as well? What about the impact-ripples on the neighboring realities? Oh, I guess those people deserved it too, just for being by yours. Not everything is about what you think is important. Not everyone deserves to die just because they don't have knowledge that would send them insane."

Helen's half-risen and yelling, now. A few wait-rats have formed a bucket-chain to hurriedly gather most of her books off the table.

"My world likely has far many more people who deserve to die by your standards and other people’s, but I will save it. I don't know how dangerous your world is? You don't know how dangerous mine is.”

Helen picks up the last book, jerks a formal though highly irritated nod at him, and stomps back up the stairs. Behind her, the waitrats follow.

Wilbur shrugs.

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