Priest

I glanced down at the pocket of my jeans, upon feeling the vibrations of an incoming phone call. An upbeat, dubstep-esque ringtone was playing, immediately letting me know who was calling.

I retrieved my phone as quickly as I could and answered the call,

"Hey babe, what's up?"

It was my lovely tech genius, Priest. 

A bit of an.. odd person, Priest is, but easily pleased and as intelligent as any three people put together. 

Unfortunately, this typically means putting up with his alcoholism, perversion, and overall laziness.

His normally laid back, smooth baritone came out as a nerve-wracking squeak as it broadcast across my phone's tiny speakers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Pokemon just passed their 1000th episode.... AND IT'S STILL GOING!!!!!!!!! ...Also, I'm hungry."

Me: "Of course they did. What region are they in right now?"

Priest: "Alola! It's like Hawaii, but with Pokemon! Also, do we have any Hot Pockets?"

I scoffed and stared down at my feet.

Me: "Top left corner of the freezer. Hidden behind the stack of ice trays."

"I'm working on getting our food situation fixed soon. I have a mage that's interested in helping us, it's just gonna cost out the ass. We're gonna have to figure out a way to fund bribing her."

Priest: "Did you ask her if she wants us to do anything for her?"

Me: "I sure did, but I doubt you'll be interested. Not unless you feel like replacing her computer rig and teaching her how to mask her presence online. That bouncing signals out of Russia and Australia type shit."

"She says she misses Facebook. And some kind of casino type slot game."

The sounds of liquid sloshing and Priest swallowing what is probably alcohol is heard, followed by his spitting it right back out. "Where the hell did you find this person, the ass end of BFE?"

"Wait, hold on. What kind of help are we needing? And does she do maid things in maid outfits?"

Me: "Um.. If you'd believe it, some backwoods swamp in Florida. Once we hammer out the details, she'll be visiting us on our dime and doing some witchy shit. She'll probably hex you if you ask her about the maid thing."

"If this goes well, she can cast a spell on our food supply. Something called 'the Pantry of Phantoms.' It's supposed to replicate any food item placed within its boundaries, without our having to replace them ourselves."

Priest: "Oooooooooooooooooh!!!!!!! UNLIMITED CHEESE!!!!!!!"

Me: "Yes, yes. We can literally put our favorite foods in there and not have to replace them. The only problem is, the spell has diminishing returns. Eventually, the food will begin to taste stale, then freezerburnt, and begin to decay. We'll eventually have to replace the foodstuffs when that happens, but that's a headache for another time."

Priest: "Hmmm... What about liquids?"

Me: "Liquids work fine, though I think they turn weird colors if they get duplicated. You might get milk that turns blue out of it, but it'll taste good."

Priest: "MUHAHAHAHHAHHAHA, UNLIMITED ALCOHOL!!!!!!!!!"

Me: "Point is, we desperately need this Wiccan bitch to cast this spell. Do you think you can help her out by teaching her how to do that stuff, maybe help her get some free internet out of the deal? The sooner the better."

Priest: "If she does the cleaning, why not let her stay here?"

Me: "She has a family to get back to, hon, or you know I would invite her. We desperately need a mage on staff, but it won't be this chick. She's a bit weird, even for us. Now, can you do it? And when?"

Priest: "Ok OK." 

Rummaging sounds are heard, the slide of a drawer opening, as well as the crash of random objects as he knocks things to the ground to get to what he was looking for. "Okay, I got what she needs. She'll need to come over to pick it up herself, though."

Me: "She has to travel here to cast the spell, anyway. You can give it to her then. After, we can make a list of the things we want to eat or drink and the tenants all chip in a bit to cover it, and I'll send one of the proxies to the store to get our groceries. We'll be eating well after that's done."

"Now, to serious business. How far have you gotten on that issue I called you about the other day?"

Priest chugs some more liquor, then belches. "What was it again? Sorry, I got too drunk and forgot."

Me: "Goddamn it, Priest, if you didn't work better drunk I would beat your ass. Ugh."

Priest: "HAHAHA, but that's where the fun is!"

Me: "The Dark Web security thing. Since we have people tracking our movements online now."

Priest: "Oh yeah... that's what this USB was for!" He tells me to hold on while he goes to retrieve something from his bedroom. He wound up telling me later that at this time, he was retrieving the USB drive, making a copy of it, and plugging it into the modem.

Priest: "All done! Time for a victory drink over the forces of evil! Better known as the federal government and corporations."

I facepalm as dramatically as is physically possible. "Are you fucking kidding me? You were already done with it and you just FORGOT about it?"

Priest giggled like a damn drunken school girl before replying. "Look. Between drinking, naps, and smoking, it's hard to remember much else."

Me: "Speaking of, did you see that bag of medical grade I left for you? I split what I got from (my informant) the other day, and left you half."

Priest: "Oh yeah! I put some in the volcano, and the rest in the super secret storage place!"

Me: "....you're stoned to the gills right now, aren't you?"

Priest: "Naaah, just waiting on you! I got some nice rum from a friend in the Carribean! You should try some."

Me: "Alright, look, I have a few more errands to run and I'll come by your place after. Don't you DARE start smoking any more without me, I wanna try that volcano out."

Priest cackled at me through the phone, and agreed: "Lmfao, okay."

Me: "Grab me a bottle from the stash of my usual, you know the one. I wanna get blitzed and kill shit on Borderlands with you. I'm gonna need it after the day I've had."

Priest: "Sure. Everything going alright?"

Me: "Not exactly. Twerk's been hitting on the proxies like an idiot, the Bitch is riding my ass about the food situation, and Thomas wants to have our daily security meeting before I get high."

"Something about the last time I showed up stoned, I started rhapsodizing about how Gallows' hair looks spread out on my pillow, 'with light hitting each individual strand like a darkly lit rainbow.' I'm probably never gonna live that shit down."

Priest: "Yeah, sounds about right. You do tend to get sentimental when you're stoned or drunk. Have you even heard from Gallows lately? Our local homeless population has almost returned to normal in the time since he last visited."

Me: "No, but I did try calling his cell and leaving messages for him on his old blog. No telling when he'll see it, but hopefully he won't show up in the middle of all this and get pissed I didn't try to warn him first."

"I gotta go. I'm getting glared at for 'being rude.' Remember to grab me that bottle, yea?"

With that, I ended the call and made my way back into the house. 

My bones and joints have begun to ache in the cold, and this winter has been no exception. Too many back alley fights, backhanded slaps to the jaw, and torture sessions to completely stay untouched by damage. Sorry, dear readers, my formerly pretty smile has a few jagged edges from those fights.

My body is deeply scarred by this point. No skin off my nose, of course, I think they're beautiful. I regard them, and my multitude of tattoos and piercings, as my physical way of saying 'fuck you' to Death. 

Not like those eldritch bastards apparently want me dead, anyway. They might act like the reverse of the Final Destination movies for me, moving hazards out of my path, but I get punished every time for being careless. Recovering from being forced to ingest a gallon of bleach, for example, was not the most pleasant way to spend an evening.

They never take the pain, or even the injuries. I'm not that 'blessed.' They just haven't let me pass away peacefully yet. So, I spend my days running Sanctuary and recovering lost objects; such as journals, mementos of those that have passed, or even nostalgic items that remind me of my old friends.

I can't say it's been a bad life these past few years, despite how entirely fucked up it has become. 

I get to help people. I get to stay high. I get to get laid when I want, however I want, and no: my lover doesn't care. We both find our distractions in the months in between his visits. I don't take it personally.

Someone tried anonymously emailing me from an obviously new email address, and asking me if I was fucking Slendy. For anyone else that had that horribly mistaken notion, no. That's creepy and nasty as hell. I'm just his occasional torture doll.

I have a complicated relationship with, well.. everyone. Even Them. I'll eventually talk about it, but Priest is waiting for me at his place, and I reeeeally need to smoke after wandering outside to catch a signal for that phone call. Plus, errands.

No riddles today, but hey, I'll be nice: I'll have friendly conversations with my commenters. Tonight only. 

I mean, I'll be hammered and stoned for the duration of the night, thus no guarantees to the QUALITY of said conversations, but never let it be said I never try to be as nice to you guys as I used to be. 

It's just excruciating to do so when I'm sober.

I'll be near my phone for anyone that cares. Over and out, guys.