Fiction 4

Fiction 4
Looking for Group Therapy

Richard Hehemann | 19 May 2009 13:42
Fiction 4 - RSS 2.0

"Well, I'm a woman, but my Controller is not, and he has an unhealthy fascination with the female form. So that means that I do, too. It feels so wrong. I leer at other women the whole time I'm under his Control. I could almost handle it if it wasn't for all the juvenile remarks I end up making. Gods above! Does speech like that work upon women in the world of the Controllers? I pray it doesn't."

Some of the others offered words of encouragement, and Telestra seemed to respond. "It gets worse. I'm a warrior, trained to fight with sword and bow. And yet, thanks to my Controller, I am forced to go into battle like this." She threw back the cloak that had theretofore covered her lithe elfin form. She was clad in chainmail, but the total amount of armor would have barely amounted to a double handful - her skin was mostly bare. Brandic fought back the temptation to stare given the circumstances.

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"Do you call this armor? How many times have I had to die just to satisfy the strange urges of my Controller? Gods, what I would not give for a decent cuirass!"

"It could be worse," said another elfin woman. "At least you can fight. You're good for something. I exist only to be gawked at. Even my name is a mark of shame!"

"The fault is not yours," said the doctor. "You did not choose to be called 'NakedChick' any more than the rest of us chose our names or our fates."

"That is easy for you to say. You have a purpose - all of you do. While you're off slaying dragons, I'm removing my clothing and dancing in front of the tavern in the hopes that passersby will throw a few coins at me. It is more degrading than I can bear."

"That was you?" asked Telestra. "I think I tipped you five gold pieces last week." The women stared at each other for a few moments in silence. "This is awkward," Corallo muttered under his breath.

"OMG!!! Dat is todally teh suxxors 4U boths!! Epix fail," said a ranger from across the circle.

"What's wrong with him?" Brandic whispered to Graylock.

"Sad case, that one. He is under Control nearly 20 hours a day. His Controller apparently babbles such nonsense, and it is all he can say now."

"What is his name?"

"HaxxorBoi." Graylock shook his head sadly. He motioned towards another man, a thin-faced mage. "That one is practically in worse shape, although for a different reason."

"Worse than HaxxorBoi? How?"

Graylock waved to the mage. "Hello, Owington. How are you?" he asked.

"Forsooth and Od's Bodkins, sirrah, prithee referreth by mine own good name and given title, being the 14th Hereditary Earl of the Far Isles, Owington Pence-Chukker of Warble and Fyche. But by mine troth, I doth be well this fine day."

"What the ..." Brandic gasped.

"Beats me. He goes on and on about how this is not his world, and in his true world of 'Arpeeserver' all civilized folk talk like he does. He's been coming here for weeks and we can still barely understand a word he says."

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