How Alan Got to Blacot
From Reydala
Drugs Are Whack, aka How Alan Got to Blacot
The blue sky is marred by a thin pillar of black smoke slowly drifting upwards from a jungle in northern Walstad. Among the thick trees lies the
source of the pillar, a gently smoldering fighter jet dug into the soft earth. A furrow in the soil led from the original point of impact to the
plane's current resting place, the length of which clearly showed just how fast it had been going before its unfortunate impact with the ground.
The aircraft wasn't faring well; it's conical metal nose was crumpled, it's wings had been sheared clean off by the trees during the descent, the
glass dome covering the cockpit was covered in a single large spiderweb crack, and the broken hull was spotted with small flickering embers. After
a few minutes of eerie silence, a few grunts come from the cockpit of the plane, followed by a deluge of swearing. The cracked glass crunches, but
doesn't quite break as the now fully concious person inside the wreckage begins to kick at it in an attempt to escape. A series of soft whirs and
clicks precede a deafening boom as the glass shatters violently, shards spraying all over the surrounding area. As he stands up, the pilot of the
craft pulls off the damaged helmet that sat atop his head and tosses it aside, still swearing under his breath as he clambers out of the cockpit
and jumps down to the ground, stumbling and falling to his knees. His short blonde hair is matted with sweat and he breathes heavily as his blue
eyes dart around the area, searching for any signs of further danger. Satisfied for the moment, he cracks a grin as he looks at the wreckage behind
him, his long, pointed ears twitching slightly.
"Fuck... I am never flying again... hehehe..." the elf says, gripping his right forearm and pulling downward firmly, a small door opening up near
his wrist and ejecting a single shotgun shell onto the ground.
"Let's see how I'm holding up..." he mumbles, looking himself over and gingerly pressing on various parts of his lean frame. When he reaches his
chest, the elf winces in pain, quickly pulling his hands away. "Probably a few cracked ribs" he notes, bringing his arm up to his eyes and wiping
away the stream of blood that began to obscure his vision. "And one huge gash..." He looks at the blood now covering his arm and reaches into his
first-aid kit, grabbing some gauze bandages and wrapping them slowly around the long cut on his left eye. Using up his entire stock of band-aids,
he covers the scratches and scrapes which adorned his body, checking himself over one last time before nodding, satisfied with his handiwork. "I
could make a damn fine medic, that's for sure!"
Over the course of the next hour, the elf began to salvage his belongings from the cockpit of the jet. Revolver, throwing knives, sword, shock
gloves, ammunition... and a red, zippered pouch adorned with a simple stitched white cross. He grins at the pouch, clipping it to it's normal place
on his waist. While he had a first-aid kit, this was his *medical kit*, and he was certainly happy that it hadn't been damaged. "Perhaps I have
something to help with these ribs, hmm?" he says through his grin, digging through the assorted objects that lay within. Through inhalers,
syringes, and many different coloured pills, he finally pulls his hand out of the kit, a single red and white tablet pinched between his fingers.
Tossing the tablet into the air and catching it with his mouth, he swallows it whole and zips the pouch shut. "Now, we wait..." he says calmly,
closing his eyes and sitting on the ground.
"Hey!" says a high pitched, jittery, but definitely male voice.
"Huh? Who's there?" the elf says he stands up and whips around, pointing his shotgun arm around wildly.
"I am not there silly!" the voice says, apparently excited by the quick movements.
"Bullshit! Show yourself!" the elf exclaims, also pulling out his revolver in order to increase his intimidation factor.
"Oooooooh, look over there! It's a animal! Izzit a birdy?" the voices proclaims in wonder.
Without knowing why, the elf finds himself gazing at a bird perched upon a high branch, just a few trees away.
"...what are you?" he says, lowering his guns and giving the bird a confounded stare.
"I am your brain, dummy!" says the voice quickly. "Remember the plane crash? That was so exciting!!!"
"I'm hearing my brain talk to me?" the elf says, his tone sounding skeptical.
"Alan, feed me!" the voice whines.
After covering his ears but still hearing the voice, he decides it must be true. After all, weirder things have happened when he used hallucenogens
in the past.
"Feed you what? There's no food around for miles" says Alan while looking at his surroundings.
"Wrongo! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeverything is food!" the voice declares.
As he continues to turn around, he notices a section of the jungle he must have missed before. There are trees made of beef jerky, shrubs with
slices of fresh apple pie instead of leaves, and even a path made of hamburgers which cut cleanly through the delicious foliage. When he turns his
gaze upwards, this magical forest continues to spill its bounty upon him. Instead of leaves, the beef jerky trees were sprouting crispy french
fries, and the sun looked oddly like a yellow swirl lollipop. A majestic flock of roast chickens soared effortlessly accross the impossibly vivid
bright blue sky.
"You're right" says Alan, grinning ear to ear, his eyes opening wider than he thought was possible. Two small tendrils of steam waft towards his
nose, being drawn in as he inhales. The scent of delicious apple pie fills his nose and, as he closes his eyes to bask in the overwhelming odour,
he feels himself being lifted off of the ground and beginning to float towards the source of the smell. When his feet touch down again, his eyes
open to look at the pie bush directly in front of him. Without a second thought, he takes a piece in each hand and stuffs both of them into his
mouth, chewing and swallowing in a single gulp.
"Mmm, more!" says Alan's brain, giggling loudly.
"Yeah! More! Hahahaha!" replies Alan, skipping along the burger path and laughing.
As he looks down, he notices a chocolate rabbit hopping across the trail and squats down to look at it.
"Hello there!" he says to the rabbit, the grin still plastered on his face.
"Well howdy! Whut's a youngin' like y'all doin' 'round these here parts?" the rabbit replies, stopping his hopping.
"I was in a plane crash and now I'm lost" Alan says with a frown, sniffling a little bit.
"Awww... Don't worry lil' guy! I'm sure y'all can find yer way outta here!" the rabbit says, trying to console him. "If it'd help any, y'all can
munch on me while you roam! I'm the most delicious lil' rascal in Walstad!" he says in his heavy southern drawl, giving his chocolate tail a little
wiggle.
"Okay!" The smile returns to the elf's face as he wipes away any tears that may have started to flow. Picking the unexplicably southern chocolate
rabbit up in one hand, he takes a large bite from it's underbelly.
"This is going to be the best journey ever!" Alan shouts, swallowing the chocolate and thrusting both hands into the air happily.
"Yeah!" exclaims Alan's brain.
"Yeah!!" yells the southern chocolate rabbit.
"Yeah!!!" cheers Alan.
"Hey. Hey! HEY!!!"
Alan wakes up at the gruff, angry voice, sitting up with a groan and clutching his head. As he draws his eyes open, the bright lights of...
wherever he was cause him to shut them again tightly.
"Brain, is that you?" he mumbles groggily, tilting his head towards the source of the voice.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" the voice says loudly.
"...Colonel Chocowhiskers?" the elf asks, hoping that it might be his other travelling companion.
"Are you trying to be funny? You say one more stupid thing, and I'm hitting you with this broom."
"Does this mean I'm not in the Tasty Forest anymore?"
The impact of the broomstick on the crown of Alan's head made his ears ring, his hands instinctively moving to where he had just been hit.
"Hey, what the fuck is your problem?" the elf says loudly as he rubs the top of his head, where a bump was already starting to form.
"You didn't listen to me, so you got the broom." The man begins to smack the broom into his free hand, emphasizing his point.
"Crap, sorry... But where is this, exactly?" As he says this, Alan tries to open his eyes again, but takes it much slower this time.
"Seriously? You're in Blacot! You must've climbed into the back of my truck or something while I wasn't looking. I heard someone mumbling about a
secret cave, and here you are. Welcome to Blacot, now get the fuck away from me." With this, the man pulls Alan out of the truck and pushes him
onto the sidewalk before hopping back into his vehicle and driving away.
Still in a daze, the elf stands up shakily, leaning against a wall. "How long was I out..." he asks himself, looking around for an indication of
the date. Looking at a scrolling billboard, he sighs with relief. "Okay, I crashed on the 30th. If today is the 33rd, I was only gone three days!"
But as the billboard displays the month, his stomach sinks. "30th of Flamm... 33rd of Brand... I was gone for a month?!"
Alan doubles over and vomits, the contents of his stomach being mostly leaves, dirt, and twigs, as well as a few rocks. It takes a while for him to
finish his purging, and he reaches into his medical kit for a flu cure in hopes he could stop feeling like death. To his surprise, every single
pill was gone, every inhaler emptied, and every syringe used up. As he clutches his stomach, he begins to stumble down the street while bumping
into everything from streetlights to garbage cans. As a second wave of nausea hit him, he couldn't help but wonder how the hell he was going to
survive in this town.
