Sang Sacré
The fictional Buffista City. With a variety of neighborhoods, climates, and an Evil Genius or two, Sang Sacre is where we'd all live if it were real. Jump in -- find a neighborhood, start a parade, become a superhero. It's what you make it.
History. Map.
The lineup for TTT is long, but I don't care. It's a beautiful night, and my sweetie has agreed to come to Sang Sacre for the whole week. We watch as a group of Nazgul are utterly subdued by offers of junk food. Posers. I make a mental note to field test the project under rushing water conditions.
"You know," I say, "I think there's a real market here, but I just don't know whom to approach.
"Don't worry. You'll find someone. You don't have to worry about it now anyway. Wait until after the holidays."
Closer to the door there's a busker who offers to "guess our aura" for a dollar. I throw a pair of singles.. "Pink!" he shouts. "Am I right? And you're green, sir!"
I nod politely and head into the theatre.
The vintage black Rolls-Royce pulls up to the front of the theater and I can tell that my move to this place was ill-timed. Oh well, I thought. At least I have on my "Never been denied a ticket, yet" ensemble on.
Miggie, my driver, gets out of the driver's side and comes around to my door. I was sitting at the opposite window and skooching over caused friction between the pleather of my trench coat and the leather of the seat My leg is exposed right up to the hip. I am glad that one of the theater employees is watching me. Gaping, really. With his jaw down to the dirty concrete. I catch his eye after it grazes the tops of my stockings and the garter belt and I can tell getting in will be no problem.
I fully emerge from the car and stretch myself. The windows in front of me are back-covered with posters and I am able to see my full reflection and appreciate the usher's reaction. Ankle length pleather trench that has been tailored to my every curve. Black satin corset that heightens my bosom and cinches my waist. Low slung black satin hot pants,the ever-present black stocking and garters. Topped off with my ankle strapped, 4" black leather pumps. I button the diamond encrusted button below my breasts and step up to the window. The cashier is female and speechless.
"One ticket please."
"Mommy! Mommy! That woman has breats!"
"Shhh, Tom. It's just a typo. Don't point."
"Hey, lady, I don't care how much skin and leather you're flashing, if we can face down the Nazgul, we can face down you!"
No, wait, I've got my tickets and am in already. Never mind, the plebes can fend for themselves.
Whups, almost forgot Giddy Wraith's popcorn. I'll get him a large and he can share if he wants. The rest of 'em can deal with small nachos. And no jalepenos.
When I wake up, I find I'm lying in the street outside the cinema again. Shakily, I climb to my feet, muttering, "This is one strange town." I look around. On the side of one of the buildings there's a map. I resolve to consult it, and if I can't make any sense of the place then, I'll just have to ask a local, um, crazy person someone who is here already.
It can't be
that
dangerous, can it?
It can't be that dangerous, can it?
The entire town was once very nearly sucked into chaos. Does that count?
And, okay, folks, again: I'M SORRY ABOUT THE TOWN BEING ALMOST SUCKED INTO CHAOS! STOP ASKING "Hey, any murderous interdimensional interlopers coming after you today?" IT WASN'T MY FAULT!
Uh, dude? I was there.
It was totally your fault.
As I stagger towards the map, I hear a couple of people who appear to live here abouts arguing over who's fault it was that the place was nearly sucked into choas. I smile, realising that Eris' Cult of the Sinking Grapefruit will fit right in here.
