three. video. id: the Outsider. later tonight.

[crypdick]

[ It's traditional, when asking simple, broad questions to the Network to do so in a text post but that's not nearly melodramatic enough for the Outsider.

He's in the desert in the outskirts of Jeopardy, night has fallen and he's looking not at the communicator but up at the stars. There's some faeries nearby he's bribed to leave him alone with pizza, but they make it cold enough you can see his breath glittering on the air. ]

The places you come from are varied, where even the things that you take for granted may be different here, or for other imPorts. Even this reality is changing week to week.

With that in mind, I have a question for you.

[ Now he turns to look at the comm, eyes empty and black. He tilts his head. ]

What do you think makes a god a god?

(( And regular reminder that if you respond with video, you are completely free to include a vision for him to see if you want! ))

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[crypdick]

You do.

[ He's not bothered by this in the least. He settles on a nearby rock, signalling his readiness to listen. ]

[leatherboots]

Then here you are.

[ Rupert delicately clears his throat. ]

It was a fine bright day when three strapping young men - well, one strapping young men, the other two are rather old, come to think of it - decided to steal a fucking shark. They weren't entirely sure why anyone was interested in this particular shark, disgusting and rotten as it was - dégueulasse, I think the French would say - but it seemed like something of a lark and there were interesting people who were prepared to pay a great deal for the pleasure of having a rotten shark of their own. Some people have no taste, you see.

The singular strapping you man had to do all of the work, of course, because he was the only one who bothered to do any prior planning, and the other two lurked around tapping away on gadgetry from a comfortable reclining position. They probably enjoyed cake and fine wines, the cads, while the strapping young man heroically wrestled the shark into submission and delivered it unto our benefactor's silver-lined hands.

Talking of which, your little mark worked a treat. [ He flexes his hand, glancing down at the skin that's now completely smooth and unmarked. ] You have my thanks.

[crypdick]

I'm sure you did it all by yourself, while your companions did little.

[ Said entirely flatly, even for him; Rupert is as transparent as a ghost. ]

I'm sure you can tell a story better than that.

[leatherboots]

You didn't say it had to be true.

[ Rupert looks briefly outraged, but it passes quickly into something else. Thoughtfulness now. ]

I can tell you another story but I'm not sure how it ends. Would that do?

[crypdick]

The best stories are the ones that are true.

[ If he wanted something false he'd read fiction. Please. ]

If it is a better one than the last, I'm sure I'll appreciate it.

[leatherboots]

It wasn't entirely fictional, you know.

[ Rupert did do most of the heavy lifting, as it were. Still, immune to the Outsider's disapproval, Rupert laughs brightly. ]

Besides, I disagree. Flights of fancy are far more entertaining, you never know where they'll take you.

[ Still, a bargain is a bargain and Rupert would hate to renege on his good (dubious) word. ]

You remember the fellow in the void last we met? Black Michael?