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[Galvistor] “Oh, ow! Uh, drat--!” Sounds of thrashing, cracking branches, and underbrush shaking. “Oops!” Loud crack followed by heavy thud. “Well…s’not as if that tree needed so many branches. How that alien expects a beast of decent bulk to make it through such a narrow, confined, arboreal-laden space—and he insisted my cave was too tight! I’ve a mind to—whoops!” Loud crunch of breaking glass, brief electric sizzle. “Ummm. That’ll teach him to reside in the middle of a dense forest and then line the path with landscape lighting. Plenty of stars to see by in any case. And I do have superior night vision.”
Heavy tread continues, accompanied by occasional snapping branch.
“I suppose I should describe the circumstances to you listeners, uh, readers…whatever it is you’re doing here. I am Galvistor, hero of several books and a mighty force onto myself. I am a Dragon, a thousand years old, of great physical presence and, if I do say so, a beast of peerless intellect and verbal ability. Oh darn! Wait…my wing is stuck…” Creaking of large branch, loud twang as it releases. “There. No tears, thank Gansur. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. If you read/reviewed/perused our last post interview, I was the one being digested via verbiage. An astute piece, that post. However, this time around it is I who am the interviewer. Question asker. Researcher into the mystique of the interviewee, who in this case is Gideon Cyrus. The alien, Olam, non-human, and subject of a superb tome himself. An interesting if somewhat puzzling being. He has more than one shape, you know, that of a human and that of a bright light. One word of advice, never sniff the light. It is a nose teaser extraordinaire. A nostril titillation. A mucous arouser!” Sniff. “However, it did clear my sinuses quite nicely. Ah—I see the house ahead.”
Tread picks up speed.
“I suppose it falls on me to describe the setting. Surroundings. Locale. The house wherein the alien resides appears to be quite large. Big. Very well, the bugger is a mansion. Esthetically pleasing, I will give it that. All white stone and glass—I think I shall remain at a goodly distance from it. Here on the far side of the swimming pool should do. My tail and glass are not companionable. Not in the least. No better way, in fact, to prove that two separate masses cannot exist in the same space at the same time. The pool is a mere toe-dipper to moi, but comfortable for human use. Ha—and there is the alien himself, in his human form, sprawled on a chaise by the pool. Relaxed as a boneless octopus.” Sniff. Sniff. “He smells of confidence, though. And something alcoholic. I’ll have to ask him about that…there’s his little Wikipedia addict and her computer. I suppose someone capable of typing has to take notes.” Speaks louder. “Gideon. Ciao, felicitations, howdy.”
[Gideon] Creak of chaise as occupant sits up. “Galvistor. At last. Any problems finding the estate?”
[Galvistor] “The coordinates you provided were accurate, and with my superior navigational abilities—”
[Gideon] “Good. Thanks for meeting at night. It’s no problem for me to travel at any time, of course, but you, on the other hand--”
[Galvistor] “Excellent idea. I, too, prefer privacy. Covertness. Seclusion. I used to move about quite freely, but in this current time and place I tend to stick out like a—“
[Gideon] “Beached whale?”
[Galvistor] Grumble. “Not my choice of analogy. However, it will suffice.”
[Gideon] “Care to come around the deck and join me? I was just having a glass of--”
[Galvistor] “Unfortunately, I’m teetering on the pool edge as we speak. A tad narrow rim to the thing and the trees are pressing my behind. I’d best settle here and not move. Besides, you don’t want my tail too close to your windows.”
[Gideon] “On second thought, you're right. Stay there.”
[Galvistor] “By the way, the suit you were wearing when I sniffed you in the cave—did it survive? Remain intact? Endure the offense? I did want to pay for the cleaning.”
[Gideon] “Ah, no, unfortunately I had to discard it. I couldn’t think how to explain to the dry-cleaner it was covered in dragon mucus. I have to maintain a low profile. Earthers don’t yet know that aliens live among them.”
[Galvistor] “Well, they are not always the most astute/shrewd/incisive of beings. Nowadays they don’t even believe in Dragons. S’not likely they would fathom the existence of off-worlders.”
[Gideon] “A few do, but the rest are willing to believe we’re the most ridiculous things -- weather balloons, swamp gas, even flocks of geese.”
[Galvistor] “I was once mistaken for a dirigible. Airship. Blimp. However, no one has ever accused me of being a goose. I cannot imagine how you could be mistaken for one, either. Your human form is quite solid. Your Olam form—well, it has no shape at all!”
[Gideon] Laughs. “A ball of light does tend to look a bit elastic. But we’ve been mistaken for meteors and flares. There was this one incident over Phoenix--”
[Galvistor] “Wait! Since we are discussing shapes, it behooves me to provide a brief description of your human affectation. For the record, of course.”
[Gideon] “That’s not really necessary—”
[Galvistor] “Indeed it is. I am the interviewer. As such my duty is sacrosanct. I insist. Are your assistant’s little fingers ready on the keys? Very well, for the record: Gideon Cyrus, in human form is approximately 1.8288 meters in height—”
[Gideon] “Six feet exactly.”
[Galvistor] “—athletic but sleek of build—”
[Gideon] “Requiring no bothersome maintenance on my part, thank Alwynn.”
[Galvistor] “—light of hair—”
[Gideon] “It’s called blond.”
[Galvistor] “—with…with…I’m sorry. What color are your eyes? They are simply too small a bit of your anatomy for me to decipher.”
[Wikipedia addict] Dreamy sigh as sound of keyboard tapping slows. “Blue as the ocean on a sunny day.”
Sound of alien and dragon turning to look at her.
[Galvistor] “Ah, well, yes…there you have it. Human manifestation appropriately recorded, registered, written. So, I am curious—do you masquerade as a human instead of taking on a superior form, such as that of a dragon, in order to fit in? Assimilate? Be absorbed into the populace?
[Gideon] “The nature of my solid form isn’t really my choice. I can be an Olam like my father or take on the shape of my mother, who in my case, was a human. There are rumors of very old Olam who can change into other forms, but as far as I know, it’s just a myth.”
[Galvistor] “Then you couldn’t become a Dragon if you wanted? A shame. But—cross breeding of species? I have never heard of such a thing!”
[Gideon] “For the Olam, it’s a matter of survival. We have no females.”
[Galvistor] “No females? How is that possible? How is that bearable? The mere thought shrinks my nether regions in sympathy.” Sounds of shifting to a more comfortable position. “Did they die? Expire? Fly the coop? Or do you reproduce like sporangium? Have there never been females in your species?”
[Gideon] “We have old myths – creation myths, I suppose you’d call them. I imagine you have similar stories about the first Dragons.”
[Galvistor] “Ha, no myth to it! Instinct deep in the cells and excellent historians have passed on our history. At one time we were a violent species, more brawn than brain I’m ashamed to admit—but we have always been normal, reproductively speaking. Fecund. Bountiful in birth. Except when we were isolated in a small territory. A long-lived species doesn’t over-produce when there is no way to expand. But…beyond those considerations, we have always had two genders. Why—for all that they can be exasperating—females are one of my favorite reasons for being male.”
[Gideon] “Mine, too. Well, once upon a time—so to speak—a species as powerful as the Olam attacked and destroyed our home world.” Self-depreciating laugh. “That’s why we know it’s a myth, because there is no species more powerful than the Olam. At any rate, supposedly the few who survived were unable to produce female offspring. We’ve wandered the universe ever since, making bargains with lesser species for access to their females and space on their planets to raise our families. That’s how the blasted agreement with the Interstellar League was reached.”
[Galvistor] “Interstellar League? What is this entity?”
[Gideon] “The governing body of this section of the galaxy. It gives us refuge and allows us access to mates, but we can’t interfere in any way with their policies. And, believe me, sometimes one should interfere with the League. Why, they think Earth is--”
[Galvistor] “Fascinating. Intriguing. But back to different species trying to…I cannot imagine. How would one…there must be some manner of physical negotiation/concession/compromise that enables one to—no, I won’t even try.”
[Gideon] “Best not to. It's enough to know that while I'm in my Olam form, I can't touch anything. One really has to return to solid form. I mean, can you imagine not being able to caress a woman? Or--”
Typing slows with quick inhalation and soft sigh from Wikipedia addict .
[Gideon] “Yes, er, where was I? Oh. Or not being able to caress…um…a lady dragon?”
[Galvistor] Sad moan. “The mere thought depletes me.”
[Gideon] “And sound waves—they’re positively painful. In my Olam form, if I didn’t consciously block sound I’d be able to hear everything for miles, from the humming in underground cables to the sound of your stomach digesting.” Pause. “Actually, I can hear your stomach digesting now.”
[Galvistor] Sound of claw rising to cover for discreet belch. “Sorry about that. I had a particularly pungent but savory ruminant mammal for supper.”
[Gideon] “A whole animal?”
[Galvistor] Clears throat. “A mere deer, my dear Olam. So, continuing in all frankness—you’ve lived on a number of planets and had a number of– ahem–encounters, reproductive engagements, done the naughty with different females?”
[Gideon] “'Done the naughty'?” Chuckle. “I’ve experienced many different females, but they’ve all been human.” Pause. “Although I’ve had my doubts about the current lady in my life. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d suspect she was Brostinian, she’s so stubborn.”
[Galvistor] “Having been exposed to a number of stubborn females myself, I can empathize. Then you don’t travel? I cannot imagine not flying if one has the ability.” Sound of stretching wing, branch snapping. “Oops. Ah, next to my lucid tongue, my wings are my favorite parts. Well, except for…you know…the part that likes females.”
Typing halts with embarrassed clearing of throat from Wikipedia addict.
[Gideon] “Yes, well, we probably should leave off discussing specific parts for now. Actually, um, an Olam can’t turn fully into his energy form until adulthood, and I am something of a late bloomer. I haven’t had the opportunity to leave orbit yet.”
[Galvistor] “Ah. Well, at least this world isn’t boring. Not as beautiful as mine, I must say, but humans are much the same everywhere—aggressive, inquisitive, stubborn, resourceful, and not without their loyalties and their idiosyncrasies.”
[Gideon] “That’s true. Life on Earth is sometimes chaotic…but always interesting.
[Galvistor] “Still, if you can’t fly, that must curtail your activities. At least from a Dragon’s perspective. Viewpoint. Outlook. What do you do?
[Gideon] “For my first century and a half, I learned everything my mentor, Joshua Cyrus, could teach me. Which is considerable, since like you, he’s several thousand years old. And I’ve handled his wealth – being on a planet for so long allows one to make very long-term and profitable investments. I’m rather good at making money, actually. Now I have a new mission, but I can’t really go into detail about it here.”
[Galvistor] “Why not? Such discourse would enliven the quality of the interview.”
[Gideon] “Unfortunately, it must remain a secret. The Olam have only one penalty for breaking their laws.”
[Galvistor] “Ah, they’ll roast you alive.” Wispy sound of smoke trickling from nostrils. “Of course.”
[Gideon] “Actually, energy forms are hard to barbecue. I’m not sure what would kill me and, honestly, I’d rather not find out.”
[Galvistor] “I quite understand. Not a subject close to my heart, either. Death. Surcease of the life force. Cessation of breath. Entering the great beyond. Passing, moving on, going into the light—”
[Gideon] “Got it. And with that, why don't we call it a night? I don't know about you, but I’m a bit thirsty. I’ve just finished a glass of excellent wine. Would you like one?”
[Galvistor] Sound of dragon perking up. “Do you have ale, perchance?”
[Gideon] Sound of empty glass being placed beside chair, chaise creaking as alien rises. “Would Guinness do? I have a keg on tap in the pool house.”
[Galvistor] “Stout.” Sound of lips smacking. “That would do quite nicely. A keg, you say? Perfect…but then, what will you drink?”
[Gideon] “I can stick to the wine. The ale is right in here…” Crunching sound. “And I’ll get me another wine glass. No, don’t come any further. Please.”
[Galvistor] “Pour something bracing for our Wikipedia addict. She is still a most alarming shade of pink.”
[Gideon] “Ah. Consider yourself off duty, sweetheart.”
Feminine sigh as laptop snaps closed.
[Gideon] “Galvistor, perhaps if you came around to the other side of the pool house we might have easier access to that keg. That’s it. No, don’t go through the hedge…” Sigh. “The gardeners are not going to be happy tomorrow. Watch that tree, it’s got a low--”
Mighty crack from branch, muffled curses. Heavy tromping as voices fade out.
Heavy tread continues, accompanied by occasional snapping branch.
“I suppose I should describe the circumstances to you listeners, uh, readers…whatever it is you’re doing here. I am Galvistor, hero of several books and a mighty force onto myself. I am a Dragon, a thousand years old, of great physical presence and, if I do say so, a beast of peerless intellect and verbal ability. Oh darn! Wait…my wing is stuck…” Creaking of large branch, loud twang as it releases. “There. No tears, thank Gansur. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. If you read/reviewed/perused our last post interview, I was the one being digested via verbiage. An astute piece, that post. However, this time around it is I who am the interviewer. Question asker. Researcher into the mystique of the interviewee, who in this case is Gideon Cyrus. The alien, Olam, non-human, and subject of a superb tome himself. An interesting if somewhat puzzling being. He has more than one shape, you know, that of a human and that of a bright light. One word of advice, never sniff the light. It is a nose teaser extraordinaire. A nostril titillation. A mucous arouser!” Sniff. “However, it did clear my sinuses quite nicely. Ah—I see the house ahead.”
Tread picks up speed.
“I suppose it falls on me to describe the setting. Surroundings. Locale. The house wherein the alien resides appears to be quite large. Big. Very well, the bugger is a mansion. Esthetically pleasing, I will give it that. All white stone and glass—I think I shall remain at a goodly distance from it. Here on the far side of the swimming pool should do. My tail and glass are not companionable. Not in the least. No better way, in fact, to prove that two separate masses cannot exist in the same space at the same time. The pool is a mere toe-dipper to moi, but comfortable for human use. Ha—and there is the alien himself, in his human form, sprawled on a chaise by the pool. Relaxed as a boneless octopus.” Sniff. Sniff. “He smells of confidence, though. And something alcoholic. I’ll have to ask him about that…there’s his little Wikipedia addict and her computer. I suppose someone capable of typing has to take notes.” Speaks louder. “Gideon. Ciao, felicitations, howdy.”
[Gideon] Creak of chaise as occupant sits up. “Galvistor. At last. Any problems finding the estate?”
[Galvistor] “The coordinates you provided were accurate, and with my superior navigational abilities—”
[Gideon] “Good. Thanks for meeting at night. It’s no problem for me to travel at any time, of course, but you, on the other hand--”
[Galvistor] “Excellent idea. I, too, prefer privacy. Covertness. Seclusion. I used to move about quite freely, but in this current time and place I tend to stick out like a—“
[Gideon] “Beached whale?”
[Galvistor] Grumble. “Not my choice of analogy. However, it will suffice.”
[Gideon] “Care to come around the deck and join me? I was just having a glass of--”
[Galvistor] “Unfortunately, I’m teetering on the pool edge as we speak. A tad narrow rim to the thing and the trees are pressing my behind. I’d best settle here and not move. Besides, you don’t want my tail too close to your windows.”
[Gideon] “On second thought, you're right. Stay there.”
[Galvistor] “By the way, the suit you were wearing when I sniffed you in the cave—did it survive? Remain intact? Endure the offense? I did want to pay for the cleaning.”
[Gideon] “Ah, no, unfortunately I had to discard it. I couldn’t think how to explain to the dry-cleaner it was covered in dragon mucus. I have to maintain a low profile. Earthers don’t yet know that aliens live among them.”
[Galvistor] “Well, they are not always the most astute/shrewd/incisive of beings. Nowadays they don’t even believe in Dragons. S’not likely they would fathom the existence of off-worlders.”
[Gideon] “A few do, but the rest are willing to believe we’re the most ridiculous things -- weather balloons, swamp gas, even flocks of geese.”
[Galvistor] “I was once mistaken for a dirigible. Airship. Blimp. However, no one has ever accused me of being a goose. I cannot imagine how you could be mistaken for one, either. Your human form is quite solid. Your Olam form—well, it has no shape at all!”
[Gideon] Laughs. “A ball of light does tend to look a bit elastic. But we’ve been mistaken for meteors and flares. There was this one incident over Phoenix--”
[Galvistor] “Wait! Since we are discussing shapes, it behooves me to provide a brief description of your human affectation. For the record, of course.”
[Gideon] “That’s not really necessary—”
[Galvistor] “Indeed it is. I am the interviewer. As such my duty is sacrosanct. I insist. Are your assistant’s little fingers ready on the keys? Very well, for the record: Gideon Cyrus, in human form is approximately 1.8288 meters in height—”
[Gideon] “Six feet exactly.”
[Galvistor] “—athletic but sleek of build—”
[Gideon] “Requiring no bothersome maintenance on my part, thank Alwynn.”
[Galvistor] “—light of hair—”
[Gideon] “It’s called blond.”
[Galvistor] “—with…with…I’m sorry. What color are your eyes? They are simply too small a bit of your anatomy for me to decipher.”
[Wikipedia addict] Dreamy sigh as sound of keyboard tapping slows. “Blue as the ocean on a sunny day.”
Sound of alien and dragon turning to look at her.
[Galvistor] “Ah, well, yes…there you have it. Human manifestation appropriately recorded, registered, written. So, I am curious—do you masquerade as a human instead of taking on a superior form, such as that of a dragon, in order to fit in? Assimilate? Be absorbed into the populace?
[Gideon] “The nature of my solid form isn’t really my choice. I can be an Olam like my father or take on the shape of my mother, who in my case, was a human. There are rumors of very old Olam who can change into other forms, but as far as I know, it’s just a myth.”
[Galvistor] “Then you couldn’t become a Dragon if you wanted? A shame. But—cross breeding of species? I have never heard of such a thing!”
[Gideon] “For the Olam, it’s a matter of survival. We have no females.”
[Galvistor] “No females? How is that possible? How is that bearable? The mere thought shrinks my nether regions in sympathy.” Sounds of shifting to a more comfortable position. “Did they die? Expire? Fly the coop? Or do you reproduce like sporangium? Have there never been females in your species?”
[Gideon] “We have old myths – creation myths, I suppose you’d call them. I imagine you have similar stories about the first Dragons.”
[Galvistor] “Ha, no myth to it! Instinct deep in the cells and excellent historians have passed on our history. At one time we were a violent species, more brawn than brain I’m ashamed to admit—but we have always been normal, reproductively speaking. Fecund. Bountiful in birth. Except when we were isolated in a small territory. A long-lived species doesn’t over-produce when there is no way to expand. But…beyond those considerations, we have always had two genders. Why—for all that they can be exasperating—females are one of my favorite reasons for being male.”
[Gideon] “Mine, too. Well, once upon a time—so to speak—a species as powerful as the Olam attacked and destroyed our home world.” Self-depreciating laugh. “That’s why we know it’s a myth, because there is no species more powerful than the Olam. At any rate, supposedly the few who survived were unable to produce female offspring. We’ve wandered the universe ever since, making bargains with lesser species for access to their females and space on their planets to raise our families. That’s how the blasted agreement with the Interstellar League was reached.”
[Galvistor] “Interstellar League? What is this entity?”
[Gideon] “The governing body of this section of the galaxy. It gives us refuge and allows us access to mates, but we can’t interfere in any way with their policies. And, believe me, sometimes one should interfere with the League. Why, they think Earth is--”
[Galvistor] “Fascinating. Intriguing. But back to different species trying to…I cannot imagine. How would one…there must be some manner of physical negotiation/concession/compromise that enables one to—no, I won’t even try.”
[Gideon] “Best not to. It's enough to know that while I'm in my Olam form, I can't touch anything. One really has to return to solid form. I mean, can you imagine not being able to caress a woman? Or--”
Typing slows with quick inhalation and soft sigh from Wikipedia addict .
[Gideon] “Yes, er, where was I? Oh. Or not being able to caress…um…a lady dragon?”
[Galvistor] Sad moan. “The mere thought depletes me.”
[Gideon] “And sound waves—they’re positively painful. In my Olam form, if I didn’t consciously block sound I’d be able to hear everything for miles, from the humming in underground cables to the sound of your stomach digesting.” Pause. “Actually, I can hear your stomach digesting now.”
[Galvistor] Sound of claw rising to cover for discreet belch. “Sorry about that. I had a particularly pungent but savory ruminant mammal for supper.”
[Gideon] “A whole animal?”
[Galvistor] Clears throat. “A mere deer, my dear Olam. So, continuing in all frankness—you’ve lived on a number of planets and had a number of– ahem–encounters, reproductive engagements, done the naughty with different females?”
[Gideon] “'Done the naughty'?” Chuckle. “I’ve experienced many different females, but they’ve all been human.” Pause. “Although I’ve had my doubts about the current lady in my life. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d suspect she was Brostinian, she’s so stubborn.”
[Galvistor] “Having been exposed to a number of stubborn females myself, I can empathize. Then you don’t travel? I cannot imagine not flying if one has the ability.” Sound of stretching wing, branch snapping. “Oops. Ah, next to my lucid tongue, my wings are my favorite parts. Well, except for…you know…the part that likes females.”
Typing halts with embarrassed clearing of throat from Wikipedia addict.
[Gideon] “Yes, well, we probably should leave off discussing specific parts for now. Actually, um, an Olam can’t turn fully into his energy form until adulthood, and I am something of a late bloomer. I haven’t had the opportunity to leave orbit yet.”
[Galvistor] “Ah. Well, at least this world isn’t boring. Not as beautiful as mine, I must say, but humans are much the same everywhere—aggressive, inquisitive, stubborn, resourceful, and not without their loyalties and their idiosyncrasies.”
[Gideon] “That’s true. Life on Earth is sometimes chaotic…but always interesting.
[Galvistor] “Still, if you can’t fly, that must curtail your activities. At least from a Dragon’s perspective. Viewpoint. Outlook. What do you do?
[Gideon] “For my first century and a half, I learned everything my mentor, Joshua Cyrus, could teach me. Which is considerable, since like you, he’s several thousand years old. And I’ve handled his wealth – being on a planet for so long allows one to make very long-term and profitable investments. I’m rather good at making money, actually. Now I have a new mission, but I can’t really go into detail about it here.”
[Galvistor] “Why not? Such discourse would enliven the quality of the interview.”
[Gideon] “Unfortunately, it must remain a secret. The Olam have only one penalty for breaking their laws.”
[Galvistor] “Ah, they’ll roast you alive.” Wispy sound of smoke trickling from nostrils. “Of course.”
[Gideon] “Actually, energy forms are hard to barbecue. I’m not sure what would kill me and, honestly, I’d rather not find out.”
[Galvistor] “I quite understand. Not a subject close to my heart, either. Death. Surcease of the life force. Cessation of breath. Entering the great beyond. Passing, moving on, going into the light—”
[Gideon] “Got it. And with that, why don't we call it a night? I don't know about you, but I’m a bit thirsty. I’ve just finished a glass of excellent wine. Would you like one?”
[Galvistor] Sound of dragon perking up. “Do you have ale, perchance?”
[Gideon] Sound of empty glass being placed beside chair, chaise creaking as alien rises. “Would Guinness do? I have a keg on tap in the pool house.”
[Galvistor] “Stout.” Sound of lips smacking. “That would do quite nicely. A keg, you say? Perfect…but then, what will you drink?”
[Gideon] “I can stick to the wine. The ale is right in here…” Crunching sound. “And I’ll get me another wine glass. No, don’t come any further. Please.”
[Galvistor] “Pour something bracing for our Wikipedia addict. She is still a most alarming shade of pink.”
[Gideon] “Ah. Consider yourself off duty, sweetheart.”
Feminine sigh as laptop snaps closed.
[Gideon] “Galvistor, perhaps if you came around to the other side of the pool house we might have easier access to that keg. That’s it. No, don’t go through the hedge…” Sigh. “The gardeners are not going to be happy tomorrow. Watch that tree, it’s got a low--”
Mighty crack from branch, muffled curses. Heavy tromping as voices fade out.
1 comments:
Both of the interviews were quite enjoyable! Thanks for sharing.
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