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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-17 03:54:26 EDT

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“You'd best be getting back” said Gary. “Not that I'm trying to … it's late. I don't want you falling asleep at the …”
Gary and Scott were standing on the beach watching the pewter coloured sea and feeling the cold gusts filled with tiny droplets of rain.
“Come back with me,” said Scott.
Gary shook hid head. “I was a highly paid professional once. My mind was filled with useless knowledge that was obsolete as soon as I mastered it. How to code terminate and stay resident routines in MS-DOS, how to swap out a failed disk in a RAID 5 unit, how to zero out the root password on a SPARC server by changing the jump switches.”
“Gobbledegook to me,” said Scott.
“Those things are ancient history. There have been thousands of useless facts since. They're all…”
“Lost like tear drops in the rain?” suggested Scott, grinning.
Gary chuckled. “Always something new to learn, courses, certifications then it's obsolete when the next version comes out and you have to start again. The point is, people think it's funny - the old guy who keeps the campsite immaculate for a pittance. But, up here, I've been happier than I've ever been. That court win means I can spend the rest of my life here.”

“All of us in the mountains, we don’t have a priest or priestess, so it’s such a blessing for you to visit us!” The man was grinning widely.
“I’m honored?” Loke watched the bird flying around over the governor’s head.
“Yes! Be honored! Let us honor you! You were looking for the platform, right? I can show that to you. We keep a good guard on it. Those missionaries from the villages like to come and raid and destroy artifacts, so we like to nip it in the bud. Those Tumben people are nothing but trouble.”
“I’m sure not all of…” Loke was cut off by the governor but in a non-jovial, booming voice.
“ALL OF THEM.”

The dryness in his mouth was passing, the knot in his stomach easing. Arthur stared straight into Lancelot’s eyes. ‘I’m fine with it. It would be OK by me.’
Lancelot hunted in his gaze for the truth. Then he laid on his back, his movements considered. With his hands on his stomach he stared up at the ceiling. ‘How did you know?’ he finally asked. ‘That I like her?’
Arthur blew out a puff of air. ‘It’s kind of obvious? I just—I didn’t want to see it, before. But now I do.’
Lancelot rubbed his face vigorously. ‘Sorry, Art—’ He dropped his hands with a sigh. ‘—I tried.’
Arthur turned over on the small camp bed, which squeaked and complained as he tried to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. ‘It’s good, Lance. It’s all good.’
He awoke before sunrise, when Lancelot’s room was pale and grey, felt surprisingly comfortable cocooned in the sleeping bag and duvet—cosy, warm. He thought about last night. Gwenhwyfar and Lancelot. It made sense.
He sat up and pulled on his Young Moral uniform—undershirt, shirt and jumper, then untangled his legs from the sleeping bag to don his trousers and socks. He checked his phone for the time, listened for movement in the rest of the house. But everything was still, and Lancelot was fast asleep.
He lay on his stomach, his arms thrown above his head. Twilight diffused into the room through the gap in the curtains. Dressed, and with nothing to do, Arthur raided his bookshelves. He’d forgotten Lancelot mostly read non-fiction, mostly stuff about space; tugged the first novel he found from the shelves. He went to sit at the end of his camp bed with his back pressed against the bedside table, where the light was best, and read.
‘Is it morning?’ Eyes closed, Lancelot turned his face towards Arthur. ‘I literally just fell asleep.’
Arthur lowered the paperback novel, his arm propped over his knee. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Lancelot grunted. ‘Hard luck, volunteering’s soon.’

“I told you my name is Callix,” the Seeker said. “And you never told me yours.”

“Because I don't think that's relevant information to you.” Rowan paused, watching the man's body language. He was not coiled and on edge as Rowan was, assessing every little thing in the forest. He was calm, collected, almost appearing bored with the interaction. “Are we done now? Or would you like to continue your meaningless interrogation? I have nothing of substance to offer you.”

The Seeker – Callix, if that's what he demanded to be called – cracked his neck and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms over his chest. Too at ease. He wasn't worried for his safety at all. “Your Order has been rather quiet lately,” he said. “Most Rekshimyr Orders have been, actually. No raids or riots, no destruction of S'kekshayran temples. I haven't even seen any of you in the city recently.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So what's the question?”

Callix shrugged. “Not really a question. More of a comment. The queen grows concerned when she hasn't heard from certain citizens of Vayashtos in a while, and with the child missing…well, you can imagine. She's been very on edge.”

“Mira! There's a…” Bert trailed off as he saw an unknown man sitting at the large table, drinking slowly from a cup of water.
“Sit, Bert,” Mira said quietly. “You were saying?” she said the man.
“Yes,” he took a drink of water again. “Fastriver was attacked by a large group of men on horseback. Thousands. We had been warned about half a day early, but we weren't aware of the numbers—they managed to conceal most of their forces in the woods south of the town. We had set up defenses expecting maybe a tenth of the numbers that arrived. Even Bee’Fa’Ga could only fight for so long. She took one of those oversized arrows to her tail.” He caught Mira’s reaction.
“Relax! I rested her on an empty hill as we flew here and treated it as best I could. The healer, Nock, is looking at her now and says she will be fine.”
“Bertram, this is Spine, a wyrmrider from Fastriver,” Mira said quickly, clearly wanting to get back to the issue at hand.
“Well met, brother,” Spine said and reached his hand across the table. “Word of your deeds has reached us all.”
Bert happily clasped the man’s hand, but wanted to hear more. “How are the people of your town?”
“We sent our young, old and infirm into the woods in advance of the attack. We lost many dozen fighters, but took hundreds of theirs.” He gave a grunt and rough smile. Clearly, he was proud of how they fought, but knew their losses were great. “They didn’t kill us all. We learned later that it was a distraction. Our Earth Mother was not harmed, but she said a lean man with Fox insignia raided her home.”
Mira slammed her fist on the table. “That’s where he was!”

“Why does he hate humans so much, anyway?” Valir asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. He didn’t talk about it, but there have been rumors. A long time ago, years before I’ve been born, he had a run-in with a soldier who raided the region where he lived with his family. The others said she hurt him, but wouldn’t say how. They got all weird on that topic, so I didn’t ask further. Probably all the broken bones.”

It takes a few steps back of its own, then lunges up and to it’s left, half running up the wall. My now empty hand closes on the other intact table leg as the animal drifts across the open hallway, twisting in mid air as it does so to land on the opposite wall feet first. I can see what it’s doing, and I decide to make one last counter, here and now. I pull back the table low and behind me, opening myself up to the animal.
It rebounds off the wall, leaving deep scratch marks in the wood, and launches right at my face, mouth open and snarling, but the table meets it halfway. I swing as hard as I can, nearly overbalancing with how much power I’m putting into it, and the table shatters completely apart, leaving me holding only two chair legs. The animal flies backwards down the hallway and hits the terminating wall there with a series of yelps of pain, but I can’t let it get it’s bearings again and charge at it again with both table legs held above my head and screaming like a crazed caveman.

“Where’d you get the gun?”
Boden touched the sparkgun hanging at his belt. “Cache. Back in the woods.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Duona’s Kettle,” he said. “Raided it before Lavoie. Hid a few things in case everything went sour.”
She studied his face. “Weapons of war. Aren’t you retired?”
“Trust me,” was all Boden could think of to say.
“I used to,” she said at last. “Crowbar?”
“Thief left it behind. Tried to steal our motor. We dealt with her. Thought it’d come in handy.”
“In a fight?”
“That,” said Boden, “or all sorts of situations.”
She looked satisfied with that answer, at least.

Reading hadn't been a thing for Mac. The occasional magazine, or maybe he'd pick up something Marcia kept around the house, but he tended toward television when he had idle time. Of course, the television in Valladolid – also its few small movie houses – were shockingly negligent where English-language material was concerned. Mac had taken to raiding Amazon for trashy action stories.
So he found a bench beneath a sheltering tree, folded open the dog-eared book, re-inserted the pages that tried their best to fall out, and leaned over, elbows on knees, to lose himself for a while in the exploits of forgettable characters.

A First Degree Chuntey Breach at Bootlesquith Manor sounded like a TED Talk on the history of alarms rattled out in a single lesson at Surbiton High, squeezed in between Philosophy and double French to the utter bamboozlement of both Year 9 and the entire faculty. Loud electronic wails and rotating beacons competed with awooga horns, an World War 2 air raid siren, and eventually the tinkling of bells desperately hoping to summon assistance from an Edwardian butler lost deep inside the mansion. Somewhere a bonobo was probably banging rocks together frantically.

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Soft brown eyes looked down upon us from the throne, seeming heavy, cheeks wet from tears. Her long golden hair was messed and knotted, and her breathing weak and tired. Yet even still, in her billowing white gown, she was beautiful.

As her eyes drifted towards Liz, her smile faded, and her regal voice gave way to a more casual tone. “Are those… my sister’s clothes?”

As if oblivious to the mood in the room, Liz smiled and spoke brightly. “Hey Cat! Raided Iris’ wardrobe at the villa. Glad to see you’re in good health, and all that. Wish I could say the same but…” She shrugged. “Well, you know...”

My mother stared, but eventually returned a small smile, speaking with genuine concern in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Elissa. I wish we had reunited under better circumstances.”

What am I?
As if this was the cue it had been waiting for, the resistance surges to a new height, pushing the green further and further back than ever. At the same time the taloned hands reach up and grasp something on my forehead, as if they’re trying to remove a hat or a pair of glasses. They grasp something both tangible and ethereal at the same time, something that sparks and flickers right above my eyes as it protests the attempted eviction.
“What are you doing?” I can no longer tell who is saying what, as the whole of my mind is now focused on this one act of removal, of defiance, of asserting autonomy once again. The green energy is pushed out completely, and my hands rip off something… something that I hold in both hands in front of me. It crackles and splutters as it decays from the onslaught, and I quickly drop it too the floor where it dances and burns like a lump of sodium dropped into water. Marks are left on the wooden floor as it jumps around, giving no doubt to my mind that whatever happened is indeed real, that there are real life markings that can bear witness to it.
My mind, my soul, my body and everything inbetween is filled with the furiously defiant purple, and I stand there with my still betaloned hands held in front of me. These are mine, I’m sure of it, but how?

With the exception of the banmoi, there was little in way of light or colour. As if the whole district had been dipped in mud. Even the residents had a subdued feeling to them, like all colour and feelings had been stripped from them.

The last time Halla had seen people like this was when her uncle had taken her one of their villages that had been recently raided. Most of the homes had been stripped off possessions before being burnt down. The few survivors were being escorted back to the family stronghold, the castle of Caldhyl. They'd build up their strength, try to contact any relations via the castle clerk and then attempt to find a new home. The people of the Dip had the same look in their eyes as the raid survivors. Everything had been taken from them and all they had were their lives. Only the Dip citizens had no one arriving to help them.

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