Block World - Level 2

Block World

Level 2

            There was one thing that stood out in the desert market amidst the hustle and bustle which reminded me of the over-excited consumers in Ocarina of Time. While the setting was.. sandy. Buildings made out of sand and stone rose up from the sand while the sweltering heat treated the citizens like burritos whose time for the microwave had come. What stood out was a blocky chicken wearing sunglasses. And this chicken was soon staring back at me behind his debonair shades.
            I turned away and tried to act interested in a stand where a large-headed man with a large baseball cap sold pots. The large eyes of the man moved with my hands as I picked up and inspected a pot. There was a sound behind me, like some sort of 8-bit disco with a French guy singing in English, and as I turned I saw the chicken walking towards me.. with a small black stereo on its wing.
            "Nukka." The chicken said, bobbing its head.
            The large jaw of the large-headed man spoke, "Put down that pot if your not going to buy it."
            "Okay." I said. "And put the pot down."
            "You ever.. play Minecraft?" The chicken asked.
            "..yes.." I said, looking down at the cubey chicken. He had a voice that reminded me of Dante from Devil May Cry, or maybe more like Captain Kirk.
            "How do you know about Minecraft?" I asked.
            THE Chicken set his little stereo down and looked up at me, pulling his sunglasses down to his beak with the tip of his wing. "I know."
            "How could you play Minecraft? You don't have fingers."
            THE chicken stretched his wings, "Yes I do."
            "Those aren't fingers."
            "Just because you don't believe in my fingers doesn't mean I don't have fingers."
            "Those are just white blocks on your tiny white chicken body. Those aren't fingers!" I yelled.
            "What the fuck did you say?" The chicken somehow used its wing to pull its sunglasses down, revealing triangular rather than rectangular eyes-- angry, black triangles that could sear any sentient square. But I didn't care.
            "I said those aren't fingers!" I rose my hands in the air as dinging sounds dinged around me and with marketplace stares. "You don't have fingers! Your a god damn blocky chicken no taller than my knee!"
            With triangular eyes of fury the chicken started slamming its orange little foot on my foot and kicking me in the shin, it kind of had the force of a retarded baby or maybe even just a flying tortilla chip. For the first few minutes, I found it funny and really didn't mind it. Not even the angry gobbling.
            But then I noticed that the chicken started to focus on my foot, and there was the slightest dark pixellation. And it got bigger, and I realized that a crack was forming in my shoe. The chicken, THE Chicken, was trying to break my foot.
            I didn't pull back in time and the block that was my foot turned white-- my sock, apparently. I saw something brown pop off into the air and another merchant with enormous round eyes and a turban quickly snatched the shoe in his hand.
            By this time THE Chicken had stopped attacking me and was blasting some new tune from his little boombox.
            "Give me my shoe back!" I said to the man.
            "I sell you shoe. This is not your shoe."
            "What the hell, give me it back!" I screamed. At this point I realized the guards were eyeballing me and that I should probably keep my voice down.
            The man put my shoe on his head, "I sell you hat for 30 rupees."
            "Who do you think you are? Your eyes are circles. This game isn't supposed to have any circles in it." I said.
            "Oh no!.." The merchant said, shutting his eyes to lines with cascading tears, and waving his arms frantically while he sunk into the ground. This happened until he disappeared and only his hat and my shoe, hovered and rotated by its lonesome over the desert sand.
            "That was weird." I said to myself.
            "Yo." The chicken said. "You pay me, I'll protect you. This city can be a rough place."
            "I don't have any money.. and besides, I don't think a chicken would make much of a mercenary."
            The chicken's sunglasses were back up over his beak and on his face, but his tone was dead serious, "I destroyed your shoe you fuckin' tourist. You have no idea, no idea, how powerful I truly am."
            Amidst the screams of the marketplace I heard a woman screaming, "Go on a quest to find my clothing! Ja."
            I looked over and saw a tanned woman in a bra and panties with a pot on her head.
            "Are you sure they're not in the pot?" I had cupped my hands over my mouth and asked her from afar.
            The big jawed man with the baseball cap pointed his finger at me, "Never question her, she thinks she's the Al Jazzeela Cool-Whip De Niro."
            I heard a familiar voice behind me, it was overtly friendly, "So I told him you might live in a monarchy but where I come from, we never take a piss, anywhere."
            I looked over and saw that it was the cactus I had met before who had given me lemonade, he was talking to a stern looking guard with a mustache the size of a disposable Swiffer rag or a rat from New York that had got into the supplement cabinet of an IFBB pro bodybuilder; the point is, although his face was covered by a helmet, it was a big fucking mustache.
            And this rodent-like facial hair ruffled up and down as he mumbled, "Mmm-hmmm."
            I think at this point THE Chicken and I were both momentarily transfixed by this man who looked like a Fisher Price action-figure talking to a pothead cactus.
            "I will take your quest pothead." THE Chicken said to the woman who thought that she was Al Jazzeela Cool-Whip De Niro.
            "I need a quest, I have no money, and I don't know where I'm going." I said. "I figure I should ride this out till I decide I want to get out of my.. get back to my.. homeland."
            The chicken looked up at me and than looked back down, "Well its setlled then, we'll have to form a party. You'll need a tank, anyways."
            "Uh.." I scratched the back of my head looking down at the small chicken. "..right."
            A voice came from out of nowhere that sounded like the guy from B52 who sang Rock Lobster: "NEW PARTAY MEMBA!"
            "A drunk man stole my clothes who lives in the palace." The woman in her underwear pointed to THE Palace, an extremely large Taj Mahal looking building.
            "You must get around pot lady." The chicken was hit by the pot on the lady's head which swallowed him. He gobbled loudly as he rolled away across the sands.
            "He is a crossdressing sage named Bernardo. Ja. He is a strange and dirty man." The woman warned. "He was taken to the dungeon but will not tell anyone where my criskays, kajoolas, and socks are."
            "Why would we tell us?" I asked.
            "He likes chicken. Jaja." She replied.
            "WHAT!?" The chicken had almost made its way out of the pot it was stuck in, but then repelled back into it while the woman with little clothing walked off.
            Once the chicken got out of the pot he looked at me, "This shouldn't be too hard since your a novice and all."
            "I've only been here for like 20 minutes."
            An old couple walked by in a lot of plaid. The balding man looked at me and spoke, "You haven't changed classes yet? Must be a later bloomer.."
            The man's wife laughed happily, "All kids want to do these days is get high off of their poop."
            "Screw off!" I said, feeling that swearing at old people would be inappropriate.
            The old man laughed with his wife as they walked off, "In our day young people got a job with the Lord Knight.. or the Archmage.. or the Master Blacksmith. Now they're just all little bitches."
            "Lets go find this nukka in the dungeons." I said to the bird.
            The poultry picked up his sunglasses and put them back on.

No comments:

Post a Comment