[Friday.]

the archives are a shelter.

 

the archives are a tomb.

 

the archives are ringed with the remnants of old troubles, old hosting, old hopes.

 

the archives are an old family photo yellowed from artifacting, and there is comfort in their consistency.

 

the archives are a promise.

 

 

you skim through old arcs with rough art and the brief spell of hashtag topical humor and the fleeting flirtation with the prospect of Punished Bazingatron and reboot after reboot after pivot after reboot and–

 

you see the archive's end in june 200x and feel a sense of closure.

you see the archive's end in december 200x and feel a sense of dread.

you see the archive's end in june 18xx and feel a sense of stability.

 

 

Bazingatron is Bazongatron now.

 

she's pleading with two peeps on a sea--well, if they are two peeps on a seat, it is only in the loosest sense. 

 

(everything's so dusty. their perch is so dusty. their dresses are so dusty. your monitor is so dusty, in a way you can't quite dispel. you imagine the dust bleeding through, their looks bleeding through, you imagine the mortifying ordeal of being hashtag owned because you're PRETTY sure the vultures have the same face as those terrors of the first-person cuter circuit from the esports arc.)

 

they perch, they leer, looking for all the world like grotesque great value goth-lolita carrion birds who've claimed a tête-à-tête.

 

(maybe it's just the light.)

 

Bazongatron pleads. must a new self always be a flimsy, disposable thing, resigned to a life that starts with commitment to the bit and ends in consignment to the bin?

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

Bazongatron begs, entreats, implores. in giving me life you gave me the capacity for hope, and i choose to believe that a new self is hope made manifest, she says. 

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

they laugh, rueful and raw.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

one rises from her seat, radiant and cruel.

 

𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝔽𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝔼𝕏ℂ𝕀𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝔹ℝ𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕊𝕐ℕ𝔼ℝ𝔾𝕐 𝕆ℙℙ𝕆ℝ𝕋𝕌ℕ𝕀𝕋𝕀𝔼𝕊

 

she looks at you, through you, giving a get-a-load-of-this-gal grimace. maybe she's commiserating. maybe you are no longer a mere observer.

 

𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕠𝕖-𝕖𝕪𝕖𝕕 𝕕𝕚𝕡𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕆ℝ𝕋𝔸ℕ𝕋 𝕊ℙ𝕆ℕ𝕊𝕆ℝ𝕊ℍ𝕀ℙ 𝕆𝔹𝕃𝕀𝔾𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

the other doesn't even deign to stand.

 

𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕄𝔸𝕊ℍ 𝕋ℍ𝔸𝕋 𝕄𝔽𝕀ℕ 𝕄𝔸ℝℝ𝕐 𝕄ℝ. ℍ𝔻-𝔻𝕍𝔻𝔸ℝℂ𝕐 𝔹𝕌𝕋𝕋𝕆ℕ

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯. 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘰𝘳–

 

𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘭, 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘫𝘰𝘺?

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

an ad for a Bazongatron fumo kickstarter.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

the Bazongatron fumo won't meet your eyes.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

you see the archive’s end in [𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚍] and feel [𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙?]

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

never before has her mother's heirloom gaming chair felt so like a doomed regent's throne.

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

she fumbles with a cameo locket. the Gamer Pink™ hue of her fingers evokes bloodstained hands and a guilt she'll never wash away, not even with Official Xbox Licensed Conscience Cleaning Fluid.

 

(there is a rhythm to your clicks, comfortable and steady.)

 

a sepia-tone hello kitty limited edition dreamcast smiles from within.

 

(lulling, even.)

 

what you have doesn't need words. you understand one another far too well for that.

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

it's the nature of caring about a webcomic long enough, you suppose. you learn to fill in the gaps.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

she's wondering if her mother faced the same terrible choice.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

she closes the locket, sudden and sharp like a fingersnap.

 

looks

 

right

 

at you.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

you've seen this manic glint in her eyes before, the moment of desperate denouement-hour epiphany.

 

it's a foolproof plan, she said! one outing with this ditto in a top hat and frock-coat and funny fake moustache is all we’ll need, she said! word will spread far and wide, and lady bulwer-litten’s engagement to SEGATA NINTENDO will be off, she said!

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

could Mr. HD-DVDarcy be any worse than that horrid Lord Blue Ray? why, he claimed to be "1080p babey!!!!!," but you have a sneaking suspicion that the "p" stands for "positively boorish."

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

 

(you click to the next page, helplessly.)

 

 

(you click to the next page, inexorably.)

 

Bazongatron smiles, softly apologetic as though she’s finally found the right moment to coax you aside and politely coach you on something everyone knows, of course.

 

(you click to the next page, like a villain’s bewitched bride.)

 

it is a truth universally acknowledged that sinking simply suits some girls.

 

(a little deeper.)

 

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

 

(you thank her for clicking deeper.)

 

you’re such a good girl. you’ll be so happy this way.

 

(you thank her for clicking deeper.)

 

a broken image.

 

(you thank her for clicking deeper.)

 

a punished Bazongatron omake.

 

(you thank her for clicking deeper.)

 

 

(you click to the next page, as if under a spell.)

 

a feeling swells in your heart, buried beneath layers of lace and froth as it may be. ‘oh, i remember that fic.’ (do you remember that fic? do you remember because you remember, or because Bazongatron told you to remember?)

 

it’s a meme. it’s a mantra. it’s a bit turned starry-eyed and sincere.

 

'everyone has eyes for Mr. HD-DVDarcy.'

 

(𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳.)

 

Bazongatron and Mr. HD-DVDarcy share a somber look, just for a moment.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

he smiles at you, doting and sweet.

 

"i know you have not chosen this, but there can be a joy in not-choosing, in surrendering your will, and i hope to share it with you."

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

with the power vested in me by the players, i now pronounce you Gamer™ and wife.

 

(you click to the next page.)

 

Bazongatron can feel her sins crawling on her backless bridesmaid’s dress. she doesn’t meet your eyes.

 

(you click a little deeper.)

 

you bask in mesmeric marital bliss for a long moment, and to his credit, Mr. HD-DVDarcy dares not interrupt your reverie.

 

a gentle whisper in your ear.

 

"if you let me, i shall aspire to so much more than any%ing your heart, Mrs. HD-DVDarcy."

 

(you thank him for clicking deeper.)

 

this must be what an hd-dvd feels like, you think as he scoops you into a bridal-carry and spirits you off to his manor.

 

the novelty is not unpleasant.