[OOC -- I actually wrote this a couple months ago, before I found myself jobhunting. My characters had a pretty easy time of it. Actually, it turns out I had a pretty easy time of it too. Next week I'll be starting at 10gen as a team lead doing cool things for the Mongo database. -bb]
Nexterie on Ixange 8: Job-Hunting with Deep Sorcery
"This is a very expensive trip," we all said. "We have already spent most of the money we had expected to last for another three worlds."
"Well, the answer is very simple," said each of us to the others. "You must go get a job, an exceedingly well-paying and salubriously salaried job, and earn enough to finance the next leg of our journey!" We all nodded sagaciously and added, "And what better place than Gumdash, which is a nexus of many bridges, sprinkled spratically with shops!"
"Well, if I must, I must," we all groaned. "But it is beyond me why I, rather than you, are the one who must find this job."
"It is because the magnificent mightiness of your particular and potent powers!" we all hastened to assure each other.
Eric quickly landed a job as a "prophetic human ghost from the wild worlds" at the famous Museum of Extradimensional Curiosities. By "famous" we mean "people who walk by it often notice, and occasionally go in".
When business is slow, which is often, Eric's job includes wandering in and out of the wall, and greeting passers-by.
A typical passer-by might say, "This museum has quite a modern hologram, of a wandering human ghost!"
Eric's response is, "No hologram I, but an actual ghost, cursed by a god of death to wander the Ninety Worlds!"
"A talking hologram!"
"A mocking hologram, capable of telling that your purple and green socks are a hideous combination with your plaid cap and your lime-green fringed toga!" said Eric, who at times evidently considers himself an authority on proper dress.
That passer-by would usually scowl and stride off with all the dignity that one can possibly have when one wears purple and green socks, a plaid cap, and a lime-green fringed toga. But a dozen others will giggle, and two or three will enter the museum.
Thus Eric earns money for his travels. Hditr has to stop by to collect his wages, since he can't actually touch them.
Hditr instantly consecrated a not-much-used corner of a park, and, taking a cue from poor Cleiestis and another from Eric, delivered jumping jittery jeremiads to anyone who would listen, and sometimes cast spells.
The time I listened, the jeremiad went like this:
Denizens of Gumdash, walkers on the bridges from here to there, spidersen, badgers, humans, and whatever! Gather around and hear the words of the Saasquudge, Goddess of Mucilage! Oh, heed the words of the Goddess of Mucilage, people! For were you not born in a squirt of mucilage, from the womb of your mother or the egg that you grew in, as the case may be? So were you not born in the very embrace of Saasquudge? Is she not basically somewhere between your mother and your nurse? So sit yourselves down and shut yourselfves up and listen to the Word of Saasquudge!
Now, I know what you're saying in your hearts. You're saying that there's no need for a Goddess of Mucilage because there's already a God of Mucilage, sitting right there in the Sluvuttarian Pantheon. Who could forget Spludlup, Father of Mucilage? The god who actually looks like a giant slug and leaves a trail of semeniferous slime behind him when he slubbers along?
Do not be fooled by Spludlup, good people. For Spludlup is from the Sluvuttarian Pantheon, and I do not think you believe in that. Unless you're some sort of a sanitation worker, in which case you have a good excuse.
Anyways! Hear the words of the Saasquudge, the Goddess of Mucilage! Here's what she says! Behold! is how she starts. How you are supposed to behold what she's saying, well, that's because she originally wrote these words in sticky letters on one of the giant leaves of the Planet of Nao Tree. Then the Sandstorm of Ning Nah Ning came along. Afterwards, you could read Saasquudge's words in big letters of sandy mucilage, plain as the ears on my head.
So -- Behold! Behold the words of Saasquudge, Mother of Mucilage, which I am reading unto you!
Then she says, Happy Pop. We do not know what she means by "Happy pop". This is a mystery, people! The cult of Saasquudge is a Mystery Cult! Actually most of its teachings are pretty mysterious. Saasquudge is not your everyday cryptic goddess full of hidden meanings and deep thoughts that take lots of thinkery to untangle. She is more of a What-The-Flookity-Flook kind of cryptic goddess.
Then she goes on to say Happy Pop again, and this time she draws a big slimy cartouche around the word "Happy". And she enchants that cartouche so that only white sand from that sandstorm sticks to it. To the cartouche, I mean. So we got the rest of the Goddess's words in reddish-gray, which is the usual sandstorm color, and this cartouche in pure shiny white.
So people — Happy Pop! Happy Pop!
Do not be confused by the adherents of the Dormunular Heresy. They assert that the Goddess is urging us all to have colds and allergies, phlegmy maladies, and to enjoy the burbling and bubbling of air as it makes its impeded and poppulent way from lung to nostril to the grand circumambient atmosphere. For this philosophy is full of falsiments — flagrant, foolish falsiments! I hope!"
By the way, every word that I am saying here today is 100% orthodox Saasquudge religious theology. I got citations and everything, people. I am qualified to discuss seventeen separate pantheons in great detail, and I offer private tutoring and small group classes. Just saying.
She wound up earning more in fees for private tutoring and small group classes (mostly on more important religions) than Eric and I earned in anything.