"M-Y-N-A-M-E-I-S-G-E-R-A-N."

Lord Geran Fireface, the Battle King of the Free Kingdoms of the North, scowled at the keyboard. It had taken him a great deal of time, not to learn the language, but to understand the glyphs that composed it. Only the hours upon hours upon hours he'd spent in his youth, pouring over texts composed in dead languages as he searched for meaning in his own life, had allowed him to progress as quickly as he had.

He hit the backspace key.

"...G-E-R-A-N-F-I-R-E-F-A-C-E."

It had taken a great deal more time for this 'David,' his so-called 'creator,' to convince him that this was necessary. Geran had never been one to unquestioningly bend his knee before any God, and the boy's 'Plot God' moniker had failed to impress him.

But he had been convinced, eventually, and that was how he found himself sitting in front of a tiny desk and scowling at the 'keyboard' contraption as he tried to make the proper words appear on the glowing window. A monitor, David had called it. What does it monitor? Geran had asked, and David had simply stared at him as if he were daft.

"I-A-M-H-E-R-E-T-O-I-N-F-O-R-M-Y-O-U..."

Of what? Vexed, Geran folded his hands and rested his chin upon them, staring at the 'monitor' as he tried to work out where to take this. A King though he was, addressing the public had never been a particular strength of his. His wife, back when she'd been alive, had handled most of that. People had loved her for who she was and how she treated them. People loved him because he was a hero, a symbol, an inspiration. Few of those people could claim to actually know him on any level, and fewer still knew the real him.

"...A-B-O-U-T-P-A-R-I..."

Backspace. He sighed. Pari. What a silly name. According to David, it was the name he and his 'co-creators' had given the entire world, and universe, that Geran knew. It meant, according to the boy's vague explanation, 'Original Recipe' and was a KFC joke. What was KFC? David wouldn't explain, to Geran's annoyance.

"...A-B-O-U-T-T-H-E-F-U-T-U-R-E-O-F-M-Y-W-O-R-L-D..."

Hmph. Backspace. How to speak to the existence of himself and 'Pari' without sounding like a complete boob, he wondered? This 'internet,' where Geran was expected to post, was open to hundreds of thousands of eyes all over the world. Granted, David had pointed out, not even a fraction of that would come to this page. But what if it did? If Geran was going to make something available to an audience of that size, he wanted it to be... right. Good. He didn't want to sound like a prehistoric oaf who'd been taught rudimentary computer skills over the coarse of about thirty minutes, no matter how accurate that description may have been.

"I..."

Backspace.

"T-H-I-S-I-S..."

Backspace.

Frustrated, Geran held the button down until every bit of the text he'd typed so far was gone. He rose from the chair, nearly falling as it slipped easily out from under him. What sort of buffoon, he wondered, had decided that it would be a good idea to put wheels on a chair?

He stalked out of the room.

-----------------------------

Geran sat on the toilet in the claustrophobic little bathroom, drumming his fingers on his knee and allowing his gaze to drift idly up the wall, across the ceiling, past the vent, to the shower and tiny window. A 'bathroom.' An intriguing idea, but how did people in this world, in this century, content themselves to do their business in such a tiny little room that shared so much in common with a dungeon cell?

"Hnh."

He picked up the roll of toilet paper and scowled at it.

-----------------------------

Once again sitting in the rolling chair in front of the tiny little desk with the 'monitor' and 'keyboard' upon it, Geran sipped at his glass of water and grimaced. It tasted foul. Not nearly so foul, however, as the 'Coke' David had offered him. He'd taken one hearty gulp of the drink, and then spat it back out. Then he'd sworn quite a bit, and quite loudly, and threatened to violate the boy's person with the bottle the vile stuff had come in.

He almost felt guilty for being so hard on his 'host,' and might have had it not been for the fact that the coke's aftertaste still lingered on his tongue.

Blewgh...

Focusing once more on the 'computer screen,' Geran placed his hands over the keyboard.

"I-A-M-N-O-T-A-M-A-N-O-F-T-H-I-S-W-O-R-L-D."

He paused, musing thoughtfully for a moment.

"N-O-R-O-F-T-H-I-S-C-E-N-T-U-R-Y."

Geran grinned.

"I-D-O-N-O-T-L-I-K-E-C-O-K-E."

Now he was getting somewhere. He cracked his knuckles and continued typing.

-----------------------------

'Did you save your work?'

The question David had asked in response to his proclamation of being finished echoed in the back of his mind.

The bright, empty screen stared back at him, mocking his glowering, angry eyes. Once he'd begun typing, the words had come naturally to him. From the time he'd begun to the time he'd clicked the little 'x' to close the 'window,' he'd spent almost three hours working with that hateful little keyboard. Three hours. He shook his head. Almost five 'pages' worth of text, gone just like that.

And now he had to try and remember what he'd said, and how it all fit together.

Geran sighed.

This was going to take a while.



For more Geran Goodness, follow this link to the Pari Show website, and click on 'Latest Show.' I wrote the script, Chris did a kick-ass job on bringing it to life via Flash. Also, please enjoy the special guest appearance by... Me!