Another valentine, another massacre

The next thing I remember is the kind face staring down at me. “Holy Topeka! That was quite a wallop you took!” The face rang one of the dozen or so bells circling my head. “I know you- you’re-“
“Ha!” he crowed. “Y’see? Someone remembers me! Someone remembers my game!”
“Your game?” came an indignant sneer. “I think you’ll find that was just the primitive version of my game that you had the gall to plagiarize!”
“Aw shaddup! I did it years before you did!”
“Yes but you took it from the thought waves sent out by my powerful psychic abilities!”
“Oooh! Pipe down, you old fraud!”
This got the other fellow steaming. I mean literally; his whole body looked like it was evaporating into crimson mist. “Fraud am I? I think the fact that we’re even having this conversation is proof of my famous insights into the supernormal!”
“So izzat why they didn’t get yer name right?”
This sent the other fellow into an incandescent rage but by this point I wasn’t paying much attention to what seemed like a very old feud. Because by then I realized I could literally see right through them. Beyond was a cowboy with a few holes too many bitterly complaining that it “plumb weren’t fair. I hed a full house!”  A lean, sandy-haired guitarist wearing small round glasses replying, “You think that’s bad; I was just getting my comeback together! Come to that, I’d like a word with this Orbanes chap.” A slightly sad looking gentleman in Edwardian dress carrying a chess set and deck of cards which seemed to be moving of their own accord. An intelligent looking old gentleman with wild out-of-control hair  and mustache playing dice with someone I couldn’t see and looking distinctly embarrassed about it. Oh and one very bitter, disappointed looking cow.  Oh, yeah. That. I turned slowly to see a cow that was identical, only solid,
with a pair of disturbingly familiar shoes sticking out beneath. I turned back to the ghostly cow. “Stop staring at me like that! It wasn’t my fault! I’m a committed vegetarian!” The cowboy gave a disgusted little grunt at this as if it explained everything.
“Oh no,” I said. “Come on! This isn’t real; this isn’t happening.”
“One!” shouted a cheerful looking old spectress with tousled hair and thick glasses.
“But that’s not fair!” I snarled angrily. “This is just idiotic!”
“Two”, she giggled as her ghostly companions put their faces in their palms.
“I mean you’re all game players. Don’t I get to maybe play a game with one of you for my life- you know, the Bergman thing?”
“Three!”
“No?” I sobbed. “Oh well, that’s it then isn’t it. Play a few games and then a cow drops on you. How pointless and depressing.”
“And-a four!” exclaimed the woman, beginning to do a triumphant little strutting dance.
“Ah well, can’t fight it. Can’t take your collection with you. May as well make the best of it.”
“And score! Another perfect score!”, exclaimed the woman, who began making triumphant “whoop whoop” noises.
“D-d-d-does she have to d-d-d-o that every t-t-t-time?” asked the Edwardian gent wearily.
“Well, I’m always right!” crowed the woman.
“Ah ja?” sniped the man with the wild mustache. “Und vat about him?” he said, pointing to a cheerful looking balding gent with a neat beard, defiantly tossing strangely shaped dice and saying, “Keep talkin’ sister; as soon as I make my saving throw, I’m outta here!”
“Ghost dice!” I exclaimed. “I know someone who’d like a set of those.”
“Oh, he’ll get a set,” said the man with a grim chuckle.. “You’ll all get a set… eventually.”
“Ah well, I suppose there are compensations then. And just think now I can talk about games with you forever.”
At this the ghosts began to shift about nervously.
“Yep,” I continued warming to the idea. “Just think; all eternity free to go on and on about my favorite games.”
They started to look uncomfortable; can’t think why.
“Why I probably could go on for a few centuries about my theory about-“
“Then again,” interrupted the woman in the glasses, “you’ve still got so much to give the land of the living.”
“No,” I humbly demurred. “What could compel me to return to that veil of tears? After all, I already knew everything.”
“Uh- luv?” suggested the guitarist desperately.

"Yes! P-p-passion for the games you haven't p-p-played yet!" agreed the Edwardian hastily.
“Brilliant!” shouted the unkempt German who put two fingers in his mouth and gave a surprisingly fierce whistle. In response a winged cherub armed with bow came zipping over the horizon, wearing only a strategically placed ribbon which he had to keep adjusting. His disgusted expression implied that this was not his own costume choice. The German whispered to him for a moment, then grudgingly he snapped an arrow into his tiny bow and zipped it toward me. I only had a moment to realize that it was tipped with a candy heart before it passed through me completely. Suddenly I was looking up at the sky from beneath the cow again. I had time to read along the shaft of the arrow the words Day & Night before it evaporated in a glittery mist and I realized that I was looking into the eyes of a sympathetic milkmaid. I could see that she had a high-minded spiritual imagination… (thwip… an arrow reading Power Grid: Factory Manager) but still maintained a keen practical awareness, really able to efficiently get things done but (thwip… Crunch) still retaining a conscientious sense of political awareness and biting sense of humor. All in all (thwip… Tobago) a fascinating woman of mystery with her own thoroughly modern style but (thwip... Cosmic Incursion) rooted in a respect for tradition. It was also pretty impressive that she lifted the cow off me with one hand and tossed it aside.
“You- you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” I gasped.
“And you-“ she replied, “you’re the first board game player who’s actually looked at my eyes first.”
“We should get a coffee together,” I blurted. She blushed coquettishly. “And I’ve got every evening this month free; we can spend them all together!” She adorably started to say something about maybe moving a little fast, “hard to get” you know. “Don’t worry,” I reassured her, “it’ll be easy after I finish moving in.” Her expression froze; I could tell she was as overwhelmed as I was by the sheer joy of it all. I began rattling off my suggestions for naming the kids (“You know Reiner could be a girls’ name too…”), then fell to the ground clutching onto her legs and screaming "Never ever leave me!" as tears exploded out of me. She began looking imploringly back at the cherubic airborne archer, who rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead. He dragged his hand slowly down over his face, then put another arrow to his bow. I braced myself for another thrill of love before noticing that this arrowhead actually glinted in the sun. And- THUNK!- Ah… not doing the whole glittery evaporation thing this time… and I do believe… yes bleeding that would be bleeding little red hearts all over the ground… that… that’s romantic… written along the shaft… heavy wooden shaft this time… "NOBODY… LIKES… A… SMARTA-" I can’t quite make out the rest because oh my that really has gone rather deep hasn’t it?...blacking… out… nothing will get me out of this one except… except maybe the luck of the Irish…

 

 

Comments

Very nice, Gregory.

Are you a fan of James Joyce, perhaps?

He had that Irish luck...

"Fan" doesn't quite cover it...the man's one of my biggest personal heroes, although I often wonder what he would make of the way his birthplace has reclaimed him for literary tourism after his expatriate lifestyle. Perfect reading for a certain kind of game fan too, the kind that turns to the cryptic crossword first in a magazine or newspaper. Odd that you mention him because... well, I'd give you an "exagmination 'round the factification" of a little "work in progress", but that would be telling... watch this space...

 Nobody likes Smarties?

Nobody likes Sparta?

 

you can't leave me like this. the tenterhooks are digging into my cranium.

 

5 across: resistance is futile.

Now see there's no way I can answer that without earning myself another arrow. Let's just say it would describe the kind of person who would be unable to resist suggesting that "Nobody Likes Sparta" is in fact the show-stopping dance number from the upcoming (and probably ill-advised) Broadway musical adaptation of 300. (Close your eyes for a moment. You can just imagine what that would sound like, can't you? Yes? Now good luck getting it out of your head for the rest of the day. Sorry about that.)

My ex-girlfriend once sent me on a quest for Smarties, but apparently neither the US or UK version was the candy she had in mind. Damned hard to get jelly babies here, too.

And here I thought this puzzle was going to be about naming the ghosts...

7 of 9 down: "Has been assimilated"

 I have my Broadway tickets already

I love the smell of napalm in the mornings. What ? Wrong war ? Shoot, never was good at history.

Consider the arrow on its way. Via Thermopylae.

Make it so.