Futuristic Farewell to Oz [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

The Wheelers of King Nome and Queen Mombi were always such nuisances. They moved through the four quadrants of Oz, under the authority of the various Witches, but in truth their only allegiance was to the King and Queen of Oz. Their only authority, technically, was also to federal crimes, not local ones of the quadrants. That was meant to be left up to the local authorities, like the Flying Monkeys or the Munchkins, but in practice, this was rarely the case.

Such things tended to be useful to the young Didymus, who could be found in the North Quadrant, sprinting towards a hovercycle called Gump. ‘Come on, come on.’

It all started simply enough that day. The red path had taken her North, and from here, she knew, she needed to find the next path – the lost path. It had taken much time to figure out that much, and to figure out that the path was once the yellow path, not green, as so many others had speculated.

Didymus thought the rest of the answer was within the confines of a pink bubble, tucked deep within the front pocket of her black hoodie, but she had no time to verify that. She’d stolen it, after all, right from the Witch’s office, and that’s what caused the chaos and noise behind her. She had been caught first by the Munchkins, who took her – well, they thought, him – for a petty thief. Shackles and the promise of a cell were in her future until the Wheelers decided to try and throw their weight around.

They maybe, also, saw the brand on her hand and tried to insist she was who they were looking for. Which the Munchkins argued about – she was no pretty girl with long, black curls falling to her waist, in a frilly dress. She was a stupid boy in a hoodie. In the ensuing arguments, she broke out of her shackles, grabbed the bubble, and ran.

The arguing and bickering slowed them down enough that she was able to get right on the Gump, and launch it forward to escape.

It shot right forward and right onto one of the skyward paths. Laughter broke from her lips, though she knew she would have to hide, and quickly, before the Wheelers could overcome her. She broke off from the skyward path – always difficult, but the Gump was modified to be able to maintain its lift so long as it rose no higher than a hundred feet off the ground, when it was off a path.

A path was something the Wheelers could follow – she didn’t need that.

The problem was, she didn’t know the North very well.

She didn’t recognize she was approaching a cliff until it was too late, and didn’t realize how steep it was, until Gump suddenly lost its balance, faltered in the air, and then began to plummet. “No, no, no!” She tried to kick the engines back into gear, force it to catch the air again, but even when it was within range to do so, it fell too fast, and landed hard on the ground, throwing her from it. She rolled with it, groaning her complaint as grass and hay entangled themselves in her fabric and hair.

Gump was fine.

Gump was always fine.

She wanted to get up and kick the accursed bike out of spite, but deciding laying there was probably good. No one was going to expect to find her there, as her hovercycle was puttering out and winding down into silence. ‘At least the bike hit first.’ And she’d only bounced from the seat of the bike. It could have been worse, she thought, as she started to close her green eyes on the world, thinking she could rest for a bit and then get back on track. She brought a hand up to brush some of the stray plants from her face, as well as the dark bangs, before just covering her face with the hand and trying to relax.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Nothing here but the scarecrow.

 

[-Q-]

Oz. Once upon a time, it had been one of those places that in some other realm, might have been considered a land good for telling tales about to small children. There had been wizards and witches and lots of strange things in between. It was a land made of many different lands; Quadling country, Munchkin country, Gillikins country, Winkie country and finally, in the centre of it all, the Emerald City. The crown jewel of Oz, gilded just as it said in the name in emeralds. The whole place was green and many came to marvel at its splendour, just as one would marvel at any of the many wonders of the world.

Once upon a time, Fiero had been a Winkie, or rather, he had lived in Winkie country. The details now in his head were a little sketchy at best. He was certain that was something to do with the long ago possibility that he may have needed some sort of upgrade by now; but he never had gotten together the funds to figure out what it was he needed and it wasn’t as though his parents… or rather his creators had left extensive notes on how or why he was created in the first place. A long time ago, he’d been made of cloth and stitching, carefully hand sewn like a beloved quilted blanket by a patient expecting mother for her soon to be new born child. He remembered vaguely growing up. He remembered his parents, the way they taught him bits and pieces of what they could. His mother taught him to sew, so that when he had ripped one of the seams in her fine handy work, he could stitch himself together good as new. That was always a good thing when playing with other children in the village had become particularly rough or if he had done something stupid, like get one of his threads caught in a tree branch, only for a part of him to become unravelled.

The dark haired man had left Winkie country a few years ago in search of work, having found very few people willing to employ such a bizzare creature as him; someone without real rights who could be exploited easily should have been an easy sell, but it wasn’t to be. Eventually though, an old farmer appeared to take pity on him and employed him as a scarecrow. Thing about that was, though the kind farmer had been generous, there had simply been one day that Fiero could not get down from his post, some of the cords of his stitches caught and tangled on the makeshift pole and the farmer had never come to find him. Fiero could only assume that by now, that man was dead.

Gradually, years had passed and Fiero had become more and more tangled and caught up in the wooden beams. The crows had begun to peck away at the stitches across his shoulders and in his stomach. They had stolen what remained of his stuffing for their nests and his cybernetic arm had been exposed to the elements for so long that it had somewhat rusted with every rain fall.

In the end, Fiero had begun to forget. He began to forget that he was a rag doll scarecrow, somehow magically brought to life. He forgot that this was not some strange form of punishment visited unto him by the gods; as in those old Greek stories his mother had read to him once upon a time, though he couldn’t quite remember how any of those went anymore.

But, anyway, that was where he was now. Fiero had been alone a long time; hardly anyone ever visited this field and he had resigned himself to his fate of being stranded there alone for eternity. And just about when he had given up hope, he heard something.

A crash and a thump of a body rolling into all the discarded hay and grass; things the crows had left behind in their rush to build their nests. Even so, it was a while before he realised he hadn’t simply imagined the voice and he opened his eyes, black irises searching the ground. Oh… there was someone here. Maybe, just maybe they could help him get down?

“Are you alright?” He asked. It wasn’t as though he could help her, but that crash hadn’t sounded pleasant.

 

[Lucyfer]

Didymus was not to be left alone in peace. She had thought she was alone, but it appeared not, and she hastily sat up. She glanced around, this way and that, but at first she didn’t notice anyone at all around her. She imagined they could be deeper into the field, not far, but covered by the high grass. “Who’s—”

It was as the words were leaving her lips that she started to look up, in case she might see a hat or a sign of someone over the tops of the grass. That wasn’t what caused the rest of her sentence to catch in her throat. It was the sight of a lucid gaze, coming from a figure hanging up above it all. The dark gaze was down upon her.

Not human. Couldn’t be, and be alive like that, could it?

Diddy’s eyes trailed down the path of the revealed cybernetic arm. The rust was apparent. Was it an android then? ‘Is it with Them?’ That was the deeper concern, though she didn’t know how an abandoned creature out here could be with Them still, deep rooted programming could be problematic.

Nonetheless, she answered it then, “I’m fine,” probably. The pain hadn’t set in yet, if it was going to. Her rump would probably not like the seat of the bike for a while, nor would she much enjoy sleeping on her side, or back, but these were minor inconveniences. “Who are you?” She rephrased the earlier, incomplete sentence, as she drew her legs beneath herself.

She wasn’t keen on standing right then.

She was still wary of what she’d just escaped from. The reason she crashed her bike in the first place. They could be near enough to the crash site that if they caught a glimpse, it would be enough – and she really didn’t care to start running again so soon.