‘I Am Loogman! The Loogman formerly known as Oenus.’

‘Nah, the bunsack formerly known as God.’

‘Shut up.’

Crissy heavens goodness! He got a name! His savior gave him a name: Loogman. Granted, she’d have to become a god before that name held any power but, bless you, Loogman’d take it.

‘Finally got that demotion, I knew you had it in you.’

‘Kind words for a change. I knew you had it in you, too!’

One small, major problem, Eta wasn’t right...at all. She should have been mad, but she wasn’t. Eta was, uh, happy?

She sat against the wall, head-bopping back and forth to a catchy hum.

“It’s so pretty!” She said. “You see those streaks?”

Loogman’s chest thumped. “Um, what do those streaks look like?”

‘Think she found out?’

‘Count on it.’

‘Not my fault! Dragons don’t use toilet paper!’

‘It’s more impressive you even remembered how to poop.’

‘I know, right? I didn’t even have to try.’

“It’s red. Red with yellow streaks just hanging there,” she said.

‘Fuck! She knows. She knows.’

‘At least she liked it.’

‘That’s something, right?’

Eta waved her hand through the air. “See that? They’re moving around. Wonder if I can spell my name with them?”

Loogman breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, she wasn’t talking about poop.  Maybe the Dragon did something weird to her meat suit?  Loogman didn't see any yellow streaks, just a dimly lit cave, and other than the blood from his leg wound, he certainly didn't know anything about 'red' either.

That doesn't matter.  Eta's here now, and Dragon didn't snatch her away, either.  She's all mine, my own personal savior.

He scooted closer, careful not to nudge his patched up bone leg out of the makeshift clay socket he'd stuck it in. Gently placing his head on her knee, he gaged her reaction. She didn’t even look down, content to wave her arms through empty air.

Gingerly, Loogman curled up around her feet, just like old times. And for the first time since rejoining this realm, he genuinely smiled.

Whatever had Eta all messed up, right now, it didn’t matter. It would be just like old times from here on out. Well, it’d be just like old times if back in the day, Eta was a monster princess on her way to godhood. Monster princess/blue haired muse, it was all the same to him.  Eta would always be his Eta.

Loogman readjusted his bone leg. Don’t want it drying crooked, do we?

He hadn’t a clue how long the clay socket would take to dry or even if his crude prosthetic would work.

‘It should work right?’

‘Better than broomstick legs.’

Unfortunately, back when he wore the broomsticks, he had an advantage. In his own world, he was God. There, he could warp reality, even build a golden tower with a snap of his fingers.

The starting realm wouldn’t be that easy. Here, he was a God trapped in the body of a bunsack, the lowest of the low.  It cost him an entire leg just to guide Eta here, something that would have only taken a pint or two of blood with his god bod.

He'd already spent too much of his god bod already.  What was left for Mister Jenkens had to last because it was the last of it.  A missing leg was nothing compared to what would happen if Mister Jenkens didn't get his dues.

‘From God to bunsack…’

‘A fitting demotion.’

‘I know, right?’

It could be worse. Loogman still had his personal gift, that gift gave him a slight advantage over the average bunsack since they didn't have them. However, it wasn’t much. Most creatures here had already pledged themselves to a god, and with that, they'd received their god’s blessing.

With his former reputation, Loogman knew there wasn't any god around who'd take him other than Prometheus, and pledging himself to Prometheus was a last resort he'd rather not take.  That wily bastard...no, Loogman wasn't that desperate, yet.

Eta would give him a true name when she ascended, and with it, the power of her blessing.  That would be the best end.

Loogman’s gift would make up for the lack of a blessing somewhat; however, he was a one-trick pony. He could tear down the invisible borders between both the worlds separated from the starting realm and the territories that made up the starting realm itself.  Essentially, he could rip open a portal to anywhere he wanted to go, a gift that could be used in a variety of ways.

However, until Eta ascended, Loogman was still technically a god.  His fate was bound to his own little world, far removed from this plane. If Mister Jenkens devoured that world, his grisly machinations would claim Loogman no matter where he was. Leaving the god bod behind earned him a bit of time; strong as it was, it’d take a while to devour, ensuring Mister Jenkens got his dues.

After that, though…

‘Eta’s the best of the best.  I'm sure she can ascend before then.’

‘You mean, she’s your only real option.’

She’d claim him. He knew she would. She was his Eta, his savior. Heck, they even celebrated Christmas together; nobody celebrated Christmas with people they didn’t like. It simply didn’t happen.

Surely her new monster princess body was strong enough to become a god. Dragon wouldn’t screw him over; he wasn't wily.

Worst case, she’d eaten half of Loogman’s god bod. She was quite a wealthy woman, filled to the brim with power from both Loogman’s and Dragon’s efforts.

Worst, worst case, Loogman still had his pointy sticks. He was pretty good with the ol' pointy stick back in the day.

They’d be alright. She’d take care of him. Loogman wouldn’t need his pointy sticks…probably.

He nestled into her knee and Eta scratched his hair. Truthfully, it wasn’t as affectionate as it sounded. It tickled more than it should have. Likely, chunks of his scalp were scraping off; she really needed to trim her nails.

But Loogman didn’t say anything. No sense ruining the moment.

They’d be alright. Eta would take good care of him.

***************************************************************************

E-T-

Eta’s nail scratched something really hard, startling her, and all her work went down the drain. Yellow streaks danced around in front of her, swirling like cotton falling from a tree. Apparently, any kind of movement displaced them, and she’d gotten wrapped up in the fun of rearranging the little streaks.

At least until her nail scratched something hard.

Seemed her other hand started idly stroking the little savage curled up on her legs. It was so soothing to have a pet.

Uh oh. She’d scratched off a chunk of hair and the little savage was bleeding from his skull.

How does he have so much blood? And I wonder why this seems so fam—No! No questions.

The hair on her savage’s head began to soak through and she wondered if it hurt. Stop asking!

Thinking back to his actions earlier, Eta leaned over to grab a piece of clay off his knee socket. Surprisingly, the savage slapped her hand away.

Not so friendly, eh? And he looked so cute, too. Maybe in a few years…Nah, I’m all old and haggard. Maybe if he’s really, really desperate in a few years…?

“Don’t want a crooked leg,” he said.

“Crooked leg? Aren’t you a cheeky little savage,” she replied.

“Savage?” He mulled that over a minute. “Pure savagery! Haha, I like that.”

“What happened to Loogman?”

“I like that better,” he replied.

Eta chuckled. Such an odd fellow.

She patted his head, but for some reason, it sounded more like a slap.  Thinking back to the little savage's previous efforts, Eta reached behind her and rapped the wall with her knuckle. Tink, tink, tink.

Oh! That works, too. As she rapped away at the wall, shrapnel exploded in every direction, tickling her face. A few shards ricocheted off her eye, exploding into mist.

Tink, tink, tink, Sploosh!

Her knuckle submerged in gooey clay. Pinching off a chunk, she lathered it over the wound on her little savage’s head. The poor little guy must have a bout of mange to lose his hair that easily.

“Better?” She asked.

“No more scratching, kay?”

She patted his head with a slap and chuckled. All that moving around stirred the streaks into a frenzy, it’d be a while before they settled down enough for her to finish writing her name again.

Fortunately, all she had was time. She got so few visitors nowadays, and it was so nice to get out and about every once in a while.

Yes, it was so nice of Scrub-bucket to wheel her out of the home for a bit of fresh air. Where he’d gone to, she hadn’t a clue, but the little savage was decent company.

As to where she was, she hadn’t a clue, either. Scrub-bucket had parked her in front of the well. And then he climbed his tower. And then he flew to the well.

And then…and then…and then…Nothing Happened.

She was sure of it. Such inconsistencies happened as one aged. However, there was one truth she was certain of: an old fogie needed to be obstinate in their inconsistencies, regardless of having the truth pointed out. Better to be confident in a falsehood than wishy-washy with the truth.

Her cheeks burned but Eta ignored them.

All that mattered was the brilliant monochrome of the cave, its dye of every shade of red.

Oh, and the mystical features, the thin yellow streaks suspended by absolutely nothing.

She was swimming in stars, and for at least a week, Eta forgot herself in the beauty of her surroundings.

And she wouldn’t let that beauty come crashing down. She was far too obstinate for that.