Interactive: Dale’s Story (Part 2)

Thanks all who voted! Here’s the second chunk of the interactive. For those curious about the vote breakdown, here are the results:

1. Dale becomes dominant – 30 votes
2. Dale becomes submissive – 12 votes
3. Dale gets muscle – 15 votes
4. Dale becomes a slob – 15 votes
5. Dale becomes older – 20 votes

So the 1′s have it with second place going to 5! There are still plenty of changes to come, so don’t be too disappointed if your first choice lost.

The patio was rather small, placed on the back of the bar, facing out onto pasture, like most of the small town where Dale lived. He’d finished high school a few years ago, hoping to go to college, but even though he’d gotten accepted, he hadn’t gone. The money, the distance, all of his other insecurities–he was still here, working a retail job at the Walmart in town that had drained the rest of the economy dry as a bone. Living with his older brother and his dad, sick of them both, sick of everything about his whole life. God, he’d get rid of the entire thing if he could.

“You should be careful what you think you want, you know,” the stranger said. Dale had been staring out into the dark pasture, but he’d replied like he could hear what Dale was thinking.

“This…this is stupid,” Dale muttered to himself, and set the pitcher down on the table, “I’m gonna go–have the beer yourself.”

“Sit down Dale, and pour yourself a drink while I get my pipe going,” he said…and Dale did what he said. A couple of glasses had just appeared on the table, from nothing–he poured one full of beer and then took a sip, grimacing, and set it down.

“How in the hell did you do that?”

The stranger didn’t answer right away–he was focused on tamping his pipe and lighting it up, smoke billowing from his mouth and out into the night air. “Do you want to know out of curiosity,” he said, then looked Dale in the eye, “Or because you want to know how to do it yourself?”

“Because I want to know how,” Dale answered without a second thought, then slapped a hand over his mouth in surprise. He hadn’t meant to say that! Or at least not say it so bluntly.

The man laughed. “Most people find it pretty hard to lie to me, Dale, don’t let it worry you.”

“This is crazy.”

“More like magic, really.” Dale just stared at him. The patio was empty, and he could barely hear the crowd inside the bar. The man let off another plume of smoke, and smiled. “I like you Dale. I like you, but you’re…well, you don’t quite belong here, I don’t think. That’s why this is so hard for you. You don’t belong here, but you also can’t escape, stuck here like you’re invisible. I don’t like people who don’t fit, Dale–so here’s the deal. You can have that power you want…but in exchange, well, let’s just say you’ll be finding yourself a bit more at home here, in my town.”

Dale just stared at him, “I don’t understand…”

“Yes, but you want it, don’t you? Nobody telling you what to do anymore–a master of your own destiny. I can help you Dale–just say yes.”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the stranger’s. He hadn’t noticed how…black they were, before. He was trying to say no–he was trying very hard…but he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t lie, and his voice squeaked out a small, impossibly quiet “yes” that still rang loud in his ears.

“Excellent–to celebrate, why don’t we get started?” the man took a deep breath from his pipe, and then blew it into Dale’s face. He coughed, his eyes and lungs burning, trying to wave the smoke away, but it seemed to cling to him. It did eventually dissipate, but not into the air–he absorbed it into him–he looked down at himself, and found much of his view was obstructed by a large, grey beard reaching his chest, his hands lined with wrinkles.

“What the–” he said, his voice deeper, raspy, with a now inescapable drawl he’d spent his life trying to minimize, “How the hell’d ya do that? What the hell’d ya even do tah me?”

“Need a better look?” the man pulled a mirror into being in front of Dale, and he stared at himself–he looked to be about fifty, balding heavily, eyes slightly sunken, brow wrinkled. His fat had lost some of its firmness, and settled about him more comfortably. “I just made you a bit more mature. Settled in. After all, we can’t give you a proper history here if we don’t have time to fill, right, old timer?”

Dale couldn’t quite remember how to breathe–he was interrupted by the door to the patio opening, the mirror disappearing, and both he and the stranger looked over at who’d just joined them outside.

Choice time! Here are some options for who might have just shown up on the patio. None of them are Bishop, but don’t worry! We’ll see what happens to him later. The following choices are a bit vague, but you all have read my stuff enough to guess what might happen in each of these cases:

1. George, the bartender, checking to see if Dale’s alright.

2. A group of bikers, who have become rough and violent.

3. A slobby pig farmer, very drunk and reeking of manure.

4. A couple of younger greasy mechanics, coming out for a smoke.

Also, to clarify voting “rules” I should have made a bit more explicit last time, the way I tally these up, is everyone gets two votes that can either be split between two choices (i.e. “I pick 3 & 4″) or both can be given to one choice (i.e. “I pick 2″). So you can give a nudge to two choices you like, or a bigger nudge to one choice in particular! It’s confusing and kind of arbitrary! So, now, the big question, who should come out onto the patio and interrupt their little chat?