Always Try the House Blend 2
by Flashpoint
The next morning, Joey wished he were dead. It would have made him feel better.
The first thing he noticed was a persistent ringing in his ears. It seemed to change as he rolled over, getting softer or louder, but never going away. It took about an hour before he realized it was the telephone.
Scrambling around on the night stand blindly (his eyes seemed to be glued shut), pushing the alarm clock onto the floor and knocking the four-space pipe rack aside, he finally found something that was the approximate size and shape of the telephone and made noise, and pushed the button. "Uh?" he answered. A fine Oxford accent he did not have right at the moment.
"Joey, where the hell have you been?" It was the guy at the front counter, who had the unlikely name of Hermes. The Messenger God. The most incredibly irrelevant shit came to his mind first thing in the morning. "Joey, you missed two clients! We've been trying to reach you all morning! Where the *hell* have you been?!"
"Uh? Whuh?" Joey's mind and body were not in synch right at the moment. His mind was waking up (slowly), but his body was dragging like a ten-ton weight. "I, uh, I'm.. but it's only, uh, it's…" he tried to open his eyes to look at the clock, but they really were glued shut with gunk, and felt gritty. "What, uh, what time is it?"
"It's almost 11am!"
"WHAT?" He was suddenly jolted fully awake, like a cup of hot coffee - thrown into his lap. "But I only went to bed…" he trailed off. He couldn't remember. Dammit, his eyes wouldn't open! He didn't remember drinking anything the night before… in fact, he didn't remember anything at all from the night before…
"Joey, you are in *big* trouble with Heather!" Heather was the liaison for the independent contractors, such as Joey. "She is in a *bad* mood this morning! She came in and - "
Joey, not wanting to hear about Heather's latest exercise in PMS, cut him off. "Herm, I was violently ill this morning," he lied, thinking quickly. One of his talents had always been being able to lie convincingly with no preparation. Certainly when trying to cover his ass at work. "I was throwing up for a couple of hours and had diarrhea, and I just didn't feel like calling in. I called the doctor and he's going to prescribe- "
"Nice try, Joey," Hermes said, cutting him off in turn. "You used that excuse a month ago, remember?" Joey reflected that he had to update his material. "Don't worry, I'll cover for you. But you owe me! And no silverware from the Russian Embassy this time!" He slammed the phone down.
Ah, shit, Joey thought, and threw the phone away from him, stumbling to his feet groggily. He heard it hit with a solid thunk. He really couldn't afford to chuck his job like that, but he felt like he'd been buried and dug up again three times. His body felt so heavy, like he weighed 300 pounds or something. And strangely, there was a thick taste of tobacco in his mouth, which while not unpleasant, made his teeth itch. And he couldn't see for a darn.
Stumbling toward the bathroom, he got stuck in the doorframe and slid through sideways, with deep thuds reverberating on the floor. He seemed to keep misjudging distance. His legs seemed unusually ungainly today, and he had to fight hard to not trip over his own thighs. Very odd.
He got to the bathroom and opened the door… and the knob came off in his hand. What the fuck? he thought. If those damn landlords don't get in here and replace some of this old hardware, I'm gonna…! The list of epithets and curses he had in his mind was long and inventive.
He moved toward the sink, and was surprised, in his blind state, to bounce off of it before he even approached it. Huh? He seemed to be unusually bloated this morning too.. he must need to cut down on his salt intake. Not that it had ever bothered him before… He twisted the cold knob, and promptly twisted the handle right off too. Oh, this is *not* my morning, he said, get handfuls of water and slapping them into his face, cursing, before managing to stop the water. When his hands contacted his face, he was actually repelled by his own slaps. Ow! That never hurt like that before… and then he finally managed to wash away the gorp keeping his eyes shut.
His yell could be heard in the street.
He was staring at a stranger in the mirror. A *big* stranger. The face was the same, or at least similar, but his entire body had grown larger, much, much larger, the musculature becoming thick and dense beyond belief. He had never, repeat, never seen as large a guy as he was looking at right now. His pecs were a huge round shelf that seemed to hang off of him like armor plating, and his nipples, which looked more the size of cow teats, were pointing straight down, the rings hanging. His biceps were basketballs, his shoulders cannonballs. And his forearms put Popeye to shame. Ah, well, no more fisting, he thought, nonplussed. No ass could open for that arm.. or the ham-like hands now at the end of them.
And no wonder he'd had a hard time walking to the bathroom… his thighs were each easily the size of a normal man's waist. He had to move each thigh around the other just to take a step. And his calves were more like cows. He looked like the Hulk! Except he didn't remember the Hulk having a belly.
Joey had seen enough bodybuilders with roid guts to recognize one when he saw one, but this was a dimension all its own. No wonder he recoiled from the sink when he came in. It was a roid gut's roid gut. It was perfectly hemispherical; it went directly from the space under his pecs in a perfect arc. (Although his pecs still somewhat overshadowed it.) And yet, amazingly, he still had ab separations. Impressive ones.
Suddenly something clicked into place. The pipe. The tobacco. But that was it, nothing else. His head was clear, and he was conscious, but nothing else occurred to him. Just to test, however, he pinched himself. After letting out a loud invective at the pain, he was satisfied he was awake.
The pipe. The moment it entered his mind, suddenly that was all he could think about.. his new musculature was pushed to the background. Along with everything else. He needed the pipe between his teeth, he needed a heavy blue cloud of smoke filling his lungs…
He didn't remember the walk back from the bathroom, but he obviously made it, because he was taking the pipe lighter from the rack, opening up the bottle and packing his pipe and inhaling. As the smoke filled him, he suddenly felt complete, and relaxed. It was the special blend again. He needed it so badly. Holding the lighter to the pipe, he inhaled massively, glancing downward as his impressive chest expanded to a new standard. His lungs were full of the sweet smoke of life. He was content.
Exhaling, he noticed two odd things (odd in the context of oddness, as this morning was becoming): one, less smoke seemed to come out when he exhaled then he expected, and two, he didn't own a pipe rack, looking at the one next to the bed…
It was a rather, um, interesting piece. It was a wooden rack, two spaces on each side of a round glass jar with a carved wooden cap. It was rather ornate. The holders for the pipes were cherubs. From the painting "Madonna in a Garland of Flowers," he thought dumbly. The jar glass was bas-relief roses, and rested in a raised depression of the rack molded to suggest flowing silk or fabric. The cap on the jar was also in the shape of a rose. The whole rack appeared to have been carved from a single piece of walnut.
How very gay, he thought, rather sickened by the sight.
What made him more sick was the realization that it was exactly the type of pipe rack he would buy.
Tamping the now empty pipe (he blinked at that; apparently his massive inhale had burned it all the way to the bottom immediately), he automatically raised his pipe lighter (which he also didn't own but was in his hand) and lit his pipe without packing it. Dumb, he thought, inhaling… and finding that it was already full again. Did he have a memory lapse? He didn't have them, but in light of what was going on… and then he noticed that the other pipes in the rack (which he *also* did not own) were also packed, ready to be smoked. His mouth literally watered at the sight of them, despite the pipe he was already smoking. He couldn't have changed that much since the night before. Impossible.
His memory of the entire previous day was hazy where it wasn't missing; he wasn't sure how he ended up with a pipe, let alone how he learned to smoke one, or about this "special blend." And what he did remember seemed to be exclusively erotic in nature, and seemed to involve fantasies about him changing his body.
Well, he had always had a vivid imagination.
Things like this, he thought, puffing on the pipe, did not ordinarily happen. He held the pipe, moving it around his mouth. It seemed to help him think, but didn't give him any answers. At least, not any direct ones.
With difficulty, as he still wasn't used to his new thighs, he walked out to the desk where it had all started (so he vaguely thought). Maybe it *was* pot, but it certainly didn't smell like it; besides which, he was smoking it now and was clear-headed… maybe it had been the - he stopped short, staring.
The desk was gone.
No, it wasn't, he realized, after a panic-stricken moment - all the money he had was in it - it had been moved to the opposite side of the room. But what filled the space where it had been was a variety of weights and workout equipment, all of it very worn and obviously used. Hanging over the squat rack was a thick leather weight belt, heavily stitched with the legend BIG JOEY.
Oh, this is *far* too surreal, he thought. Looking around, he realized that his entire apartment had been redecorated in Early Weightlifter. Much of his old furniture was gone (it was second-hand anyway), replaced with various weight equipment (which also looked second-hand) and his stuff had some surprising new additions. Such as the new library of bodybuilding and weightlifting books he'd acquired. (His Calvin & Hobbes and Foxtrot collections were still there, however.) Such as the four-foot-tall powerlifting trophy (FIRST PLACE HEAVYWEIGHT) on prominent display (it had its own pedestal and lights pointing at it). Such as about fifteen smaller bodybuilding trophies on display nearby, but not as prominently. He was a bit taken aback. He wasn't displeased, though.
He took a strong breath in, feeling the revitalizing smoke enter his lungs, filling him, completing him. He couldn't imagine not smoking a pipe now. In fact, he'd taken the presence of the pipe so much for granted that he had not even paid attention to the fact that it was still in his mouth the whole time.
There was a jock hanging from the weight tree, and it caught his eye for three reasons: one, he didn't usually leave jocks hanging from weight trees; two, it seemed to be rather rank, having been worn a few times; and three, it was large enough to hold a watermelon.
Okay, not really that big, but you get the idea.
Holding the thing up to the light, he couldn't believe anyone would have something like this made - and then suddenly he had the sneaking idea he should check his *own* equipment. He looked down - and remembered that his chest and his belly were now in the way. Have to get used to that, he thought…
Thundering back to the bathroom, he looked in the full-length in the mirror behind the door, and his jaw dropped. He didn't have a cock, he had a missile hanging from his front. It was incredible. The thing was not only as thick as his wrist - well, as thick as his wrist was yesterday - it hung, completely flaccid, down nearly halfway to his knee. And his balls were impressive as well. They hung down almost as far as the head of his cock, and approached the size of baseballs.
Most guys' first thoughts at seeing this would probably be erotic ones, but all he could think was: Um, okay…
He tamped down the pipe and then relit. Taking several puffs, he thought: okay, fine. How did I - He stared at the pipe nail and lighter. He hadn't been holding them. They were in the bedroom… He poked his head out of the bathroom and looked into the open door of the bedroom. He could see the pipe rack where it had been, but sure enough the lighter and nail were now no longer there.
Okay, time for empirical evidence. He left the bathroom and went as far as he could to the front of the apartment. Out loud, he said, "I really need to tamp and relight my pipe!"
Nothing happened.
So much for experimentation, he thought sarcastically. Clomping down on the pipe and raising a slight blue cloud of smoke around himself, he thought irritably, It worked *before*. I wish the nail and lighter would just appear somehow so that I could - his eyes bulged out as the pipe lighter and nail appeared in his hand. Well, that was… interesting, he said, feeling his heart race. It must have a delayed reaction or something… and then he thought about it. No, that's not right. I said, I *wish*… To satisfy himself, he repeated the experiment several times just to prove that he could do it.
All righty then. I can make the lighter and nail appear when I want them. And apparently my pipe always stays full of this "special blend"… and then he realized that the pipe was empty again, full of ashes, not repacked. I can't possibly be smoking this pipe so fast! That's what, three, four bowls of tobacco since getting up… two hours ago? It didn't seem unusual to him to smoke that much, though… if anything, he felt as though he were going through serious withdrawal. Nobody smokes a pipe that fast! Or at least I don't think they do… He remembered at the very least that he had very little experience smoking a pipe.
He moved to the desk, to get the package of the special blend… what package? He thought he remembered there should be one there, but it didn't seem to register how or why. It didn't matter, however. It wasn't there. No surprise, somehow… but going back into the bedroom, the jar was full of the special blend now. No surprise there either. And he was an experienced pipe smoker now.. he instinctively knew when to tamp, to relight, to pack, to light.
Speaking of which, he went back into the bedroom and reached for the jar to pack it. Just as he touched it, though, he pulled back. This is too much effort. With the pipe in his mouth, he thought, I wish my pipe would repack itself. And, of course, nothing happened. Well? He tried again, and again. Nothing. He tried glaring at the jar, as though to evoke some mystical force through facial gesture. Again, nada. With irritation, he repacked, tamped, and relit his pipe. It annoyed him to no end to have a limit on his new wishing ability. Especially when it came to his pipe.
He didn't even notice how uncharacteristic that thought was.
I'm wishing, I'm wishing, he thought, hearing it in the voice of Snow White. Must have been *some* wishes. Well, taking stock of his body and his apartment, he could guess what last night had been like, even if he couldn't really remember it. He scanned back as best he could, remembering things as they had been, not as they were… and had a thought.
He ran (not very fast; he was no longer built for speed) back into the bedroom, looking around for the phone. I threw it somewhere over here… He remembered it hitting solid, like it had - He stopped looking at the floor and slowly, ever so slowly, looked up at the wall, knowing full well what he would find.
The cordless phone was half-buried in the wall where he had thrown it. It had been thrown with so much force that it had penetrated the drywall to a depth of two inches.
I guess I don't know my own strength, he thought a bit sheepishly, trying to pry it out. I swear, if it's broken… but when he finally yanked it free, it gave him a dial tone. Unfortunately, that's all it could give reliably. The numbers seemed to have trouble registering, and the redial wouldn't do anything. Mute would make the phone die entirely.
With difficulty, he dialed work. "Hermes." He sounded aggrieved.
"Herm, it's Joey. Listen, I've got to ask you - "
"Joey, you have *got* to get in here! We had to juggle all the contractors to cover for you! There's a convention in here and everyone's going crazy! And where's the depilatory laser sight?"
"It's over Janie's station. Listen, I'm having a crisis right now. You have to answer a couple of questions no matter how weird they are, okay?"
(Sigh.) "Okay, okay…" (Off the phone he said, "No, the rec room is closed today.")
One battle done. "Okay, great. First off, how much do you think I weigh?"
"How much do I think you *weigh*? I dunno, maybe 180, 185. (Yes, we have full-coverage policies available.) Why? You feeling bloated today?"
"More than you know." He absently patted his roid gut. It made a very solid sound, like tapping wood. Spotting a picture on the wall, he asked, "Do you know what gym I go to?"
"I thought you said you let your gym membership lapse." ("The lost and found is on the third floor. Talk to Anita.")
"That's right, I did, about a year ago." The picture showed him as he was now, wearing a gym t-shirt ("Weight Room - A Real Bodybuilding Gym!") stretched across his vast muscled expanse, shaking hands with bodybuilding great Nasser el Sonbaty. On the picture was written in marker, 'To Joey, for the best workout I ever had. I'm still bow-legged. Love, Nasser. Call me.' and dated about three months ago. Looking over at the powerlifting trophy, he said, "And could you check the computer to see what appointments I had on," he looked carefully at the date, "May 14, 2000?"
("You'll need to speak to Leah. She's the financial advisor.") "Joey, all this bullshit had better be leading up to a big payoff…" He was not at all pleased; Joey could hear him typing away on the computer so hard it sounded like he was beating it. "Okay. Ugh.. you had that horrible Skeeter woman for two hours. I can't stand her for more than ten minutes and even then I need a Xanax. Then Granger, Dursley, Longbottom… hmm, didn't Longbottom cancel his policy? You had a pretty full day, looks like."
Exactly the way I remember it, Joey thought. "Thanks, Herm. Bye." He put the phone down. He caught a bit of Hermes' frustrated squawk before the phone went dead. (Dead in truth; after he turned it off it wouldn't come back on no matter what he did.) There was no way he could have handled all those clients and been at a powerlifting contest at the same time. A quick check of his photo albums showed him on dates *after* May 14, 2000, as he had been yesterday. So it wasn't real. Except that it was. The trophy was solid and had heft. The weights had mass. And certainly so did he. He must have wished for things to change, but they didn't *really* change. And he remembered the change. That didn't sound right, for some reason… This wasn't the way the transformation stories on the internet usually worked.
The internet… now there's something to check. After booting up the machine - discovering, as he did so, the new wallpaper on the desktop, a shot of him and Nasser right here in his apartment, throwing their weight around; shee-yit, no wonder Nasser wrote he was bow-legged - he went to look for powerlifting websites. He didn't have to look too hard; his browser was now full of almost nothing but bodybuilding, powerlifting, weight training, pipe, and transformation sites. Nice touch that last, he thought sourly.
A bit of searching turned up what he somehow expected to find - he *had* been the heavyweight winner of the powerlifting competition. The posted pic showed him as he was now (actually, not as big) hoisting the very trophy over his head. And by the same token, his job's website showed the pics of him at the last quarterly meeting, only a month ago, as he had been before waking up this morning.
They can't *both* be right.
If only he could remember the previous day, but it was like a dream in itself, and a particularly dim one at that. There was no way of knowing how this transformation came about.
Transformation… hmm… I wonder…
The word seemed to give him an itch, one he needed to scratch. He returned to the bathroom, thinking that it was the only spot in the house with a large enough mirror for what he had in mind. (Although he noticed that the number of mirrors in his apartment had somehow increased tenfold.) He had to know what else he could do. When he got there, he realized his pipe was nowhere in sight. He didn't remember putting it down. Funny, he thought he was still holding - and suddenly he saw it on the back of the toilet tank, in the single-holder pipe rack there. I did *not* put it there, he thought… or a pipe rack either…
He gave it a bit of a look, but had more pressing concerns. Well, at least more entertaining ones. Looking at the mirror, he was thinking that he was pretty much the way he wanted to be… but, well...? Taking the pipe out of his mouth, he said, "Let's grow a little taller." Nothing happened. "I mean, I wish I were a little taller." Still nothing happened. Now what? Putting the pipe back into his mouth with a small puff, he thought, What do I need to say other than, I wish I were a little bit taller?
Abruptly, he started grow upward, until his eyes were above the top level of the mirror and kept rising. "Stop!" he shouted, but he kept getting taller, until he was a good seven feet tall, when it stopped abruptly. "I said a *little* taller, dammit!" There was a slight pause, and then he began shrinking back down in height, until he was around 6'5". "Better," he said a bit gruffly… and then realized what had happened. It wouldn't work unless he was smoking the pipe… and with a slight narrowing of his eyes, he thought, and I'll wager much that it's this tobacco.
Let's see what I should try next… He inhaled strongly (but not too strongly; he didn't want to reload again so soon) and said to the mirror, "I wish my goatee would grow out to a full beard." It started growing slowly to full length, thickening out and lengthening down to his collarbone. Hmm.. isn't that interesting. He wasn't really fond of a full beard, though, once he saw it on him. Especially when he saw just how much grey was in it at that length. "I wish it would - " he began, when suddenly the pipe fell out of his mouth.
Damn! He grabbed at it as it slipped from between his teeth, bounced off of his fingertips, and promptly landed in the toilet. Great, he thought, fishing down in the bowl. It'll take forever to dry this thing out - and then he realized he'd forgotten about something. His beard was still growing. As he was leaning down, he saw that it was still growing longer, and was almost reaching down to the crook of his well-muscled arm and getting bushier by the second.
Oh, *shit*, he thought, and pulled the pipe out to dry it. He tamped out the remains of the tobacco and tried to dry the inside, thinking, I have no idea how to dry the inside of a wet pipe. However it was done, though, he had to figure out fast: the beard was now draped over his chest and starting to cover his gut.
After a very frenzied (and hairy) ten minutes, Joey managed to get the pipe dry with a bit of towel corner, went into the bedroom and refilled, tamped, and relit, and soon had a nice blue cloud around himself before saying, "I wish it would stop!"
It did - after it had reached the floor and was wide enough to hide even his body from sight. It was literally pounds of hair hanging off of his face. He wasn't happy. After wishing his goatee back into place (the hair retreated back until it was at it had been), he noticed, much to his annoyance, that he had those four packed and unlit pipes waiting for him… if he hadn't been in a panic, he could have just grabbed one.
He decided to conduct his further experiments outside the bathroom.
The mirrors in the weight area were good enough for that. (Actually, he noticed that they really were bigger than the bathroom mirror, no surprise.) He did notice, first thing, that he was also still 6'5". Apparently, the wishing had no statute of limitations on it. Once a wish was made, it stayed in effect until revoked. That was good to know. Interestingly, his musculature had also adapted to his larger size. He was proportionally larger, not just taller. He seemed to have gained a good 30% body mass. That was even better.
First things first, though. "I wish that this pipe would stay put, so that I don't have that happen again." Nothing seemed to have happened that he could see, but he had the feeling it wouldn't drop into the toilet again. That was something.
He tried various other changes; he made his eyes blue, then green, then red; he added a tattoo to his shoulder (GET BIG); he added a tan; he removed several skin blemishes; and he managed to do the splits. (He'd never been able to do that in his life, let alone at his current bulk.) He added body hair thickly, then removed it all entirely, then experimented with having it in patches. He wished his scalp hair would stop growing entirely so he didn't have to keep shaving it. He made his thick neck more flexible so that he could look from side to side. And there were others.
There were some changes he couldn't do, however. He tried to add a sixth toe to each foot and a second arm to each side. He tried to increase the width of his PA ring (it was now uncomfortably tight). He tried to see if he could add horns to his head (he was running out of ideas by this point). He tried to levitate. He tried to guess winning lottery numbers. He tried to become a centaur (the horse kind, not just a guy with a big dick). And there were other abortive attempts there too, but none of them worked. (Although he did come up with some numbers he wanted to try later.)
He managed to keep himself entertained for several hours, but eventually tired of it. Soon, he had stabilized at his new 6'5" frame, which he discovered now weighed 339 muscular pounds. (He had a very nice new scale in the bathroom too.) He was now permanently bald, his goatee had been trimmed (and had the white removed…), and his body hair was relegated to his pubes and a light patch in the middle of his pecs. This would disappoint his bear fans, he was sure, but he thought maybe he could make it up to them.
The sun was starting to set, he realized with slight surprise. He'd been at this for hours. He pulled the pipe out of his mouth, holding it, thinking, he didn't feel hungry, though he realized at his muscle mass he should be eating twelve heavy meals a day. Maybe the tobacco is making it so that I don't… he suddenly saw his hand was shaking slightly. So slightly he hadn't noticed it at first.
Then it increased violently. He was overcome with shaking. He crashed to the floor, unable to stay on his feet. Oh, Creator, I'm having a seizure, he thought with horror. Except that in a seizure you're not supposed to be able to think, are you? It got worse, not better, as the moments passed. He had to call someone - except that the phone didn't work. He couldn't get to his feet, and his throat seized up, preventing him from shouting for help. Please don't let me die here alone, he thought. Please.
Then his fingers clenched convulsively on his pipe. The pipe! He would just wish that it would - The moment the pipe entered his mouth, the shaking stopped entirely. He lay on his back, his gut heaving up and down, staring at the ceiling. Oh, shit, he thought in shock. After a few moments, he was convinced the shaking wasn't coming back, and rolled to his side to stand up. (With his bulk, he couldn't just stand up normally any more either.) As he raised one leg, he pulled the pipe out so that it wouldn't get damaged - and the shaking started again. Before it could get any worse, however, he jammed it back in his mouth and it promptly stopped. What *THE* hell…!
And then he remembered his wish. He wished that the pipe would stay put. What better way than having him go through withdrawal when he took it out of his mouth? "I wish that - " he began, and then stopped. He wasn't sure how to phrase the wish. He couldn't just wish to retract the last wish, as that was several hours ago and he'd done several wishes since then. "I wish that the pipe didn't have to stay in my mouth." There, that should do it. And sure enough, he could take it out and he had no shakes. However, when he put it down on the desk, they started over again. Snatching it up again, he thought, great, a literal genie. Or whatever it was. What am I, permanently attached to the thing now?
{Yes.}
He whipped around, looking for the origin of the voice. "Hello? Is there someone there?"
{No.}
This wasn't funny. "Then what am I hearing?"
{I am the source.}
"The source of what?"
{I am the source.}
"Well, that's helpful. Where are you?"
{I am within you now.}
"Uh.. am I being fucked right now?"
{No.} There was a definite amused tone. {Though that can be arranged.}
He felt a dull pressure start at his back door, moving in slowly but relentlessly. It definitely felt big. When he looked to see who was behind him, though, there was no one. The feeling didn't stop. "That's okay! Not right now!" The feeling disappeared. Maybe later, though, he thought.. it had started to feel pretty good there…
{Very well. Maybe later.}
Joey jumped at that. "You can hear my thoughts?" Then, belatedly, he thought, You can hear my thoughts?
{I am within you. Your thoughts are my thoughts as well.}
"Then…" Oh, this was ridiculous. He thought, then, how am I hearing you as a separate voice?
There was a pause. {You know, that's an interesting question. I've never thought about that before. We are one, but we are separate. None of my previous Hosts has ever bothered to wonder about that, so neither did I.}
Uh, oh. That didn't sound good. Joey said, "Hosts?"
{I am not an individual. I can only exist within another.}
A parasite, Joey thought.
There was silence for a long moment. {Thanks a lot.} Definitely insulted.
"I didn't mean it that way!" Joey said placatingly. "But you have to admit, in the long run, you *do* fit the strict dictionary definition, right?"
Another long pause, and then {Oh, all right, yes, I guess I am one. But let's call it a "symbiont" from now on, okay? I see that in your memories of Star Trek.}
"That works for - " Joey stopped, startled. Memories?
{Yes, I have access to your memories, your body, and your present consciousness, among other things.}
Joey thought about asking what other things, but said instead, "Why don't I remember how all this happened?"
{Jared did not want you to remember your change or your life before you woke up this morning.}
Joey frowned. Jared? The name wasn't familiar.
{His wish was to change you and control you. Your wish, however, was equal and opposite. There was a conflict.}
Change and control? Joey wasn't sure he understood, but at the same time… "Is that why I'm halfway between what I am and what I was?"
{Yes. That is why you have your old set of memories but your new body, why there are two sets of pictures of you, why you are able to change yourself and others, and why others remember you depending on how they encountered you.} Joey thought about Hermes and Nasser and how they each undoubtedly remembered a different Joey. {Ordinarily this is not the case.}
"Uh.. ordinarily?"
{Jared has changed many men to his pleasing, and changed many lives, sometimes positively but mostly to his whim, which is capricious and sometimes cruel.} This Jared, whoever he was, sounded like a real winner. {Also, he is not the first owner of my vessel. I have been passed among many others along the centuries.}
Wow. "So you're like some sort of genie?"
There was a sort of sigh. {I am the source. How many times do I have to repeat that?}
"Oh, come on, that answer doesn't tell me anything. I know you're 'the source.' But what exactly is a 'source' anyway? I hate internet stories that never explain that!"
There was a pause. {The internet. Interesting invention that… much like the Connection of ancient Egypt, before the climate change and the loss of technology.} Joey was caught off-guard by that - he was an amateur Egyptologist - but the source continued. {You're right, of course; but there is no easy answer to that either. I am simply what I am. I have only the shared memories of my Hosts, not of where I came from or my nature. As far as I know, I've always been in that jar waiting for my next Host.}
"Jar?" This was rapidly becoming unhelpful. For every question answered, Joey had four more come up.
There was a long, long pause this time. {You know, this is rapidly becoming unhelpful. For every question answered, you have four more come up.} Joey did a double-take. {Sorry. Inside joke.} There was a pause. {Get it? Inside joke?}
Joey pictured in his mind a jar getting buried.
{All right, all right! Spirits of Crystal, you have *no* sense of humor!}
"Not right at the moment, no. What I want are answers, and you keep throwing out irrelevant things with no explanation!" He was intrigued by the Egypt reference, though, and made a mental note to ask about it later. "Can you tell me what happened yesterday?"
{Yes.}
There was a pause. "Well?"
{Oh, you want me to? That's different.} Joey felt he had a headache coming on. {But wouldn't you rather remember yesterday instead? It would save time and effort.}
Joey raised his eyebrows up to his… well, scalp. "You can restore my memories?"
{Yes, but you have to be specific about what memories you want. I can restore your memories of yesterday of your original life, or of your new life, or of both. They aren't the same.} Another pause, and then, {I recommend remembering it as it was before, first.}
"That is what I had in mind, yes." But privately he wanted both sets of memories. "Wait a second. Will I forget about the difference?"
{Not if you don't want to. But remember to be specific about what you say. The granting gives you what you ask for, not necessarily what you want or need.}
Cute. Monkey's Paw in a Jar. But he'd already gotten a sense of that. "Okay, let's do it." He then opened his mouth to say the words, and a thought occurred to him. "Hey, wait a second. If you've been here all along, why didn't you say something earlier instead of letting me stumble around?"
{Well, you didn't ask any questions, so I figured you were doing pretty well on your own.}
Joey's thought in reply is quite unprintable. "Next time, try volunteering help before I run around like a headless chicken, okay?"
{Oh, all right…}
He exhaled. "Okay, let's do this thing. Restore my memories of yesterday, as my life was before, while retaining my ability to change and my awareness of you and the change and the difference. Is that specific enough?"
{Yeah, that'll work. Now say the magic words.}
Joey blinked. "Uh… the magic words."
{Ha ha. Come on, genius, it's not that hard. You may look like a brainless musclehead but you're not one.}
Joey thought for a second, and then it came to him. "Ah! I wish you would restore my memories of yesterday, as my life was before, while retaining my ability to change and my awareness of you and the change and the difference."
{Bright boy.}
Then the world exploded in pain.