Late last week I had myself a little chat with our resident Rich Guy, Julius Orange, about the state our town was in. We agreed that Datsun wasn’t the right guy for the job – something about how he’d take a year to complete what should be done in a month on account of how slow he moves his lips. Leaves a man to wonder if he slowed down on account of his leg, or if he was always slow and crippled himself to let the world know.
Source knows stranger things have taken place. Bless the Source.
Commodore came down with an illness, and the Source was no help: the Maelstrom interfered with the Ceremony and spoke to me about the state the world was in. I knew this was a sign that the time to strike was nigh.
Slaves out of town on a water run, the first one the town has sanctioned since Bambi passed (or was blown away, but I s’pose I was trying to keep things clean). Julius and I had ourselves a tete-a-tete, and we came to some terms. He wanted to be the one who offed Datsun, told me about some broad that thought she had found my source. A problem, but one for another day. Bigger fish and all that.
Before we marched on the Palace I led a ceremony to heal the sick. Some sort of illness from digging up the mud maybe, nothing these eyes have seen before. The Source flowed through me and into my people; their fever gave way to fervor and they joined my flock. I gained a Following for the Source; we marched together on the Palace to overthrow Datsun. Our loss were minimal, but his were many. And in the end it was Julius who mowed him down and left him to rot in a pool of his own blood while the former slaves tore down the palace brick by bloody brick.
Change is afoot. The Source has spoken.