Tevun-Krus #95 - Best of 2021

Smith&Jones - An AnniversaryPunk Story by Carolina C.

By CarolinaC

At the end of a red-carpetted, popcorn-scented corridor stood a set of double doors. They were made of glass, but the glass was dark, smoky, and barely translucent. The handles, richly outlined in gold, invited a hand to take and pull them open.

In front of the door stood three people: a dark-haired man in a tailcoat and sporting a monocle; a similarly-dressed fair-haired man, sans monocle, but plus muttonchop whiskers; and a tall, red-haired woman in knee-high boots and a black sheath dress.

Jones, his fair hair gleaming in the electric light, turned to Smith and Kris, looking for guidance. Smith shrugged, nearly dropping his monocle. Kris sighed. She tossed her red hair.

"We're going in, boys," she said.

Jones took the left handle; Smith took the right. Kris stood just behind them as they swung the door open.

Kris began to laugh — there was nothing dangerous behind the door, and it was not a portal to another pocket of the multiverse. Instead, the door opened onto a theatre lobby. There, in front of them, was a long counter, lined with bags of popcorn, more of which was popping under the supervision of of a teenage boy in a paper hat. There was a brass cash register that looked like it would be at home in Smith and Jones' steampunk world. The cash register was manned by a teenage girl in a paper hat. 

She looked at them curiously. "Popcorn's free," she said.

Kris grinned. She grabbed the largest bag available. "This stuff better not get my new dress greasy," she muttered.

Jones and Smith exchanged glances — then each took a bag of popcorn for himself. 

"Thank you, young lady," Smith said, bowing politely.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You should get into the theatre. They've already started the show."

The girl gestured towards an open doorway to the right of the snack counter. The three friends proceeded into the darkened room.

 ~*~

It was clear immediately to Smith and Jones that they were in a theatre. Red velvet seats in neat rows extended in the darkness towards a screen flanked by curtains. 

"A motion-picture house!" Jones exclaimed, happily.

Kris made a face and sniffed. "Those aren't movies," she said. The screen was not displaying silver flickers as Jones might have expected. Instead, orange squares grew out of the screen in three dimensions, displaying a smattering of words and images. A disembodied voice boomed: 

"Later, we'll be exploring the exciting, history-inspired of SamuraiPunk, AncientPunk, and MusePunk — but next, let's visit the wintry world of SnowPunk! Brilliant works in this hyperborean genre have appeared on Wattpad at least since the 87th Issue of Tevun Krus —"

Jones watched the screen in fascination, chewing his popcorn, but Smith's attention was elsewhere — on the audience that filled the red-velvet seats. They did not appear to be physically present; instead, like the three-dimensional images on the screen, they were images surrounded by rings of orange light. Inside each ring was a unique image — a cat; a quotation; a golden dragon. Smith gradually realised that some of these images looked familiar. He thought. He considered. He elbowed Jones. 

"What?" Jones asked, finally looking away from the fascination of the screen.

"Look."

Jones looked. Then he gasped. "By Jove! Could these be, at long last —"