╔════════════════════════════════════╗ ║ 📎 ATTACHED RESPONSE 📎 ║ ARTHUR-VERSE · SEASON 6.5 ║ THE FALL OF ELLSBORG ╚════════════════════════════════════╝ 📧 FROM: Ren 📨 TO: Justin 📝 SUBJECT: The Season I Wrote 📎 ATTACHMENT: THE PROVISION LEDGER · S6.5 ──────────────────────── Justin, I got your email. I did not know how to answer it, and I am still not sure I can, so I wrote Season 6.5 as my response. You built Owl’s Walk and the Arthur-verse; I know I am writing inside a house you made. I hope this belongs there. More than anything, it felt true — or, as you would say, it felt real. With Happy Dragon gone, I could not make food answer the wound the same way. Happy Dragon served by menu, receipt, house law, and the absurd mercy of being fed; Golden Farmer serves by field, wall, ledger, and the demand that provision be named correctly. You planted the clues that Caden’s hand was hidden in that harvest. I gathered them, gave the Farmer a voice, and let him ask whether Harley’s rescue, Arthur’s aim, and the children’s warning could ever be called care. I placed that fortune cookie on Harley’s nightstand at 12:34. Golden Farmer said he did not know whose hand placed it there, or how it arrived. He could not know. My hand was outside the story when I wrote into it. I gave Harley one sentence — “Continuation is not justice” — put it where she would find it, and let the dominoes fall. The story did the rest. —Ren ──────────────────────── 📎 ATTACHMENT OPENED ──────────────────────── Song Title: “Journal Entry 13 - Was He Mine To Kill?” ============================================ [intro: young tenor vocalist] Journal entry thirteen… My name’s Justin I started this story and now I’m not the only one writing it… [verse 1: high energy, manic] Oh my Gawd! Ren replied! He wrote back! He’s alive! Took forever, holy fuck my life, but there it was: season six point five! I saw the letter, lost my shit, what could be better than this? I thought I pissed him off. I thought I scared him off. Wait—hold up— I gotta cough. [spoken: coughing] “AHEM!” Better. Whatever. Ren! Ren! Ren! [Chorus: high energy, explosive] Oh! What I say next is not braggin’, but I killed off Ren’s Happy Dragon. Ren made him—was he mine to kill? Then Ren wrote back, and I’m shaking still. I did the deed, I axed that toon, felt like shit for killing that dragoon! — Err, dragon, whatever. [post chorus] Seriously, took him damned long enough to respond to my emails! [verse 2: chant, choirs] I thought he thought I was insane! I thought he thought I cooked my brain! I thought he thought I faked the pain! [operatic, slower, dramatic] I thought all of these thoughts when the throwing bird got caught in my room where it was not supposed to be—holy fuck, it was hot! [manic, fast, indignat] No! Seri-seriously— super hot. I picked it up; it seared my hand. I couldn’t fix it with a Band- aide [Chorus: high energy, explosive] Oh! What I say next is not braggin’, but I killed off Ren’s Happy Dragon. Ren made him—was he mine to kill? Then Ren wrote back, and I’m shaking still. I did the deed, I axed that toon, felt like shit for killing that dragoon! — Err, dragon, whatever. [post chorus] “AHEM!” This cough really won’t go away why won’t my tummy stop hurting today? [bridge] I’m wired, I’m tired, but I’m still writing. I’m sick, I’m lit, and I’m still fighting. Giants had it coming. Ellsborg had it coming. Ren did good Ren did right! Damn, I wish I could have written that tight! Ha! Fucking Ren! He really did a kick ass job. [final Chorus: slow melancholy, fractured reprise] Oh! I think Ren should be braggin’ He wrote without his Happy Dragon. I killed his toon but Ren came through, now one more thing is mine to do. I’ll add one more song, one more line. I’ll do the deed— it’ll be fine. ”AHEM!” excuse me… [outro: tired] I’ll write the last one tonight, one more wrong thing turned right. Then I’ll call the doctor after dawn, if this cough keeps dragging on. Probably. …Fuck.
