A Man of His Time
By NFalc
10
Proving Grounds
"I used to be your tutor, back when the city was still standing," Raymond continues. "You always were one of my better students. That explains why you're not completely illiterate and ill-spoken."
"I did do some reading, back when I was in the ruins," I reply. "When I found a book and the time, I'd do my best to struggle through it. Took my mind off other things."
Raymond talks on, seemingly unaware I've spoken. I get the feeling he's lost in his memories. "When I felt the tremors, I knew something was going to happen. Knowing your father, I was sure he'd be going to face her, and you'd need someone to rescue you. So I ran as quickly as I could to your apartment building...
"By then, I knew there wasn't much chance of us getting out alive, especially when I saw the state you were in. So I hid you, and then tried my best to run. Then her shoe came down the first time. The debris from the blast hit my kneecaps, shattering them and leaving me unable to walk.
"The second stomp was right on top of me, but through a stroke of luck, I wound up in the space between her heel and sole. The impact gave me a concussion and knocked me unconscious, but I survived. When I woke up, you were nowhere to be found. I figured you were dead, along with the rest of them. For a week I crawled around the ruins of the town, scrounging for food. Then, a search party found me, and carried me back to their town, where I was given a wheelchair..."
"I can't believe I didn't find you," I say, awestruck at the story I had heard.
"It's understandable, you were so young, and the psychological impact of the tragedy must have forced you to move. It wasn't so bad for me. Hell, they found me. I imagine you must have had a devil of a time surviving on your own."
I nod. "There's one thing I don't understand though. You said you knew my father would face the woman. Why?"
"Well, your father... He was the heroic type. I don't think I can really say more. It was just a hunch."
I wonder if he's hiding something, but decide I can't force him to tell me. Maybe he'll say it another day. "We should probably try and get some sleep." I say.
"Yeah. Tomorrow, we've got to get planting those bugs around the house."
I roll over on my side, and let sleep take me.
My father has just left. This time, I run up the stairs straight after him, without pause, charging through the door and out into the crowded streets. I look everywhere for him, but he's completely vanished. No one around me looks anything like him. He's gone, again.
"Why?" I shout upwards, to no one. "Why did you leave me?"
"Because he was the heroic type," says the woman's voice from above, booming as usual, but now I can understand it, and I hear its mocking tone. What's more, it sounds familiar... But I can't pinpoint it.
I run backwards, moving through the crowds, trying to get a view of the giant woman's face. If I can just find out who she is, I can get revenge. You murdered my father. You destroyed my town. You killed everyone I knew, you bitch.
"She didn't kill me." Raymond's hand on my shoulder. "Now you have to run. Stop playing these silly games. You know she'll kill you."
I struggle with him. "Just let me see her face! I have to know - I have to!"
"You can't," he says. "Just go, hide!"
He pulls me backwards, away from her, towards safety. But I don't want to be safe. This is only a dream. I won't die. But I have to know. I must know who she is!
Then, without the foot even coming down, there's a colossal crash...
I sit straight up in the darkness, and struggle to open my bleary eyes. However long I've been asleep, it definitely hasn't been enough. Then, suddenly, a bright light fills the room, blinding me. I rub my eyes, struggle to see.
There's another huge noise, this one sounding more like a massive weight hitting the ground. Gradually, I'm able to see again. Still in Cheryl's living room. But the woman in it isn't Cheryl.
She has long hair, a very light brown, dyed with blond streaks. A wide mouth with full lips painted with sparkly pink lipstick. A fairy-tale nose. Her beauty is almost unrealistic.
She sets her purse down on the sofa, slips out of white flip flops and sits down with a sigh of pleasure. "That," says Raymond, who has come to a sitting position behind me, "Must be Toni."
The giant girl quickly stands up again, then walks over to us, her bare feet padding against the floor but shaking the room. She lies down before us, huge limbs moving together to bring her into position. I can see right into her white tank top. "I love the feeling when you're able to take your shoes off and just relax. Don't you guys?" She giggles. "Oh, that's right, you don't have shoes."
"She must think she's so clever," whispers a man lying off to my right.
"You know," she says teasingly, "My feet feel kind of tired. Who wants to give me a good foot massage?"
Nobody moves. Weirdly, I feel an urge to put up my hand, but I control the suicidal instinct.
"Come on, lemme see some hands." Her mood is playful, but it seems to be turning. Still, no one is willing to sacrifice themselves. I can't really blame them.
She pouts, corners of those full lips turning, then stands up, towering above us, leaving us with a view of her two gorgeous feet. Her nail polish matches the lipstick. I don't know whether to feel turned on or sick.
One foot raises from its position, up above our heads, until it lingers directly above us. I can smell the sweat. "You know," she says quietly, still in the same cutesy tone of voice, "All of you are replaceable. My mom can go out at any time and get more of you. She doesn't care whether you live or die. I can just say that the lights were out, and I accidentally stumbled in the dark. Unfortunately, none of the little men survived..."
"Please no," gasps the man on my right, as quietly as possible. I pray that Toni hasn't heard him. If we give just an inch, she'll continue. She's enjoying this.
"Now, I've had a long day out with my friends, and if someone won't give me a foot massage, I suppose I'll just have to use all of you to massage it myself. Or maybe I should invite all my friends over, and have all of you entertain us?"
One man, to the far right side of the enclosure, stands up. "I'll do it," he yells. The men around him stare at him like he's crazy. I wish they'd at least thank him for what he's doing.
Toni lowers her foot back down to the ground in front of me, and I suddenly see a small blot of dried blood on the nail polish of her right middle toe. Now I know I've seen the nail polish before. The Plant. I feel like I want to retch.
Toni plucks the man off the ground with two pink fingernails, and hoists him into the air. His limbs thrash wildly, and I realize that she's holding him by his shirt, several hundred feet into the air, with no protection below him in case he falls. "Idiot," Raymond mutters. "Why the hell did he do it?"
"Maybe it was bravery," I whisper back.
Raymond sets his jaw and doesn't respond, staring straight ahead.
She sets the little man down on the coffee table, and places her feet in front of him. They're each the height of a house. The coffee table is positioned right before us, and all of us can see everything that happens. He stares up at those immense toes. I can only imagine what he's thinking.
"Well, get to it!" Toni calls to him.
He begins to work his hands over her sole, grasping at the sweaty flesh, occasionally pummeling it with his fists or chopping at a certain area with the side of his hand. As he works, she talks to him, saying things which I think are meant to be encouraging, such as, "Do a good job and I may even let you do the other foot."
In the end, the man does do both feet, despite the fact that he's obviously tired after just the first. Still, she lets him continue, peering over her own toes to watch his progress. Finally, she says to him, "Okay, that's good." He immediately steps back.
She leaves one foot propped against the table as she comes to a standing position, towering above him. Then she bends over, so she can look him in the eyes. "Good job, little man. Now, I have a question for you." She pauses, letting him wonder what she'll ask. "Do you like my feet?"
"Yes," the man answers quickly. "They're beautiful."
She smiles broadly, showing rows of straight white teeth each as long as a forearm. "Great," she says, her tone playful again. "I know the perfect way to reward you." Something in her tone of voice makes my heart sink in my chest.
The man stands frozen to the spot as she lifts her foot slightly, and brings it down upon him. He falls to the table as she continues to step down on him. There's the sound of crunching bone. I desperately want to look away, but I can't. I'm as frozen as he was in his last moments.
She twists her foot, grinding him into the coffee table. A voice calls down from the floor above. "Toni, sweetie, is that you?"
"Yeah mom, I'm just down here, playing with the little guys a bit!"
"Go to sleep, honey. You need your rest, and the little men need theirs too." At this moment, I'm ready to thank the stars for Cheryl's being awake.
Toni looks slightly miffed, but quickly grabs a tissue from the box on the table and wipes away the gory mess, from both the table and her foot. "I'll see the rest of you later," she says as she walks up the stairs, turning off the light as she leaves.
There's a moment of silence, and everyone's breathing is harsh. We all saw it. None of us can get over it, not even the most hardened, not right away.
After a minute or two, Raymond taps me on the shoulder. "We should place one or two of those microphones around this living room," he whispers in my ear. "She may move us later, and there's no better time to do it than now."
Placing the bugs takes us almost the rest of the night. We manage to put one on a lamp on the coffee table, and another on top of the table where we had fought Jude. The entire time we're there, I keep thinking of Jude's face as he was falling. A look of shock, bordering on betrayal. I'm constantly remembering that I'm the one who murdered him.
Even when we return to the enclosure, I can't sleep. We've spent less than a day here, and already I've seen too much. I don't want to be here another day. But I have no choice. Thoughts like these keep running through my head all night, arguing with each other, going in circles, keeping me awake.
By the time Cheryl comes downstairs the next morning, heavy footfalls waking the other men, I am seriously sleep deprived.
She's wearing a red silk gown which ends about mid-thigh. I catch a glimpse of the pink underwear beneath her top. She yawns as she walks over to us, bare feet hitting the carpet, coming to a stop right before us. I stare at them, knowing that even if I looked up, I wouldn't be able to see her face. She just woke up. Maybe she'll be in a peaceful mood.
"Okay, everyone up," she says in her commanding tone. "We're short a few in the bathroom. There will be rewards for those who volunteer. Stand up those who will take the position."
"We should stand up," I whisper to Raymond. "We'll be able to plant a few more in her bathroom."
"Okay," he says. We both get to our feet.
"Hmm," Cheryl's voice booms down from above. "You two on the bottom floor. Come forward."
I suddenly realize how risky this will be. We're putting ourselves completely at Cheryl's mercy. I step forward anyway. Brave, you have to be brave.
She bends downwards, her face zooming towards me until she's there, just a few feet away, and I get a true sense of just how truly big she is. I close my eyes as she stares at me, looking me over. I pray she doesn't recognize me, although I don't know how she would. She'd never actually seen me up close, not to my knowledge.
"Yes," she says, her breath washing over me. "You two will do. Climb onto my palm."
I obey, stepping into her palm and nestling myself between its lines. I'm slightly worried about falling out. Raymond follows just after me, and then we fly up into the air, jarring around as Cheryl carries us up the stairs and to her bathroom.
There's a whirl of doors and walls, and then we're in a room lined with marble tile, white and shimmery. Cheryl turns towards a large mirror cabinet, which she opens. I gasp when I see what's inside.
Men are lining the three cabinet shelves, amidst bars of soap the size of mattresses, tubes of toothpaste like school buses and lipsticks that tower over their heads. It's a strangely terrifying sight, all these men in such a tiny space, looking up at Cheryl, waiting for their orders.
"Feeding time," says Cheryl, keeping us level while reaching with her other hand into a robe pocket. She produces a small brown rectangle, tears it up into four pieces and places one on each shelf of the cabinet. It reminds me of the protein bars we ate while exercising, back in the Plant.
Cheryl places the last shred before us, the massive hunk of food far too large for just the two of us. "Eat up, boys," she says, with a slight smile. "This is your reward."
Despite how unappetizing the food looks, I realize I haven't eaten since I left the Underground's Headquarters. I tear off a large chunk, and begin to chew on it. It tastes grainy, with a good dose of fake sugar, but right now I just want something to fill my stomach.
Once Raymond and I are both chewing, Cheryl places us next to the bottom shelf, where her makeup is. I jump off, landing on my feet next to a huge bottle of nail polish. Raymond lands beside me, and brushes himself off. "Hope you remember what they taught us in manicure lessons, kid," he says, "Because it looks like we've been assigned to nail duty."
A small, hunched man walks over to us, scowling. His eyes are bright with hunger. "Give us that!" He says in a pinched voice. "Give us that, and we'll let yeh take trim instead of paint!"
Raymond takes the piece of food and draws it closer to him protectively.
"Fine then, suit yerself. It's paint for you, and no one'll let yeh get away wit' anything otherwise!" The hunched man scuttles off grouchily.
"Why'd you do that?" I ask. "You know painting's the harder job, and he looked like he needed the food."
"We'll need it soon enough as well," Raymond growls. "I get the feeling she doesn't feed her men much. It's just as well, if she was trying to fatten us up she'd probably be an eater. Anyways, the point is that you can't have too much food here."
At that moment I realize that Cheryl still hasn't left. I worry that she may have heard what we said, but know that it would be near impossible for her to hear us from that height. No, she's here for a different reason.
"Is everyone done with their food?" She asks, not unkindly. "Because I'm ready for my manicure."
The men on our level instantly spring up, each one grabbing a pair of scissors the size of pruning shears. It's left to Raymond and I to wrestle with the two huge bottles of scarlet polish. When I finally do get mine uncapped, I have to struggle to lift the brush out of the bottle top. I just manage to get it out without spilling any polish, although I notice Raymond spill a few drops on the floor, hastily rubbing it off with his shirt.
Cheryl places her fingers on the shelf, which to us is the floor. It's time to get working. I start on the right hand while Raymond does the left. All ten of the men living on this shelf are cutting, trimming, filing or painting. I carefully daub the polish onto the nail, getting in all the cracks and not putting any on the skin.
In just ten minutes, Cheryl's hands look close to perfect. I'm fairly happy with the job I've done, but I know how the giant ones can be, and she may deem it a failure. I cross my fingers and hope my work will be acceptable.
Cheryl holds her hands up to her face, palms toward us. She carefully looks over the nails. Then she says the words I've been dreading. "Who did the painting on the right hand?"
Might as well stand up and take it. If I'm going to die, I'll do it bravely. I feel curiously neutral about my possible death, bordering on not caring at all. "I did, m'am."
Cheryl peers down at me. "The new guy. You did well. Very well."
Raymond slaps me on the back cheerfully, while the hunched man from earlier shoots me a look of hatred.
Cheryl leans in closer to me. "You seem to be very... talented. A delicate touch, and an eye for detail. I like both of those things." Don't let the compliments get to you. "Plus, you're not too bad-looking, either. How about you come with me up to my room for a little chat?"
I take one quick glance away from her, to Raymond. He gives me a single, slow nod. It's a chance I can't pass up. I'll be able to plant a bug in her bedroom, and scope out the area further. I just hope I don't die in the process. I look back to her, and say, "Yes."
She holds out her palm, and again I climb on. The journey is easier this time, as the bathroom is right next to Cheryl's bedroom. Cheryl places me on the countertop, and I take a deep breath, and get my bearings.
Her room is elegant, the furniture expensive, and it does seem to match her style fairly closely. She probably designed it herself. She kneels next to the counter top before me, so I'm level with her chin.
"What's your name?" she asks.
"James," I answer steadily, trying to make my voice as flat and neutral as possible. "James Dunn." I'd feel guilty about lying, but if I told the truth, she might be able to check some kind of record, and discover who I am.
"I like your style, James," Cheryl says. "You don't seem scared of me, yet you're also respectful. A very winning combination." She smiles, showing those terrifying huge teeth.
"I think that's the proper attitude to have," I say, not knowing what she's getting at.
"I could use someone like you," Cheryl continues. "You seem to have your priorities straight. What if I gave you a special position among the men?"
"A special position?" I ask, dazed and proud despite myself.
"Yes, you'd be a foreman of sorts, leader of a small team of little ones. You'd attend to whatever I asked of you, things that are more personal and important to me."
"How many people should I bring on this team?"
"Two should do it, I think," Cheryl says. "You'd get better treatment than the rest, it goes without saying. You'd be my favorites."
"I accept," I say without hesitating. This is probably the best thing that's happened to me since I arrived here. "The two people I'd like to bring are in the bathroom and back at the enclosure. How can I get to them?"
"I'll bring you down to them myself, so you can tell them personally," Cheryl says, and I'm still surprised by how nice she's being. "That is, after you give me a quick kiss to seal the deal."
Before I know what's happening, I'm surrounded by cherry red. Her lips are warm and soft, and completely cover me. Her breath smells strongly of spearmint. The kiss is forceful, and I have no choice but to kiss back. It's violence and passion combined into a strange blend I've never felt before. I hate Cheryl, for what she did to the man the other day and for who she is, but I can't help but be in love with her as well.
She places her hand on the table once more, and for the third time today I climb upon it. I can't help but feel slightly guilty that I'm taking this position. It feels almost like aiding the enemy. I have no choice, however. If I want the mission to be a success, I'll have to do everything possible to make it so.
Giantess World
