Water and Poetry

I walk back out to the edge of The Farmer's Market, and set up with my cooler of waters and books of poetry. "$2 water, $1 haiku, commissioned sonnets." everything is perfectly arranged and we are now open for business. "I say 'we' because it is actually both you and I." Pete whispers along our private channel. "They rolled the dice with finding the realm that you're in, so I'm 'playing your character'~ to my extreme chagrin~ in about 999 other realms. To the letter I play you, down to the least stroke of the pen. They can't tell the difference; they've already counted out your actual realm based on some subtle bird glitch trick which I threw in there to make your realm look subtly simulated to the dead. Then again, I am Satan, so that claim could be complete fabrication as well, and no one would know the difference. The bottom line is, I've grown to know you more than anyone should ever know anyone else, and only because we are at war, and only for reasons that I know with certainty that you'd support, and I'll be able to discard at the end of these final battles. 

Still, in that war has grown a sunflower. It grows out of the rocks, well out of place, in obvious defiance of parablistic norms, likely intentionally so. On these days of war, as you, I sit on the ground under a spreading tree, under extreme scrutiny, and sell waters and poems of your styling to any who are interested. One by one my contender realms repeat this process~ this is honestly not taxing if you know how to do it and have grown accustomed to the repetition~ and you and my non-contender realms all enjoy a nearly identical day but with different poems. 

This is how World War III will be won: with an exhaustion of resources, all spent trying to determine your exact location, in order to annihilate a single realm, well past the threshold of that being possible. In the end, it will be a cosmic whimper- a screaming, insane, whimper- heard from all conspiracists as they are hauled off to Judgement Day, their plans not only thwarted, but crushed, by someone who never fully knew that he was at war, a detail jealously enforced by their plausibly deniable design. It is an excellent way to become King, as in times of old, when 'King' just meant 'we're all with you, and doing this now.' Anyway, I know it's still a couple/few days out for you, but I'm getting started now, so I thought I'd say hello. Until we meet in the flesh, my friend." 

With that, Pete begins to go about our day by greeting his first water customer, seemingly happy as a clam.