Sigmund

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Sigmund. He's a rough 'em, tough 'em, big-fisted non-altruistic altercationist, a bruiser of a brawler who never catches a break but always breaks for a catch. With his broken-chiseled features, fiery head-garnish and a temper to match that's just as short, it's no wonder he leads such a hard-riding, hard-drinking, hard-luck, womanizing lifestyle, the flamboyance of which is really just an attempt to make up for the fact that he's not all that smart.

"Smarter than you."

...You must be joking. I have a Liberal Arts degree from SJC!

"Exactly my point."

Listen you little punk, I have thought thoughts and dreamed dreams you could not even begin to contemplate! I've wrestled with the great thinkers of the West while you wrestled with the bouncers! I am a philosopher and a scholar and a VERY USEFUL MEMBER OF SOCIETY and if I am currently wandering aimlessly it is because I CHOOSE to!

"Sure it is. Hey, here's a thought for you: stop trying to justify your time-wasting and get on with the story! I'm just floating in limbo, here."

Keep flapping that trap and I'll teach you things about perdition you couldn't imagine. Oaf.

"Hermit."

Sigmund, or Sig as I disaffectionately like to demean him, is also a mutant, and an especially freaky one if I do say so my--

"Save the commentary, if you please. You're a terrible storyteller!"

Stuff it. As I was saying. Sig is a mutant, but he didn't get any of those neat-o superpowers of the traditional sort. Oh no. Sigmund was 'blessed' - and I do indeed make those annoying quotation marks with my fingers, for sarcastic emphasis - with a power hitherto unseen, and, if the world is lucky, never to be seen again. As may already have become apparent--

"Who talks like that?"

Now who's blocking progression? Sig can talk to his Narrator. And his Narrator, unfortunately for Him, can and must talk back.

"And you DO talk back. Eheh."

Oh, very clever. Anyway, when As You Like It's Jacques gave his famous speech concerning the consonance of the world and a stage, men and women being merely players, seven acts therein to be performed--

"Now you're just being annoying."

Will you please shut up. Please. You will note that I named you Sigmund, not Thor.

"Oh, very good. An obscure movie reference that no one will get and everyone will be confused by. That's definitely the road to best-seller status."

Shakespeare didn't know the half of it. The truth is that not only is all the world a stage, but there's an audience, and yes, someone to provide context and descriptive narration of the most fascinating kind. We are the Narrati. Actually everyone's life is an individual play, which is why there must be more than one of us. Most have the blessing of an infinite gulf between them and their subjects, across which one can only observe, not influence. This can also be a curse if, God help you, you should actually care about your protagonist. As for me, I've always been dealt a bad hand and consequently--

"Do you need some more grapes for that whine? No, seriously, keep the presses running because I am just not choked up enough yet."

Oho, so you wanna be choked up, huh? I'll get you choked up, alright. The you versus three big guys in an alley kind of choked up. How ya like them grapes?

"Aww, did I make you angry? Where's your precious prose now? What happened to your beloved alliteration, your impeccable syntax, your river of poetic prolixity? What's that? I'm doing it better than you? Shocking!"

It's a trying relationship.