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nuttersincorporated · 2 years

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The Narrator Parable

Story Premise: The Player is away and the Narrator is in a bad mood until he comes up with great idea! He’ll take human form and let Stanley tell a story for once. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter One: The Narrator decides to try something new

Word Count: 1,807

AN: This is a role swap au that’s also a form swap. It was inspired by the this comic by @celestetcetera about the same premise.

This is unbetaed. If you notice any spelling or grammar mistakes, please feel free to tell me.

I want you to know that the Narrator – when he takes human form – looks like Idris Elba in this fic.

Also, on AO3

Narrator Note: Hello reader! Reblog and/or reply to earn an achievement!

Chapter One

Stanley realised he’d made a mistake the moment he hit the 3 button and the Narrator actually growled in frustration.

“Oh, of course. A three, heaven forbid you make an actual choice on your own.”

Stanley glared at the Narrator who was currently in his favourite form as a shadow like figure[1] against the wall.

‘Unfair!’ Stanley signed. ‘I just wanted to play with the cars. I didn’t think what I pressed mattered. You know I like your game.’

“Oh, I know do I?” the Narrator said sarcastically. “Yes, of course I know. That’s why I keep the feedback buttons here and ask you to press them even when the Player isn’t around.”

Stanley walked over to the 5 button and pressed it.

‘There. Happy?’

“No,” the Narrator said flatly. “Obviously, my game – that I work so hard to make enjoyable for both you and the Player – isn’t worth any actual critical thinking or feedback from you. I’m the villain for wanting a little engagement.”

Stanley closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again, ‘I’m not getting to play with the cars today, am I?’

“No.”

Stanley sighed and sat down.

‘This is because the Player chose 1 last time they were here, isn’t it?’

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Narrator said a little too quickly.

So that was a yes, then.

Stanley really wished that the Narrator didn’t care so much about pleasing the Player. It was the one thing they disagreed about the most; the Narrator always looked forward to the Player’s return and Stanley dreaded it.

Stanley hated the Player. He hated what they did to him and the Narrator. Even if he’d long since given up hope of escaping the parable itself, he still hoped that one day the Player would stop coming back and he’d at least be free of their influence.

Perhaps Stanley and the Narrator’s difference in opinion wasn’t really that surprising. The Narrator wasn’t the one who had his body hijacked and forced into traumatic situations. Stanley also remembered all the endings. At least he assumed he remembered everything. Maybe they both forgot things and he didn’t know.

Without the Player, the Narrator didn’t follow a script and things only reset when the he wanted them to. The Narrator didn’t mind Stanley going off track. Stanley was free to wonder the office to his heart’s content and go places that were normally inaccessible to the Player.

When Stanley did choose to follow paths set out for the Player, things were much more fun without them and not just before he was the one making the choices. The Narrator allowed him to do things like play with all the assets in Games Ending, rather than just the balls… but apparently not today.

“I don’t think you appreciate how much work I put into making this enjoyable for you,” the Narrator said sullenly.

Through a force of will Stanley didn’t roll his eyes or point out that he wasn’t exactly having much fun at the moment.

‘I’m sorry, okay? Your game is very good. How about you reset things, I’ll turn off the mind control and we can go outside together until the Player comes back.’

“No,” Stanley watched the Narrator’s shadow stalk moodily around the walls of the room. “Since, you apparently don’t enjoy my game, there’s no point.”

Stupid Narrator and his stupid constant need for reassurance and praise, Stanley thought.

Why couldn’t he just let the Player’s 1 go? He knew how much Stanley appreciated the effort he put into making this prison[2] as enjoyable as possible.

This time Stanley did roll his eyes.

“Oh, real mature, Stanley,” the Narrator snarled. “Okay, you obviously don’t feel ambivalent about my story, you hate it and you hate me.”

‘You know that’s not true!’ Stanley signed frustratedly. ‘It was just a stupid button! I said I was sorry! What more do you want?’

The Narrator came to a holt and a slow smile spread across his face.

“What do I want? No, no, no! It’s what do you want Stanley?” the Narrator said slowly.

Oh, this can’t be good, Stanley thought.

“Since my attempts at entertainment are obviously such a failure, I’m going to give you the chance to show me how it’s done.”

The Narrator snapped his fingers.

Stanley was back in his office but everything felt wrong. He wasn’t standing at his desk. The Narrator – now in human form – was standing in Stanley’s normal spot instead.

Stanley looked down at himself and swore. The Narrator hadn’t just given himself a human looking body, he’d given Stanley a shadowy form.

“What do you think?” the Narrator asked, as he spun around arms out, showing off his new body.

Distracted for a moment, from the form the Narrator had put him into, Stanley’s eyes narrowed. It really wasn’t fair that the Narrator could always make himself look so attractive in human form. The body he was in this time, looked male and Stanley tried to push the words ‘silver fox’ from his mind.

The Narrator was black, had a nice smile, brown eyes and a beard that had started to go grey. The suit he was wearing was too posh for the office. However, due to the purple bowtie and yellow glasses which clashed horrible, he came across as dorky rather than overdressed.

‘You look… it suits you,’ Stanley coincided, then remembered he was supposed to be angry. ‘But change me back right now!’

“No, no, no, Stanley! This will be fun!” the Narrator smirked. “You hate my story so much, well here’s your chance to make something better. You’re a creative kid, I’m sure it’ll be something fun.”

Stanley shook his head and make a rude gesture.

“Oh, come on, Stanley!” the Narrator grinned. “It’s your turn! Narrate for me!”

Stanley gave him pointed look before patting his throat – the touch felt weirdly like cool water – and gestured to his mouth.

“Hmmm, fair point,” the Narrator conceded his smile dimming slightly.

The Narrator thought for a moment before his smile came back in full force. He clicked his fingers again and words appeared in front of Stanley.

“There we go! You just press the ones you want, I’ll read them out and follow your instructions.”

Stanley shook his head again.

‘Put me back!’ he demanded.

Stanley realised for the first time that his words weren’t exactly clear in this form. His hands were now nothing but shadows on a wall. However, the Narrator had never needed to read his hands to understand him before[3] so he supposed it didn’t really matter.

“Oh, come now Stanley. This will be fun!” the Narrator chided. “You wanted something different, well here we are. You wanted to decide what happens; I’ve given you control.”

‘This isn’t control! You’ve changed my form but I can’t change anything. You didn’t give me the option to actually change things when you made me like this. All the options are still things you’ve programmed. I can only choose from the options you’ve given me.’

“Well of course,” the Narrator said impatiently. “If I gave you too much control, you might damage the game and then what would the Player think? I’ve given you new choices though. You can pick from them how an ending will go.”

The Narrator stretched and walked out the door of Stanley’s office. With nothing else to do, Stanley followed him, moving across the walls and floor.

“Use the dialog options I’ve given you Stanley,” the Narrator said, “and we’ll make a new story together. If you do a good job, I might give you a keyboard to write your own script later, won’t that be nice?”

Stanley looked at the options. In the corner there was a small option to restart, which he ignored in favour of reading the others.

All of his co-workers were gone… Once upon a time… On a dark and stormy night… Call me Ishmael… Far Out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun… It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen…

“Hurry up, Stanley! Make a chose! That’s what you’re all about, isn’t it?”

‘This will end badly,’ Stanley signed before reaching out and pressing the first option. The options instantly disappeared to be replaced with new ones.

“Really, Stanley?” the Narrator sighed somewhat disappointedly. “I give you new choices and you just picked my normal lines anyway? Very well, if you insist,

‘All of his co-workers were gone…’”

Stanley looked at the new options,

Protagonist’s name:

Stanley… the Narrator… Mary Poppins…the Doctor… Arsène Lupin… Prince Charming… Jo March… Mr Darcy… Ford Prefect… Nancy Drew…

Stanley smiled despite himself as he chose,

“‘Mr Darcy…’” the Narrator said, then he stopped walking started to laugh. “Well at least you're picking something new now and what a perfect choice too, Stanley! I think I’d make a rather good Darcy; don’t you agree?”

‘Yes,’ Stanley grinned teasingly. ‘You’re both British and very argent, for a start.’

The Narrator shrugged, unoffended. “He’s adored by his sister.”

‘He’s unfriendly and aloof.’

“His staff think highly of him and he’s generous with his money.”

‘He’s terrible at proposing.’

“Only the first time.”

They both laughed. Despite his instincts, Stanley found that he was enjoying himself. The Narrator was also clearly in a much better mood. Maybe this hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

He looked at the new options and made his choice,

Mr Darcy decided to:

Go to the meeting room… Go to the library… Go for a swim in the lake outside… Check his emails… Call Jessica Fletcher… Call his wife… Check if the internet was down… Ignore the problem and hope it went away on its own…

“‘Mr Darcy decided to for a swim in the lake outside…’ Now you’re getting into the spirit of the thing Sta…”

The Narrator was cut off mid word as the world went black.

[1] For the most part, the Narrator looked like a normal shadow in this form but his mouth, glasses and a bowtie were visible to give some contrast. It was the form he favoured most often, though he could choose others. In his shadow form, Stanley could see him – unless he was hidden by real shadows – but the Player couldn’t.

[2] Not that the Narrator would ever admit it was a prison.

[3] Stanley wasn’t quite sure how it worked. The Narrator couldn’t read his mind. Stanley needed to say the words and the Narrator needed to be able to see him to understand. However, the Narrator didn’t need to watch Stanley’s hands themselves. It was as if he could hear the words Stanley signed if he was looking at him.