There's a comfort in the idea of death. Let me be clear, I am talking about death. Not the conceptual term of "forever" (which, frankly, terrifies me), or the metaphorical change represented by death. I mean six feet under the ground, maggots and worms squirming around your bones, death.
Before I continue, know that in order to fully explore this subject, to explain my reasons for the reasons I see it this way, you have to learn a little about me. Please, bear with me, I promise it won't be too long or ucky and boring, but I warn you that there is background information of ME as a person. You've been fore-warned.
*Ahem*. Back to the matter at hand.
The idea that we have limited time on this planet in our current form (as "YOLO" is only reasonable unless reincarnation turns out to be real. I have no what happens after death, and prefer to be prepared for that possibility) is bracing. It's like a slap of cold, crisp air to the face after being too warm for too long, huddled up indoors in cramped, claustrophobic conditions.
I won't lie. I have my life planned out. I already understand my personal life's dream, and I know what steps must be taken to achieve it. I know what house I want to own someday, the place I want to live the rest of my life, and on and on. In fairness, I have no plans as far as relationships go - let's just say I only recently had my first boyfriend ever and he didn't even last a month because he decided to sleep with a girl at a party, "sleep" in the most salacious terms just to eliminate confusion. So. I don't truly know if I'll find my "other half", or the person who helps me to be the best version of myself. What I do know is that when you want something, no matter how outrageous, you have a duty to your own self to make it happen.
Yes, there are limitations. There always are. My family isn't well to do, and I'm barely staying out of college debt, only achievable because 3/4 of my tuition is paid in scholarship money. There aren't extra funds to use on the fun splurges in life, and I had many medical issues through middle and high school. The maintenance alone on keeping me functioning and alive is rather expensive. But I know my life's dream, and I know other things I'd like to do. For example, I'd like to write a book. In fact, I have approximately 30,000 words on a single word document waiting to be edited. It didn't happen magically, I had to force myself to do it. I knew what I wanted to write and that I would love it, but I wasn't getting around to it between doctor's appointments, surgery, and trying to do schoolwork to graduate on time. I had to buckle down, and make it happen for myself, and it was hard and long, but I did it. All that's left (cue the many evil cackles from other writers) is editing.
At some point, I'd like to study overseas. Poke around Europe, take a stay in the U.K. for a bit. Not forever, but long enough to live and breathe and experience. I know it'll help me grow as a person, even though I will ultimately return to my forever home. However, I can't afford to leave and study elsewhere. At the same time, deep inside of me, there's this burning conviction to make it happen. The knowledge that, "I don't know how or when, but I WILL make this happen."
I've always believed everything was connected already in a giant spiderweb of invisible ties. That everything, all of life, was tethered together by strings we could not see. That some of those strings were stronger than others (the classic example being family members versus friends versus acquaintances). I wouldn't call this a spiritual experience for me. Ever since I was a child this was, to me, a simple fact. There was no point in arguing the validity because it just was.
I admit, while I found the concept of the Universal Mind Lattice interesting, I have serious reservations. This realization only hit them after ingesting LSD? Now, I know that as a child many people didn't understand my spiderweb idea, but I thought at least maybe more creative types would. Or maybe this isn't an idea people have really considered before. After all, I was a very quiet child, watching and learning and observing. If I had interests in subjects or topics, I went out of my way to learn more about them. I have a connection to animals that none in my family share, as if there is an unspoken understanding between me and other life forms. Last spring, a baby squirrel tried to crawl up my leg (out of nowhere, I might add, since I was off to the side watching it and its mother as they were so cute), and I even got pictures. Later, it let me go and they ran off, but for a few minutes, I stood still and silent as a baby squirrel held my leg and stared up at me. It had sharp claws but didn't puncture my skin, leaving only surface scratches, no blood or pain. That wasn't a spiritual experience for me. It was, as it had always been, proof of the spiderwebs that hold life together.
Living organisms need each other, as plainly as that.
Predators need prey just as badly as prey need predators. That's how healthy ecosystems are maintained. It is a stark, dark fact and most people don't enjoy watching lions eat antelope - I don't like it either! But I can compromise logic with emotion, and I know that this is how it has to be. It isn't like lions torture the antelope - though of predators, house cats might be an exception - but in the wild reality, it's a quick motion, action, then poof! One thread falls away from the spiderweb, another thread is born somewhere else.
Personally, art is art, and I don't think a true calling can be named. This is my opinion, of course, but it seems art is subjective. I love to sketch, I'm reasonably skilled at it, but I can't paint worth a damn. It's not because I'm not good at art, or didn't have good inspiration going in, it's just not one of my skills. Certainly I could improve it, but I will never be at a level as my friend (who is flawlessly gifted at painting without thought or trying), who not only consciously works to improve herself but is naturally talented at it. I might get an idea for an evocative painting, but I couldn't do it myself. I could offer a rough sketch for someone else to paint, but wouldn't author it myself.
Everyone can do art. That sounds silly and weird, and maybe some will see it as demeaning, but stay with me for a moment. If the spiderweb (the universal mind lattice) holds true, there is beauty in a predator stalking their prey - while the predator may use it as a survival skill, an outside observer can see the amazing art that it is. After all, when is the last time you saw a cow stalking grass? And if you did, it would look so absurd and ungainly, wouldn't it? There's writing, paining, drawing, singing, playing instruments, laughing, dancing, sculpture, acting, and in essence, living.
Life it art.
It isn't about a universal mind lattice - it is fact. It exists, and sure you can't see it, but that certainly doesn't make it any less real. I'm sure philosophers would argue with me, I'm sure we could go back and forth all day, but this piece is about what I think, so I'll say it plainly. I think things can be real, even if we can't see them. On the other hand, I'm a biology major who wants to get a master's in zoology, but while I hold beliefs in the power of science, I am also an outsider.
Ever been around a bunch of scientists - or just annoyingly smart people - and known you didn't belong? I feel that way a lot. I can talk the talk with them, but I don't follow the common ideology. I don't think we can explain everything, and I don't think we were meant to either. For example: love. Okay, yes, there is a measurement to chemical reactions that occur when "in love", but I don't think that's all it is. Love is an idea, a concept, it is intangible in essence because it cannot be quantified - does a mother love her child or husband more? Or are the chemical reactions exactly the same? Does she then love them equally? But who would she choose if she could only have one of them? I am the first to admit that not understanding things upsets me. I take 15 minutes to shower, and 15 minutes to get ready to go out. I cannot understand how it is physically possible that one of my friends takes two hours to get ready, even after witnessing it. It upsets me because I have no idea how in the world it's happening, but I digress...
Life is connected by invisible threads, tying us together in a sticky, cohesive sphere sometimes called "Earth". To me, this is why I understand that we cannot understand everything. I will never fully understand love, faith, souls, or how people can treat one another so cruelly, or how people can treat one another with such compassion and forgiveness. But I don't think I'm meant to full understand it. And that's okay with me.
I would keep waxing my personal philosophy and start tying in how these threads go farther than that, off into infinity, but...
That's a story for another day.
Those Moments
Friday, April 24, 2015
There's a moment. A singular, infallible moment of crystalline clearness, where you are at one with the universe and its truths are your truths, and all of the miserable, human existence makes sense...
...and then, the moment is gone.
--
Toby stood on the edge of the precipice, the tallest one on this stretch of coast. He watched the ocean, mesmerized by the waves pounding themselves mercilessly against the cliff side. Sea spray jetted upward, and the angry ocean water roared and crashed and thundered. He stretched his arms out wide and thought about throwing himself off, over the edge. Not that he wanted to die, but he wanted to become one with the beautiful, monstrous sea. He wanted to feel the force of the waves, feel the salt on his skin, be swept up and away by a current.
"Not today, not today," The seagulls seemed to cry out in their keening voices. They wheeled about in the sky, drifting further out to sea before inevitably returning toward land.
No, not today, Toby thought to himself, dropping his arms. He breathed in deep, savoring the cold salt taste of the ocean, then turned and walked away. The ocean calmed him, but he was always forced to return to his true reality. His truck was parked mere feet from his position on the cliff, and he hopped inside, going through the motions to set him on course for home: strapped himself in, put it in reverse, peeled away from the edge, threw it back into drive, and then it was an hour of smooth black asphalt road until he reached the trailer park.
It was dark by the time he returned home, the glowing lights from the various homes were the only illumination besides the moon. They didn't have streetlamps at the park - after all, it wasn't like they had a Home Owners' Association. Turning off his truck, the ugly steel exterior of the trailer seemed so glaringly poor. A slam drew his attention away and he looked up, watched as his mom raced down towards him. There were angry red marks on her face, bruises and welts blossoming. Tears ruined her trashy makeup, leaving smudges on her face, not that Toby cared.
Somehow, his mom always ended up with the same type of guy. The kind of guy who was just like his father. Though his father was six feet under now, Toby had seen it all as a kid. The violence and fighting and screaming. The way his father beat his mom, occasionally half to death. Now, she seemed to only bring back fat men who smelled sour, with beady eyes, and a perpetual beer in their hand. In a year, Toby would be eighteen, and free to leave this shitty life and the shitty men in it. But for now, he had to protect his mom the best he could, so as she ran towards him, he stepped out of the truck and lifted the baseball bat out of the bed.
His mom reached him, hugging him tightly. He clutched one arm around her, shielding her in a sense, and held the baseball bat loose and easy with his free hand.
Paul huffed out the door, bellowing, "Maureen!" before he stopped short. Paul was a man who would never have a prime due to all the drugs and alcohol. Toby, however, was young and fit, with muscles he knew how to use. The sight of the baseball bat in Toby's hand caused the big man to pause and reconsider his options. Toby's thoughts raced, Come on, come on, take your best shot, give me a reason to hurt you.
"Toby," Paul greeted, nodding his head and causing the flab around his jaw to jiggle. Toby's mother continued to sob, and Toby said nothing, simply stared at Paul. "Look, I don't know what your mother's been saying, but I didn't do nothing."
"Idiot," Toby grunted.
"'Scuse me?"
"You didn't do nothing? That means you did not do nothing - it means you did something."
"Christ, kid! So I'm not so good at grammar, cut me some slack. You know what I mean."
"Yeah."
The silence was tense, strained. All around the park, flimsy, cheap curtains had been pulled away from plastic windows in order to better see the action. There was a charge in the air, something that made every second mean more than it already did.
"I'm goin' for the night," Paul rumbled, heading towards his crappy little car with the worthless motor. Toby simply watched, the disdain in his eyes obvious. Once Paul and his car were out of sight, Toby turned his attention back to his mother.
In the course of his conversation with Paul, she had pulled away, now stood with her back facing him. Her arms hung limply at her sides, while her hands balled into fists.
"Mom?"
The slap rang through the entire park, and curtains were abruptly released as residents scurried away from their windows, shocked at what they had seen. The slap had caused Toby's head to snap to the side, and the red mark burned brightly in the dim light.
"Don't ever, ever, again insult someone that way," His mother's voice was deceptively soft, hiding treachery, rage, and deceit. Toby, dumbfounded, simply nodded. For some reason, he was still surprised each time his mother lashed out at him. he should have known it was coming. His mother hated his intelligence, his brain, and his level-head. She hated that people called him bright. She didn't hate Toby, she just hated his mind.
"Alright, Mom," Toby whispered. His mother turned again, walking swiftly back to the trailer, and slammed the door behind her.
Toby stood for five minutes in the night, listening to the silence. He gently placed the baseball bat back in the bed of the truck, and slipped into the driver's seat. With careful ease, he pulled out of the trailer park, and headed back to the ocean.
...and then, the moment is gone.
--
Toby stood on the edge of the precipice, the tallest one on this stretch of coast. He watched the ocean, mesmerized by the waves pounding themselves mercilessly against the cliff side. Sea spray jetted upward, and the angry ocean water roared and crashed and thundered. He stretched his arms out wide and thought about throwing himself off, over the edge. Not that he wanted to die, but he wanted to become one with the beautiful, monstrous sea. He wanted to feel the force of the waves, feel the salt on his skin, be swept up and away by a current.
"Not today, not today," The seagulls seemed to cry out in their keening voices. They wheeled about in the sky, drifting further out to sea before inevitably returning toward land.
No, not today, Toby thought to himself, dropping his arms. He breathed in deep, savoring the cold salt taste of the ocean, then turned and walked away. The ocean calmed him, but he was always forced to return to his true reality. His truck was parked mere feet from his position on the cliff, and he hopped inside, going through the motions to set him on course for home: strapped himself in, put it in reverse, peeled away from the edge, threw it back into drive, and then it was an hour of smooth black asphalt road until he reached the trailer park.
It was dark by the time he returned home, the glowing lights from the various homes were the only illumination besides the moon. They didn't have streetlamps at the park - after all, it wasn't like they had a Home Owners' Association. Turning off his truck, the ugly steel exterior of the trailer seemed so glaringly poor. A slam drew his attention away and he looked up, watched as his mom raced down towards him. There were angry red marks on her face, bruises and welts blossoming. Tears ruined her trashy makeup, leaving smudges on her face, not that Toby cared.
Somehow, his mom always ended up with the same type of guy. The kind of guy who was just like his father. Though his father was six feet under now, Toby had seen it all as a kid. The violence and fighting and screaming. The way his father beat his mom, occasionally half to death. Now, she seemed to only bring back fat men who smelled sour, with beady eyes, and a perpetual beer in their hand. In a year, Toby would be eighteen, and free to leave this shitty life and the shitty men in it. But for now, he had to protect his mom the best he could, so as she ran towards him, he stepped out of the truck and lifted the baseball bat out of the bed.
His mom reached him, hugging him tightly. He clutched one arm around her, shielding her in a sense, and held the baseball bat loose and easy with his free hand.
Paul huffed out the door, bellowing, "Maureen!" before he stopped short. Paul was a man who would never have a prime due to all the drugs and alcohol. Toby, however, was young and fit, with muscles he knew how to use. The sight of the baseball bat in Toby's hand caused the big man to pause and reconsider his options. Toby's thoughts raced, Come on, come on, take your best shot, give me a reason to hurt you.
"Toby," Paul greeted, nodding his head and causing the flab around his jaw to jiggle. Toby's mother continued to sob, and Toby said nothing, simply stared at Paul. "Look, I don't know what your mother's been saying, but I didn't do nothing."
"Idiot," Toby grunted.
"'Scuse me?"
"You didn't do nothing? That means you did not do nothing - it means you did something."
"Christ, kid! So I'm not so good at grammar, cut me some slack. You know what I mean."
"Yeah."
The silence was tense, strained. All around the park, flimsy, cheap curtains had been pulled away from plastic windows in order to better see the action. There was a charge in the air, something that made every second mean more than it already did.
"I'm goin' for the night," Paul rumbled, heading towards his crappy little car with the worthless motor. Toby simply watched, the disdain in his eyes obvious. Once Paul and his car were out of sight, Toby turned his attention back to his mother.
In the course of his conversation with Paul, she had pulled away, now stood with her back facing him. Her arms hung limply at her sides, while her hands balled into fists.
"Mom?"
The slap rang through the entire park, and curtains were abruptly released as residents scurried away from their windows, shocked at what they had seen. The slap had caused Toby's head to snap to the side, and the red mark burned brightly in the dim light.
"Don't ever, ever, again insult someone that way," His mother's voice was deceptively soft, hiding treachery, rage, and deceit. Toby, dumbfounded, simply nodded. For some reason, he was still surprised each time his mother lashed out at him. he should have known it was coming. His mother hated his intelligence, his brain, and his level-head. She hated that people called him bright. She didn't hate Toby, she just hated his mind.
"Alright, Mom," Toby whispered. His mother turned again, walking swiftly back to the trailer, and slammed the door behind her.
Toby stood for five minutes in the night, listening to the silence. He gently placed the baseball bat back in the bed of the truck, and slipped into the driver's seat. With careful ease, he pulled out of the trailer park, and headed back to the ocean.
King of the Rats: An Introduction
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Watch enough movies and you think fantasy worlds are full of horse-equivalents and pseudo-dragons, when in fact the most common denominator creature-wise are rats. It doesn't matter where you are, or where you hope to be, because one thing will remain constant; the presence of those pesky varmints termed "rats". Big or small, fat or skinny, they will appear in every world, in all manner of shape and form.
As a worldwalker, Pallas was used to the unshakable feeling of being watched. In the unseen cracks between world, in the slips of darkness and rifts between each universe, the rats lurked. They slithered through the places no others could reach, they dominated the worlds of death and depravity. The only other creatures to rival the rats were cats, but when a lone cat found themselves in one of those little pocket, they were besieged by a mass of furry bodies, screeching, claws and teeth. Plenty of cat-skeletons lay discarded on the paths Pallas walked.
His original world wasn't overly pleasant, and not the one he would have picked given a choice. But it was his home nonetheless. Though he preferred other worlds and their far more charming systems, he belonged to this one. Certainly he could visit those more fantastical places, but he could not stay indefinitely.
The world he belonged to was one where rats were dirty vermin, often populating the sewers. They elicited all manner of shrieking when venturing into the open where people could see them. They were small creatures, not viewed all that highly. Pallas found all of that...
Droll.
In other worlds, rats were large, violent creatures, commanding whole swaths of swampland or serving as the bogeymen of the night. On his earth, they were... Unimportant. Inconsequential.
It was just so boring.
Because he was a worldwalker, Pallas was a vital asset to his country's intelligence organization. They had him patrol the paths between worlds, searching for signs of incoming incursion. Sometimes they asked him to reach deeper, to find the things unseen that had happened and had yet to be. It was all very dull to Pallas, as he had been walking worlds his entire life. He wanted, for once, to be the one given a gun and told to go after a bad guy. Instead he sat at a desk until someone wanted him for a task.
Unimportant. Inconsequential.
Often, Pallas felt it was just him.
Him and the rats.
As a worldwalker, Pallas was used to the unshakable feeling of being watched. In the unseen cracks between world, in the slips of darkness and rifts between each universe, the rats lurked. They slithered through the places no others could reach, they dominated the worlds of death and depravity. The only other creatures to rival the rats were cats, but when a lone cat found themselves in one of those little pocket, they were besieged by a mass of furry bodies, screeching, claws and teeth. Plenty of cat-skeletons lay discarded on the paths Pallas walked.
His original world wasn't overly pleasant, and not the one he would have picked given a choice. But it was his home nonetheless. Though he preferred other worlds and their far more charming systems, he belonged to this one. Certainly he could visit those more fantastical places, but he could not stay indefinitely.
The world he belonged to was one where rats were dirty vermin, often populating the sewers. They elicited all manner of shrieking when venturing into the open where people could see them. They were small creatures, not viewed all that highly. Pallas found all of that...
Droll.
In other worlds, rats were large, violent creatures, commanding whole swaths of swampland or serving as the bogeymen of the night. On his earth, they were... Unimportant. Inconsequential.
It was just so boring.
Because he was a worldwalker, Pallas was a vital asset to his country's intelligence organization. They had him patrol the paths between worlds, searching for signs of incoming incursion. Sometimes they asked him to reach deeper, to find the things unseen that had happened and had yet to be. It was all very dull to Pallas, as he had been walking worlds his entire life. He wanted, for once, to be the one given a gun and told to go after a bad guy. Instead he sat at a desk until someone wanted him for a task.
Unimportant. Inconsequential.
Often, Pallas felt it was just him.
Him and the rats.
A Magical Menagerie Masquerade (Part 2-end)
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
The House of Wyless boasted the colors of a strong gold, and rich purple. Though it was, after all, called the Masquerade of the Blessed, everyone would be out in their house colors, giving away their identity almost immediately. In his gold and purple finery, Henry felt uncomfortable. Standing in front of his narrow full-length mirror, he couldn't reconcile the image of him as a poor street rat with the reflection before him. This couldn't really be him, could it?
A whuffling sigh distracted him, and he looked to his new furry friend.
Upon learning that it was none other than the adopted son of the Wyless family who wanted the cu sith, Bonacarte had expedited everything required for such a beast, and now Forfax was already properly settled in Henry's elegant bedchamber.
"Oh, don't sigh at me Forfax. I can't help the state I'm in!" Henry lamented. "This is my first such event, and I'm supposed to be on my very best behavior. And look at you! You're green. While your eyes go splendidly with the house colors, green is certainly not a suitable replacement for gold." About to turn his head in exasperation, motion tugged his eyes back just in time to see Forfax's coat ripple as the green seemed to vanish, replaced by golden fur. Henry stared. "I had no idea you could do that." Forfax merely whuffled with purpose at his master, and gave him a large, canine grin.
Shaking his head in fondness, Henry checked the time, then cursed. It was nearly time to go, and he still had one more thing to do. He straightened his suit in the mirror once more before turning to grab the purple mask on his bed. It was what he would wear that evening, done in the design of a wolf. He carefully arranged the ears so that they appeared to be protruding form his own head, and arranged the snout of it atop the bridge of his own nose.
Looking at Forfax, he smiled, the lower half of his face still visible. Opening the door, man and beast set out through the extensive hallway network connecting the family manor before arriving at the foyer. Mr. and Mrs. Wyless were already waiting. Andrew Wyless was a Blessed of illusion, while Maura Wyless was a Blessed of creation. They cared not for such social functions, and would not be attending the event, but were sending Henry's trusted valet, Martin. Tearfully, Maura hugged her adopted boy, sending him off with praise, tears, and reminders to be good.
It was time to become the delight of the social season.
--
The Blessed were in every direction he looked. While Henry had known the Masquerade of the Blessed was an important event, he had gravely misjudged the size of it. He was surrounded by a buzz of activity, but Martin surreptitiously guided him to the doorman, who straightened up at his podium upon seeing the House Wyless colors. His face paled when he saw the giant beast arriving alongside Henry. Swallowing hard, he kept a wary eye on Forfax, but took Henry's invitation, and gestured he head inside.
The interior of the room was a dark wood, and various supporting pillars were carved with fantastical designs. The muted light of the chandeliers was subtle, but warm and inviting. Occasionally, a little liquid pearl of light dripped from them, but vanished in mid-air before dropping. A neat trick of craft.And still, there were people everywhere. People milling about, chatting, smiling, laughing, and Henry felt his stomach tighten as he became painfully aware how out of place he was. Everyone at Lesurge had, at the goading of one particular boy, treated Henry as if he was weird, despite his now noble status. No one wanted to associate with him, making him a freak, even though he was in the upper echelon.
Dancing had already begun, and he could see ladies with jackalopes nesting in their fancy up-dos, and dodo birds cuddling against men's pant legs. It saddened him to see the dismissive attitude the masses seemed to take towards their companion animals, and he reached out to pat Forfax's head, as much to reassure the cu sith as himself. Forfax, sensing his master's distress, nuzzled his head into Henry's hand. Smiling at Forfax, Henry continued making his way into the main ballroom area, Martin remaining along the edges of the room with other personal valets. A central staircase was bathed in bright light as the family holding the masquerade appeared.
"Greetings, welcome to all! Ladies and gentlemen, Blessed alike." The speaker was an elegant older man, his hair silver but his body still like that of a fit man in his 30s. The Grand Duke smiled as the noise of the crowd died down, and he received undivided attention. "Throughout the evening, we will be accepting nominations for the various costumes you see here. Please, let the organizing staff know so that one very exciting aspect of our party can commence!" With that, he began descending the staircase, and as if it was a signal, everyone fell into a frenzy of hushed whispering.
Henry, now frowning, slipped out a set of back doors, avoiding Martin's watchful eye. He wandered through the corridors of the Grand Duke's home until he was alone with Forfax. Removing his mask, he sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I'd rather no one know who I am here..." Staring at the colors of his suit, Henry let the power within him blossom. It was a quick crafting, not anywhere near his highest level, but it would easily fool the people here. Instead of purple and gold, his suit was now white and silver. No house had those colors. A smile tilted his lips as he slipped the now silver mask back on. Looking to Forfax he grinned, "Come now, Forfax! I know you can do the same."
It wasn't merely that Forfax was an obliging beast, there was a special connection between the two, and his eyes became silver, his coat white. Andrew and Maura had been insistent that Henry never tell a soul the truth of himself. That he was not simply a Blessed who had power within one spectrum, but had been Blessed with power in every known scope. He was no mere destroyer, creator, transformer, illusionist, or anything else. He was everything. However, the first talent he had discovered was transformation, and it was therefore the one he was formally educated in. When he had met Forfax, he had transformed the mental waves of the cu sith to match his own, then changed their brains just enough to create common communication between them both, internally. It was incredibly delicate work, but it had paid off. Forfax was undeniably smart, one of the reasons he was a fairy dog after all, and he thought with greater efficiency and reasoning than most humans Henry knew. It was why they understood one another so well, and were so willing to care for one another.
With a nod of satisfaction, Henry led the way back to the ballroom, and let himself relax. Now that he was no longer obliged to the Wyless House colors, he felt at ease. He could be who he was, no automatic assumptions coming from anyone here by the colors he wore. Henry danced many a dance, chatted with the men, and charmed many a lady. All with Forfax by his side. The behemoth of a dog was, funnily enough, quite well-behaved and sneaky. Though he constantly remained at Henry's side, people failed to notice his presence for quite some time, and their startled expressions when realizing what a large beast accompanied Henry was endlessly amusing. After all, the cu sith was not a popular companion, yet the mysterious man with a wolf mask dressed in white and silver, and the dog of snow fur and eerie eyes seemed a perfect fit for one another.
Hours wore on, and eventually the Grand Duke took the stairs once more. Conversation died down as he cleared his throat.
"As many of you know, we determine the winners of the contest through a play of skill in their craft. Without further ado, I present the nominated ladies: Lady Amarine, Lady Teruna, Lady Pella, and Lady Millicent."
The crowd began to ebb back towards the edges of the remove, creating a wide circle in the center where the four young ladies remained standing. Delicately removing their masks, they all smiled at the cheering crowd. When the applause quieted, the Duke set Amarine against Teruna, and Pella against Millicent. When it was clear that Teruna and Millicent were the respective winners of their battles, they faced one another. Ultimately, Lady Teruna emerged as the victor. There was a grand show made of the young lady's prize; a delicate filigree crown of pure silver, sparkling in the light. He placed it a top her head and everyone gushed, cheered. Henry followed suit, but was curious as to what the prize meant, not realizing it was merely a decorative fun thing.
The Duke cleared his throat again, "This year we have, ah, received only two nominations for the men's costumes. Our first nominee, Sir Barclay. Our second nominee..." The Duke's brow furrowed, "The masked man in white and silver." Henry, shocked, found himself jostled forward, Forfax by his side, and placed across from the same man who had made his life hell as a young boy. At Lesurge, it had been due to Barclay's goading that Henry was outcast. Barclay had been in his age group, and never forgiven him for rising from street rat to an upper-class aristocrat. Of course, Barclay had no idea he stood across from Henry, no idea he was standing before the boy turned man that he had so viciously tormented as a child. With an insincere smile to Henry, Barclay removed his mask. The women all made fluttering noises of appreciation. Standing still, Henry made no move to remove his. Pandering to the crowd, Barclay looked around and shrugged his shoulders.
"So be it!" Barclay returned his focus to Henry, "Let's begin."
These shows of skill were reminiscent of duels. They were not meant to be dangerous, merely enjoyed, but Henry didn't trust Barclay to play fair. This proved correct when a snake of fire suddenly lunged at his face from the ground. There was a gasp from the crowd, but with a quick flick of wrist, the snake became water, and he kicked through it, dissolving the spell. It was only then that Martin realized it was Henry in the white and silver. It was only then he recognized Sir Barclay as a Blessed of destruction.
Barclay smiled and inclined his head, as if acknowledging his opponent's skill. But just as quickly as he smiled, a barrage of destructive power surged forward, heading for an assault on Henry. Seeing that Barclay was not taking this as a childish, playful activity, the Grand Duke began shouting out, trying to call things into order. Despite Henry skillfully neutralizing the spells, the crowd was growing anxious and distressed at the ordeal. Many wondered if they should simply leave now. Full blown duels between two Blessed tended to have a large amount of collateral casualties.
Then, Barclay did something no one would have thought he had the complete audacity to do. He sent out the most dangerous and powerful spell of the destructive craft. Henry was enveloped in flame, as if he was a living fireball. This spurred Forfax to action, and the snow white dog snarled as he charged Barclay. With a flippant manner, Barclay sent a harsh spell barreling into Forfax's side, and sending the cu sith into one of the pillars, where he slowly sank to the ground and lay panting, whining. His side was badly scorched, and his eyes had gone glassy.
Somewhere, inside of the fireball, Henry screamed.
Time stopped. It was craft, but one that no one could counter. In fact, it was also the craft of the Grand Duke, the reason he had such a position of power in the first place. He was the only one immune to the craft, and as soon as he noticed the standstill, he searched the frozen flames for signs of life. An unscathed man with a silver wolf mask and silver and white suit stepped out from it, hatred and rage visible in the dark eyes peeking out of the mask. He gently shuttered the flames down, and walked to Barclay. Time resumed, and Henry punched the offending man straight in the face. Barclay staggered and fell immediately, blood gushing from his face.
But Henry didn't care. He flung his mask down to the ground, and ran to his dog, tears welling in his eyes. "Damn it!" The anguished cry seemed to be the only noise in the entire room. Everyone had fallen into a stunned silence, no one understanding quite what had happened beyond Barclay committing an atrocious act against a man no one knew. The Grand Duke roused them into action.
"Get the healers to that beast, NOW!"
The Blessed elite immediately began falling back into organized chaos, some running to spread the news, others to arrange for the beast's care, others to get authority for detaining Barclay. Martin slipped quietly out of the room to get Henry's parents while the Grand Duke quietly picked his way over to Henry, who had his hands on Forfax's scorched side, angry tears slipping down his face, despite how hard he fought to hold them in. The Grand Duke realized as he neared that Henry was talking to himself.
"...and never practiced your damn healing magic, what were you thinking? Idiot, idiot, idiot! Should have known it would be helpful to actually get good at healing, after all, if you can do it you should probably learn to utilize it..." He trailed off when the Duke's boot entered his line of sight. He lifted his head up, staring into the gentle eyes of the Grand Duke.
"Don't worry lad, I'll not tell a soul. Not even about your trick of time back there." Color flooded Henry's cheeks, but the Duke shook his head, "A promise is a promise, I have my own honor to care for. Besides, you seem to be stabilizing your pet at least."
Henry looked back down and found the soft glow of healing magic ponderously squirming over Forfax's side. The cu sith let out a soft huff of air and closed his eyes, but still breathing. Henry looked at his pet, pain and despair etched on his face. "It'll be alright, Forfax. Just hang in there."
A lady dropped to her knees on Henry's other side, startling both men. She was now completely ruining her fine gown, but what did it matter with her tears already having made a mess of her makeup? Looking at Forfax, she whispered, "I'm Alice. Please, let me help, I'm a healer." Healing craft was incredibly rare, but it did pop up. The Blessed healers were all segregated from the other Blessed, kept in a safe, nurturing place where their gifts could grow. They were empathetic individuals, rarely out of sight from their keepers, but it seemed this Lady Alice had gotten away.
Slowly pulling away his hands, he watched with fascination as she put her hands where his had once been. Closing her eyes, she hummed softly under her breath.
"What's his name?" Lady Alice asked.
"Forfax."
Eyes still closed, she nodded to herself, and he could hear snippets of softly sung song, catching Forfax's name in it. His breathing strengthened, the burn beginning to heal. Tissue scarred over before his eyes, and before two minutes had passed, Forfax opened his eyes and struggled to stand.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. He mustn't sit up, not yet. He'll be tired now, healing does that to a patient," Lady Alice fretted, attempting to halt the cu sith's clumsy progress but not having the strength.
"Let me," Henry murmured, overlapping her hands and arms. She withdrew, her eyes glued on Henry as he slowly forced the cu sith back down, quietly speaking to his beast with a smile. Then he turned back to her. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I can't... I can't even... How can I ever repay your kindness?"
Furious blush spread across her cheeks, the shy Alice now scooting back a bit. "Uhm, no, no, there's no need for that, uhm, Sir Wyless..." It was then that the Grand Duke came to the same realization about the young man before him; this was Henry Wyless. Barclay had picked a fight with the beloved, adopted son of the most powerful family around. He was an unimaginably gifted boy, and now the Duke knew, gifted to even greater heights.
Henry shook his head, "No, I insist. Please. Look, you didn't treat me any differently when I was the man in silver and white. Please...don't start now..." It was the strange mist of painful memories across his eyes that caused Alice to reluctantly nod her head.
"W-well, see...I don't really need anything really. Not really."
"You're here with someone then?"
"Well now, I...uhm... I snuck out here."
"Aha!" Henry grinned, "I knew there was no way a healer of your caliber would be out of sight. But you're clearly the adventurous sort. Let me repay you by taking you on more adventures, eh?"
Alice's eyes widened slightly, "Wow, that's, uhm...that's...very generous of you, Sir Wyless."
"It's just Henry, no need to be formal. After all, you saved my cu sith's life."
"R-right...and I'm just Alice."
It was then that a distraught Andrew and Maura Wyless were led by faithful Martin to their son. Immediately, he was surrounded in a torrent of activity, the man and wife demanding answers of the Grand Duke, Alice cast to the background. She quietly slipped away from the reunited family, knowing she had to hurry back to the healer's manor.
When next Henry looked, she was already gone.
--
Several long days passed. What felt like eternity.
The events of the masquerade were recalled by a variety of sources, an angry and enraged Maura Wyless making the city feel her rage. Henry was put into isolation, but didn't mind since it let him look after Forfax, who was steadily becoming himself once more. The Grand Duke had long meetings with the Wyless family about their son of many talents. He was, in a way, brought into the know, sworn by Blessed oath to keep it a secret, lest the oath's magic kill him.
But Henry hadn't shirked his other duties. Martin was faithfully looking into discovering who the mysterious Alice who helped Forfax was. And at the healer's manor, Alice let go of her hope that he would fulfill his promise.
--
There was a knock on the door.
Alice opened it, somewhat confused at what anyone would want with her.
Henry stood, leaning against on side of the doorframe, Forfax sitting behind him, a ridiculous, charming grin on his face. "Ready for an adventure?"
A whuffling sigh distracted him, and he looked to his new furry friend.
Upon learning that it was none other than the adopted son of the Wyless family who wanted the cu sith, Bonacarte had expedited everything required for such a beast, and now Forfax was already properly settled in Henry's elegant bedchamber.
"Oh, don't sigh at me Forfax. I can't help the state I'm in!" Henry lamented. "This is my first such event, and I'm supposed to be on my very best behavior. And look at you! You're green. While your eyes go splendidly with the house colors, green is certainly not a suitable replacement for gold." About to turn his head in exasperation, motion tugged his eyes back just in time to see Forfax's coat ripple as the green seemed to vanish, replaced by golden fur. Henry stared. "I had no idea you could do that." Forfax merely whuffled with purpose at his master, and gave him a large, canine grin.
Shaking his head in fondness, Henry checked the time, then cursed. It was nearly time to go, and he still had one more thing to do. He straightened his suit in the mirror once more before turning to grab the purple mask on his bed. It was what he would wear that evening, done in the design of a wolf. He carefully arranged the ears so that they appeared to be protruding form his own head, and arranged the snout of it atop the bridge of his own nose.
Looking at Forfax, he smiled, the lower half of his face still visible. Opening the door, man and beast set out through the extensive hallway network connecting the family manor before arriving at the foyer. Mr. and Mrs. Wyless were already waiting. Andrew Wyless was a Blessed of illusion, while Maura Wyless was a Blessed of creation. They cared not for such social functions, and would not be attending the event, but were sending Henry's trusted valet, Martin. Tearfully, Maura hugged her adopted boy, sending him off with praise, tears, and reminders to be good.
It was time to become the delight of the social season.
--
The Blessed were in every direction he looked. While Henry had known the Masquerade of the Blessed was an important event, he had gravely misjudged the size of it. He was surrounded by a buzz of activity, but Martin surreptitiously guided him to the doorman, who straightened up at his podium upon seeing the House Wyless colors. His face paled when he saw the giant beast arriving alongside Henry. Swallowing hard, he kept a wary eye on Forfax, but took Henry's invitation, and gestured he head inside.
The interior of the room was a dark wood, and various supporting pillars were carved with fantastical designs. The muted light of the chandeliers was subtle, but warm and inviting. Occasionally, a little liquid pearl of light dripped from them, but vanished in mid-air before dropping. A neat trick of craft.And still, there were people everywhere. People milling about, chatting, smiling, laughing, and Henry felt his stomach tighten as he became painfully aware how out of place he was. Everyone at Lesurge had, at the goading of one particular boy, treated Henry as if he was weird, despite his now noble status. No one wanted to associate with him, making him a freak, even though he was in the upper echelon.
Dancing had already begun, and he could see ladies with jackalopes nesting in their fancy up-dos, and dodo birds cuddling against men's pant legs. It saddened him to see the dismissive attitude the masses seemed to take towards their companion animals, and he reached out to pat Forfax's head, as much to reassure the cu sith as himself. Forfax, sensing his master's distress, nuzzled his head into Henry's hand. Smiling at Forfax, Henry continued making his way into the main ballroom area, Martin remaining along the edges of the room with other personal valets. A central staircase was bathed in bright light as the family holding the masquerade appeared.
"Greetings, welcome to all! Ladies and gentlemen, Blessed alike." The speaker was an elegant older man, his hair silver but his body still like that of a fit man in his 30s. The Grand Duke smiled as the noise of the crowd died down, and he received undivided attention. "Throughout the evening, we will be accepting nominations for the various costumes you see here. Please, let the organizing staff know so that one very exciting aspect of our party can commence!" With that, he began descending the staircase, and as if it was a signal, everyone fell into a frenzy of hushed whispering.
Henry, now frowning, slipped out a set of back doors, avoiding Martin's watchful eye. He wandered through the corridors of the Grand Duke's home until he was alone with Forfax. Removing his mask, he sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I'd rather no one know who I am here..." Staring at the colors of his suit, Henry let the power within him blossom. It was a quick crafting, not anywhere near his highest level, but it would easily fool the people here. Instead of purple and gold, his suit was now white and silver. No house had those colors. A smile tilted his lips as he slipped the now silver mask back on. Looking to Forfax he grinned, "Come now, Forfax! I know you can do the same."
It wasn't merely that Forfax was an obliging beast, there was a special connection between the two, and his eyes became silver, his coat white. Andrew and Maura had been insistent that Henry never tell a soul the truth of himself. That he was not simply a Blessed who had power within one spectrum, but had been Blessed with power in every known scope. He was no mere destroyer, creator, transformer, illusionist, or anything else. He was everything. However, the first talent he had discovered was transformation, and it was therefore the one he was formally educated in. When he had met Forfax, he had transformed the mental waves of the cu sith to match his own, then changed their brains just enough to create common communication between them both, internally. It was incredibly delicate work, but it had paid off. Forfax was undeniably smart, one of the reasons he was a fairy dog after all, and he thought with greater efficiency and reasoning than most humans Henry knew. It was why they understood one another so well, and were so willing to care for one another.
With a nod of satisfaction, Henry led the way back to the ballroom, and let himself relax. Now that he was no longer obliged to the Wyless House colors, he felt at ease. He could be who he was, no automatic assumptions coming from anyone here by the colors he wore. Henry danced many a dance, chatted with the men, and charmed many a lady. All with Forfax by his side. The behemoth of a dog was, funnily enough, quite well-behaved and sneaky. Though he constantly remained at Henry's side, people failed to notice his presence for quite some time, and their startled expressions when realizing what a large beast accompanied Henry was endlessly amusing. After all, the cu sith was not a popular companion, yet the mysterious man with a wolf mask dressed in white and silver, and the dog of snow fur and eerie eyes seemed a perfect fit for one another.
Hours wore on, and eventually the Grand Duke took the stairs once more. Conversation died down as he cleared his throat.
"As many of you know, we determine the winners of the contest through a play of skill in their craft. Without further ado, I present the nominated ladies: Lady Amarine, Lady Teruna, Lady Pella, and Lady Millicent."
The crowd began to ebb back towards the edges of the remove, creating a wide circle in the center where the four young ladies remained standing. Delicately removing their masks, they all smiled at the cheering crowd. When the applause quieted, the Duke set Amarine against Teruna, and Pella against Millicent. When it was clear that Teruna and Millicent were the respective winners of their battles, they faced one another. Ultimately, Lady Teruna emerged as the victor. There was a grand show made of the young lady's prize; a delicate filigree crown of pure silver, sparkling in the light. He placed it a top her head and everyone gushed, cheered. Henry followed suit, but was curious as to what the prize meant, not realizing it was merely a decorative fun thing.
The Duke cleared his throat again, "This year we have, ah, received only two nominations for the men's costumes. Our first nominee, Sir Barclay. Our second nominee..." The Duke's brow furrowed, "The masked man in white and silver." Henry, shocked, found himself jostled forward, Forfax by his side, and placed across from the same man who had made his life hell as a young boy. At Lesurge, it had been due to Barclay's goading that Henry was outcast. Barclay had been in his age group, and never forgiven him for rising from street rat to an upper-class aristocrat. Of course, Barclay had no idea he stood across from Henry, no idea he was standing before the boy turned man that he had so viciously tormented as a child. With an insincere smile to Henry, Barclay removed his mask. The women all made fluttering noises of appreciation. Standing still, Henry made no move to remove his. Pandering to the crowd, Barclay looked around and shrugged his shoulders.
"So be it!" Barclay returned his focus to Henry, "Let's begin."
These shows of skill were reminiscent of duels. They were not meant to be dangerous, merely enjoyed, but Henry didn't trust Barclay to play fair. This proved correct when a snake of fire suddenly lunged at his face from the ground. There was a gasp from the crowd, but with a quick flick of wrist, the snake became water, and he kicked through it, dissolving the spell. It was only then that Martin realized it was Henry in the white and silver. It was only then he recognized Sir Barclay as a Blessed of destruction.
Barclay smiled and inclined his head, as if acknowledging his opponent's skill. But just as quickly as he smiled, a barrage of destructive power surged forward, heading for an assault on Henry. Seeing that Barclay was not taking this as a childish, playful activity, the Grand Duke began shouting out, trying to call things into order. Despite Henry skillfully neutralizing the spells, the crowd was growing anxious and distressed at the ordeal. Many wondered if they should simply leave now. Full blown duels between two Blessed tended to have a large amount of collateral casualties.
Then, Barclay did something no one would have thought he had the complete audacity to do. He sent out the most dangerous and powerful spell of the destructive craft. Henry was enveloped in flame, as if he was a living fireball. This spurred Forfax to action, and the snow white dog snarled as he charged Barclay. With a flippant manner, Barclay sent a harsh spell barreling into Forfax's side, and sending the cu sith into one of the pillars, where he slowly sank to the ground and lay panting, whining. His side was badly scorched, and his eyes had gone glassy.
Somewhere, inside of the fireball, Henry screamed.
Time stopped. It was craft, but one that no one could counter. In fact, it was also the craft of the Grand Duke, the reason he had such a position of power in the first place. He was the only one immune to the craft, and as soon as he noticed the standstill, he searched the frozen flames for signs of life. An unscathed man with a silver wolf mask and silver and white suit stepped out from it, hatred and rage visible in the dark eyes peeking out of the mask. He gently shuttered the flames down, and walked to Barclay. Time resumed, and Henry punched the offending man straight in the face. Barclay staggered and fell immediately, blood gushing from his face.
But Henry didn't care. He flung his mask down to the ground, and ran to his dog, tears welling in his eyes. "Damn it!" The anguished cry seemed to be the only noise in the entire room. Everyone had fallen into a stunned silence, no one understanding quite what had happened beyond Barclay committing an atrocious act against a man no one knew. The Grand Duke roused them into action.
"Get the healers to that beast, NOW!"
The Blessed elite immediately began falling back into organized chaos, some running to spread the news, others to arrange for the beast's care, others to get authority for detaining Barclay. Martin slipped quietly out of the room to get Henry's parents while the Grand Duke quietly picked his way over to Henry, who had his hands on Forfax's scorched side, angry tears slipping down his face, despite how hard he fought to hold them in. The Grand Duke realized as he neared that Henry was talking to himself.
"...and never practiced your damn healing magic, what were you thinking? Idiot, idiot, idiot! Should have known it would be helpful to actually get good at healing, after all, if you can do it you should probably learn to utilize it..." He trailed off when the Duke's boot entered his line of sight. He lifted his head up, staring into the gentle eyes of the Grand Duke.
"Don't worry lad, I'll not tell a soul. Not even about your trick of time back there." Color flooded Henry's cheeks, but the Duke shook his head, "A promise is a promise, I have my own honor to care for. Besides, you seem to be stabilizing your pet at least."
Henry looked back down and found the soft glow of healing magic ponderously squirming over Forfax's side. The cu sith let out a soft huff of air and closed his eyes, but still breathing. Henry looked at his pet, pain and despair etched on his face. "It'll be alright, Forfax. Just hang in there."
A lady dropped to her knees on Henry's other side, startling both men. She was now completely ruining her fine gown, but what did it matter with her tears already having made a mess of her makeup? Looking at Forfax, she whispered, "I'm Alice. Please, let me help, I'm a healer." Healing craft was incredibly rare, but it did pop up. The Blessed healers were all segregated from the other Blessed, kept in a safe, nurturing place where their gifts could grow. They were empathetic individuals, rarely out of sight from their keepers, but it seemed this Lady Alice had gotten away.
Slowly pulling away his hands, he watched with fascination as she put her hands where his had once been. Closing her eyes, she hummed softly under her breath.
"What's his name?" Lady Alice asked.
"Forfax."
Eyes still closed, she nodded to herself, and he could hear snippets of softly sung song, catching Forfax's name in it. His breathing strengthened, the burn beginning to heal. Tissue scarred over before his eyes, and before two minutes had passed, Forfax opened his eyes and struggled to stand.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. He mustn't sit up, not yet. He'll be tired now, healing does that to a patient," Lady Alice fretted, attempting to halt the cu sith's clumsy progress but not having the strength.
"Let me," Henry murmured, overlapping her hands and arms. She withdrew, her eyes glued on Henry as he slowly forced the cu sith back down, quietly speaking to his beast with a smile. Then he turned back to her. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I can't... I can't even... How can I ever repay your kindness?"
Furious blush spread across her cheeks, the shy Alice now scooting back a bit. "Uhm, no, no, there's no need for that, uhm, Sir Wyless..." It was then that the Grand Duke came to the same realization about the young man before him; this was Henry Wyless. Barclay had picked a fight with the beloved, adopted son of the most powerful family around. He was an unimaginably gifted boy, and now the Duke knew, gifted to even greater heights.
Henry shook his head, "No, I insist. Please. Look, you didn't treat me any differently when I was the man in silver and white. Please...don't start now..." It was the strange mist of painful memories across his eyes that caused Alice to reluctantly nod her head.
"W-well, see...I don't really need anything really. Not really."
"You're here with someone then?"
"Well now, I...uhm... I snuck out here."
"Aha!" Henry grinned, "I knew there was no way a healer of your caliber would be out of sight. But you're clearly the adventurous sort. Let me repay you by taking you on more adventures, eh?"
Alice's eyes widened slightly, "Wow, that's, uhm...that's...very generous of you, Sir Wyless."
"It's just Henry, no need to be formal. After all, you saved my cu sith's life."
"R-right...and I'm just Alice."
It was then that a distraught Andrew and Maura Wyless were led by faithful Martin to their son. Immediately, he was surrounded in a torrent of activity, the man and wife demanding answers of the Grand Duke, Alice cast to the background. She quietly slipped away from the reunited family, knowing she had to hurry back to the healer's manor.
When next Henry looked, she was already gone.
--
Several long days passed. What felt like eternity.
The events of the masquerade were recalled by a variety of sources, an angry and enraged Maura Wyless making the city feel her rage. Henry was put into isolation, but didn't mind since it let him look after Forfax, who was steadily becoming himself once more. The Grand Duke had long meetings with the Wyless family about their son of many talents. He was, in a way, brought into the know, sworn by Blessed oath to keep it a secret, lest the oath's magic kill him.
But Henry hadn't shirked his other duties. Martin was faithfully looking into discovering who the mysterious Alice who helped Forfax was. And at the healer's manor, Alice let go of her hope that he would fulfill his promise.
--
There was a knock on the door.
Alice opened it, somewhat confused at what anyone would want with her.
Henry stood, leaning against on side of the doorframe, Forfax sitting behind him, a ridiculous, charming grin on his face. "Ready for an adventure?"
A Man of Graveyards
Monday, October 20, 2014
In the graveyard, he was close to silence. The dead had no thoughts swirling through their minds; they had no impulses running through their veins. They were full of embalming fluid and sawdust. It was the nearest to silence he would ever find, and he treasured each moment of it. This propensity for visiting graveyards was what Cailtin Richards chose to exploit.
He hadn't heard them coming, as he had finally relaxed for once. He was alone with his own thoughts, and that meant he could daydream. The thoughts of animals were often too fast-paced and erratic for his mind to really latch onto, though he could if driven to desperation. Enjoying a fall breeze on a bench beneath deciduous trees that had gone to hues of yellow, orange, and red, his mind had drifted to the Edges. It wasn't until the cold tip of a gun barrel pressed itself to the back of his neck that his eyes opened, and everything flooded in
-shit, shit, shit, I'm just a rookie, I can't be up against guys like this, and -- no place to run, no place to hide, what now smart -- darkness, death, despair, fire and flames and destruction and ohgodohgodohgod-
It was the last wave of thoughts that he chose to focus on. The mind of someone in the grips of full blown terror. He mentally reached out, stroked his power along their brain waves, and settled them. Shhh, his power seemed to whisper, shh, everything is okay. There was a gasp from the side. His eyes finally focused on the moment, and a multitude of SWAT men and women appeared in front of him, tactical guns drawn and focused on him. His peripheral vision processed several different well-dressed men and women, likely of differing agencies, and one who had a tight grip on a teenage boy. The boy's eyes were wide, stared straight at him, and though he couldn't hear the words, he could hear the thoughts that accompanied the words, and read the boy's lips.
"He did it!" He actually did it! "He heard what I was projecting and completely washed it away in a calming tide." How, how did he do that?! "This is him, this is definitely him." I can't believe it.
The softest breath of a sigh escaped him, his body going limp on the bench. The tip of the gun dug deeper against his neck, a harsh voice grunting,
"Don't try anything funny, I'll blow your fucking spine out, got it?"
There was no answer to that question, there couldn't be one. After a moment, a female agent stepped between the line of SWAT, and raked her eyes over him. She wasn't overly average, but possessed a normal height and weight, her sharp blazer hiding the firm muscles of her arms, and the flared slacks she wore disguising her slender legs. Her gold-brown hair was swept back into a very efficient, tight bun. Her bright brown eyes were judgmental and harsh, filled with unpleasant memories that had taken their toll. She crossed her arms over her chest, and raised on exquisite eyebrow at him.
"So, you're the famous telepath, huh? Don't look like much to me."
His eyes strayed down to his body, to his ratty tan duster, rumpled slacks, wrinkled and stained green dress shirt. He looked back up at her and shrugged, "I think I look alright."
"Yeah, well, the commonwealth would disagree. Do you know how this goes Mr. Lewis, or do I need to explain it to you."
"No," a soft sigh breathed out of him, "I know how you want it to go."
The SWAT team, the agents, the teenage boy even, all fell to the ground simultaneously. The female agent's lips widened slightly, her hand darting to her sidearm, but it was too late. He had her mind in his grip, and her movements stilled. She was the only one awake, the only one conscious. He stood slowly, brushed off his pants and straightened his coat. Walking closer to her, he stopped in front of her and shook his head. He stepped around her, but paused when his body was parallel to hers.
"Caitlin Richards - that is your name, isn't it? - you have no idea what you're getting into. Chasing me is dangerous, but I'm not the one you should be concerned about, because when you chase me, you will find many dark, unfathomable things follow me already." His head dipped slightly, a creeping sad smile turning up one corner of his mouth, "You want to make an impression on the WIA, I understand, but this isn't the way. Finding me is one thing, and arresting me is another. But removing me from my current location is a thing that would lead to pain and suffering for millions. Not by my hands, I assure you. Please, take care Caitlin. Good day."
With that, he continued to walk. For twenty minutes, she remained frozen, and everyone around her remained unconscious. When they began to groan and rouse themselves, sitting up with pain in their limbs and ringing in their ears, Caitlin Richards turned her head to look at the space he had walked through. Her mind was reeling, and she determined then that she needed to know more about Mr. Lewis.
He hadn't heard them coming, as he had finally relaxed for once. He was alone with his own thoughts, and that meant he could daydream. The thoughts of animals were often too fast-paced and erratic for his mind to really latch onto, though he could if driven to desperation. Enjoying a fall breeze on a bench beneath deciduous trees that had gone to hues of yellow, orange, and red, his mind had drifted to the Edges. It wasn't until the cold tip of a gun barrel pressed itself to the back of his neck that his eyes opened, and everything flooded in
-shit, shit, shit, I'm just a rookie, I can't be up against guys like this, and -- no place to run, no place to hide, what now smart -- darkness, death, despair, fire and flames and destruction and ohgodohgodohgod-
It was the last wave of thoughts that he chose to focus on. The mind of someone in the grips of full blown terror. He mentally reached out, stroked his power along their brain waves, and settled them. Shhh, his power seemed to whisper, shh, everything is okay. There was a gasp from the side. His eyes finally focused on the moment, and a multitude of SWAT men and women appeared in front of him, tactical guns drawn and focused on him. His peripheral vision processed several different well-dressed men and women, likely of differing agencies, and one who had a tight grip on a teenage boy. The boy's eyes were wide, stared straight at him, and though he couldn't hear the words, he could hear the thoughts that accompanied the words, and read the boy's lips.
"He did it!" He actually did it! "He heard what I was projecting and completely washed it away in a calming tide." How, how did he do that?! "This is him, this is definitely him." I can't believe it.
The softest breath of a sigh escaped him, his body going limp on the bench. The tip of the gun dug deeper against his neck, a harsh voice grunting,
"Don't try anything funny, I'll blow your fucking spine out, got it?"
There was no answer to that question, there couldn't be one. After a moment, a female agent stepped between the line of SWAT, and raked her eyes over him. She wasn't overly average, but possessed a normal height and weight, her sharp blazer hiding the firm muscles of her arms, and the flared slacks she wore disguising her slender legs. Her gold-brown hair was swept back into a very efficient, tight bun. Her bright brown eyes were judgmental and harsh, filled with unpleasant memories that had taken their toll. She crossed her arms over her chest, and raised on exquisite eyebrow at him.
"So, you're the famous telepath, huh? Don't look like much to me."
His eyes strayed down to his body, to his ratty tan duster, rumpled slacks, wrinkled and stained green dress shirt. He looked back up at her and shrugged, "I think I look alright."
"Yeah, well, the commonwealth would disagree. Do you know how this goes Mr. Lewis, or do I need to explain it to you."
"No," a soft sigh breathed out of him, "I know how you want it to go."
The SWAT team, the agents, the teenage boy even, all fell to the ground simultaneously. The female agent's lips widened slightly, her hand darting to her sidearm, but it was too late. He had her mind in his grip, and her movements stilled. She was the only one awake, the only one conscious. He stood slowly, brushed off his pants and straightened his coat. Walking closer to her, he stopped in front of her and shook his head. He stepped around her, but paused when his body was parallel to hers.
"Caitlin Richards - that is your name, isn't it? - you have no idea what you're getting into. Chasing me is dangerous, but I'm not the one you should be concerned about, because when you chase me, you will find many dark, unfathomable things follow me already." His head dipped slightly, a creeping sad smile turning up one corner of his mouth, "You want to make an impression on the WIA, I understand, but this isn't the way. Finding me is one thing, and arresting me is another. But removing me from my current location is a thing that would lead to pain and suffering for millions. Not by my hands, I assure you. Please, take care Caitlin. Good day."
With that, he continued to walk. For twenty minutes, she remained frozen, and everyone around her remained unconscious. When they began to groan and rouse themselves, sitting up with pain in their limbs and ringing in their ears, Caitlin Richards turned her head to look at the space he had walked through. Her mind was reeling, and she determined then that she needed to know more about Mr. Lewis.
Cotard Syndrome - A Fictional Account
Thursday, October 9, 2014
My name is David True.
I'm dead.
Not dead in the traditional sense. I'm not a zombie or reanimated corpse. It's just, one day I woke up and realized I was dead.
It all started about a year ago. See, I tried to kill myself. It wasn't anything personal against the world, I just didn't really want to live anymore. Well, it's more complicated than that, it always is, but this isn't a story about how I got to where I was then. It's about how I got to being dead. So it started with when I was found in my bathtub by a nosy neighbor, life swirling away down the drain. Police officers, ambulance, lots of flashing lights. It was kind of surreal, the hustle and bustle going on that seemed to be at hyper speed. The voices speaking but seeming to far away, so slow and tedious. Then the oxygen mask, the dullness of my forearms.
I got out of course. They patched me up and sent me off to get my brain repaired. I did, to some degree, and then I went home. Three days later I woke up and realized I no longer had a brain, that I was dead.
Again, my nosy neighbor couldn't stay away, and found me slowly wasting away on the couch. I wasn't really wasting yet, but I had stopped eating, stopped cleaning myself, stopped everything. I was dead, y'know? What was the point? I asked him to just take me to the mortuary, that I wanted to be with other dead people, but instead he called 911. Again.
This time, I got escorted by police, no ambulance for me. They kept looking at me like I was crazy, with a weird sort of bemusement. My brain was just gone. I knew, I knew my brain was no longer in my skull, but they refused to believe me.
"David, how can you be dead if you're talking to me right now?" The psychiatrists asked. I tried to explain it to them as well. Eventually they got fed up, frustrated. Hey, I was frustrated too! I didn't know how I could be walking, talking, breathing with no brain, but I knew I didn't have one. Let the experts figure it out! Eventually, phone calls were made. That was when Dr. Mulligan came into the picture.
Mulligan ordered a PET scan of my brain and set to work. A barrage of tests came before the PET, but that was the scan that convinced them I had a point. After all, it turned out I had metabolic activity in my brain comparable to someone in a vegetative state. Mind you, I'm fairly certain I don't have a brain, but everyone else seems convinced that I do. Mulligan told me I was a phenomenon. Apparently my brain function resembles that of someone asleep, or under anesthesia, but I'm awake. Me? I'm pretty sure I'm dead.
They've been pumping me full of drugs since them, keep putting me into this or that therapy They're forcing me to live in a psych ward. The last time they let me go home, I just went back to how I was. I'm dead! There's no point in eating or moving or grooming anymore. But they keep on trying, say they'll get me back to functioning soon enough. I'm tired of being force fed though. Tired in general.
What I don't understand is, why am I the only one who knows I'm dead?
I'm dead.
Not dead in the traditional sense. I'm not a zombie or reanimated corpse. It's just, one day I woke up and realized I was dead.
It all started about a year ago. See, I tried to kill myself. It wasn't anything personal against the world, I just didn't really want to live anymore. Well, it's more complicated than that, it always is, but this isn't a story about how I got to where I was then. It's about how I got to being dead. So it started with when I was found in my bathtub by a nosy neighbor, life swirling away down the drain. Police officers, ambulance, lots of flashing lights. It was kind of surreal, the hustle and bustle going on that seemed to be at hyper speed. The voices speaking but seeming to far away, so slow and tedious. Then the oxygen mask, the dullness of my forearms.
I got out of course. They patched me up and sent me off to get my brain repaired. I did, to some degree, and then I went home. Three days later I woke up and realized I no longer had a brain, that I was dead.
Again, my nosy neighbor couldn't stay away, and found me slowly wasting away on the couch. I wasn't really wasting yet, but I had stopped eating, stopped cleaning myself, stopped everything. I was dead, y'know? What was the point? I asked him to just take me to the mortuary, that I wanted to be with other dead people, but instead he called 911. Again.
This time, I got escorted by police, no ambulance for me. They kept looking at me like I was crazy, with a weird sort of bemusement. My brain was just gone. I knew, I knew my brain was no longer in my skull, but they refused to believe me.
"David, how can you be dead if you're talking to me right now?" The psychiatrists asked. I tried to explain it to them as well. Eventually they got fed up, frustrated. Hey, I was frustrated too! I didn't know how I could be walking, talking, breathing with no brain, but I knew I didn't have one. Let the experts figure it out! Eventually, phone calls were made. That was when Dr. Mulligan came into the picture.
Mulligan ordered a PET scan of my brain and set to work. A barrage of tests came before the PET, but that was the scan that convinced them I had a point. After all, it turned out I had metabolic activity in my brain comparable to someone in a vegetative state. Mind you, I'm fairly certain I don't have a brain, but everyone else seems convinced that I do. Mulligan told me I was a phenomenon. Apparently my brain function resembles that of someone asleep, or under anesthesia, but I'm awake. Me? I'm pretty sure I'm dead.
They've been pumping me full of drugs since them, keep putting me into this or that therapy They're forcing me to live in a psych ward. The last time they let me go home, I just went back to how I was. I'm dead! There's no point in eating or moving or grooming anymore. But they keep on trying, say they'll get me back to functioning soon enough. I'm tired of being force fed though. Tired in general.
What I don't understand is, why am I the only one who knows I'm dead?
Carnivorous Cows!
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Cows are normally considered herbivores, but whoever made earth and programmed cows to function as such had clearly never been to Bodaciavore 5. The plant was nice, as nice as it could be when populated with meat-eating cattle, but Cello wasn't really meat to begin with.
He docked his craft, which masqueraded as one of Galacar's finest, at the space port, and got his boots on the ground. The main port was a riot of various cultures and species, all melding and merging and trading. Some were even crewing up. Most would think Cello was looking for a crew, but this simply wasn't the case. His craft didn't need a crew; it was linked to him already. If he wanted, he could call his ship to him, navigating it through the sky while at a secondary location. It was another reason his superiors had picked him for the mission on Bodaciavore 5. Sure, these cows ate meat, but Earth cows ate plants. Plants! That was millions of years of evolutionary fear built into Cello that activated in the presence of cows. Unfortunately, he was the only one within the entire intelligence organization who met the necessary requirements for the mission. Namely, he wasn't made of meat.
Wading through the crowded main concourse, he broke free of the space-port and found himself at the welcoming center for the planet. A bovine with dewy brown eyes smiled at him from behind her desk. Her teeth were needle sharp. "Hello, sir. Can I help you?" Cello already suspected the intel they had received would prove correct.
"Yes, sorry. I'm a bit lost. I'm trying to get into the main city? I've got some items for exchange," Cello answered. As if to prove the point, he hefted the sack in his hand so the cow could see it, and favored her with an apologetic smile. The sack had been carefully chosen and constructed to appear as if it was somewhat damp, bulging with various...contraband items. However, Cello knew the truth. The sack was filled with his dirty laundry, carefully arranged to appear as what the cow imagined. The cow of Bodaciavore 5, by the by, thought it was severed human limbs.
"Oh! Certainly, sir!" Her eyes narrowed with anticipation, and she licked her lips slowly while typing into the computer on the desk. After several moments of meticulous tapping, a small arch appeared in the middle of the wall behind the desk, and the clerk cow smiled once more. She beckoned Cello over and sent him on his way. She didn't offer any instructions, so he figured he was supposed to know this part and take care of it on his own. Shrugging to himself, he headed down the dark tunnel.
When he finally emerged into light, he found himself in a basement kitchen. It was the new fad of the galaxy. Restaurants would serve you from the surface entrance, but on the lower floor, an immense, sprawling kitchen was busy at work. Several cooking stations were set up, the clang and clamor of pots and pans penetrating the air, along with the shouts from various chef-types. Looking around, somewhat helplessly, Cello was spotted by a large brown bull with white spots on his chest.
"You! Is that the homo sapiens meat?"
"Sure is!" Cello smiled. The recording device hidden within the sack had picked that up, loud and clear. His mission was technically complete the moment he got confirmation on what had been suspected. The carnivorous cows of Bodaciavore 5 were indeed eating the meat of sentient species. However, Cello couldn't be content letting things lie. As it stood, this kitchen was headquarters, the place of operation, which meant he had an obligation - a duty! - to shut it down.
Narrowing his eyes at the bull, he gave his own fake smile, and then the blasters went off.
Above them, screams filtered down. His craft was shooting up the main restaurant, and even dropped a bomb. The bomb blast rocked the entire foundation of the place, and dust drifted down from the ceiling above. The bull shouted out, "What the hell is going on?!"
Cello dropped the sack, rolls of dirty underwear spilling out. He whipped out a hand, and from his hand spread choking roots that took down multiple cows with ease. Some tried to bite him to no avail, for they had the teeth of carnivores and could not damage the hardy plant substance. Eventually, only piles of beef remained, and Cello calmly entered the tunnel once more. In fact, he walked down the tunnel with a hop in his step, and a whistling tune from his lips.
When he came back out, the female clerk cow was cowering behind her desk, and Cello did her the favor of a root straight to the brain, no suffering for her. From there, it was easy to maneuver through the chaos, and by the time he was back at the space-port, his ship was waiting for him.
He boarded and smiled, patting the interior.
Cellulose was home.
He docked his craft, which masqueraded as one of Galacar's finest, at the space port, and got his boots on the ground. The main port was a riot of various cultures and species, all melding and merging and trading. Some were even crewing up. Most would think Cello was looking for a crew, but this simply wasn't the case. His craft didn't need a crew; it was linked to him already. If he wanted, he could call his ship to him, navigating it through the sky while at a secondary location. It was another reason his superiors had picked him for the mission on Bodaciavore 5. Sure, these cows ate meat, but Earth cows ate plants. Plants! That was millions of years of evolutionary fear built into Cello that activated in the presence of cows. Unfortunately, he was the only one within the entire intelligence organization who met the necessary requirements for the mission. Namely, he wasn't made of meat.
Wading through the crowded main concourse, he broke free of the space-port and found himself at the welcoming center for the planet. A bovine with dewy brown eyes smiled at him from behind her desk. Her teeth were needle sharp. "Hello, sir. Can I help you?" Cello already suspected the intel they had received would prove correct.
"Yes, sorry. I'm a bit lost. I'm trying to get into the main city? I've got some items for exchange," Cello answered. As if to prove the point, he hefted the sack in his hand so the cow could see it, and favored her with an apologetic smile. The sack had been carefully chosen and constructed to appear as if it was somewhat damp, bulging with various...contraband items. However, Cello knew the truth. The sack was filled with his dirty laundry, carefully arranged to appear as what the cow imagined. The cow of Bodaciavore 5, by the by, thought it was severed human limbs.
"Oh! Certainly, sir!" Her eyes narrowed with anticipation, and she licked her lips slowly while typing into the computer on the desk. After several moments of meticulous tapping, a small arch appeared in the middle of the wall behind the desk, and the clerk cow smiled once more. She beckoned Cello over and sent him on his way. She didn't offer any instructions, so he figured he was supposed to know this part and take care of it on his own. Shrugging to himself, he headed down the dark tunnel.
When he finally emerged into light, he found himself in a basement kitchen. It was the new fad of the galaxy. Restaurants would serve you from the surface entrance, but on the lower floor, an immense, sprawling kitchen was busy at work. Several cooking stations were set up, the clang and clamor of pots and pans penetrating the air, along with the shouts from various chef-types. Looking around, somewhat helplessly, Cello was spotted by a large brown bull with white spots on his chest.
"You! Is that the homo sapiens meat?"
"Sure is!" Cello smiled. The recording device hidden within the sack had picked that up, loud and clear. His mission was technically complete the moment he got confirmation on what had been suspected. The carnivorous cows of Bodaciavore 5 were indeed eating the meat of sentient species. However, Cello couldn't be content letting things lie. As it stood, this kitchen was headquarters, the place of operation, which meant he had an obligation - a duty! - to shut it down.
Narrowing his eyes at the bull, he gave his own fake smile, and then the blasters went off.
Above them, screams filtered down. His craft was shooting up the main restaurant, and even dropped a bomb. The bomb blast rocked the entire foundation of the place, and dust drifted down from the ceiling above. The bull shouted out, "What the hell is going on?!"
Cello dropped the sack, rolls of dirty underwear spilling out. He whipped out a hand, and from his hand spread choking roots that took down multiple cows with ease. Some tried to bite him to no avail, for they had the teeth of carnivores and could not damage the hardy plant substance. Eventually, only piles of beef remained, and Cello calmly entered the tunnel once more. In fact, he walked down the tunnel with a hop in his step, and a whistling tune from his lips.
When he came back out, the female clerk cow was cowering behind her desk, and Cello did her the favor of a root straight to the brain, no suffering for her. From there, it was easy to maneuver through the chaos, and by the time he was back at the space-port, his ship was waiting for him.
He boarded and smiled, patting the interior.
Cellulose was home.
Bloody Mourning
Thursday, September 25, 2014
The sky is raining blood. Deep copper tears of rust run down buildings older than the oldest child, and pools of ruddy liquid gather in the pavement cracks. It is angels' blood, and it is falling from Heaven onto the streets of Hell. He takes in this information with a disconnected apathy, not at all concerned for what is happening.
In truth, the whole thing was coming sooner or later.
People seemed to assume that angels had no free will, that it was a punishment of the rebellion, or that the free will enabling the rebellion itself was a fluke. He found this amusing. Of course all angels had a mind of their own! Hive mentality was a difficult thing to break away from, and it was difficult to betray what a parent instilled into you from existence. But those of the rebellion had been precocious scamps. Now, other angels had begun asking questions, begun displaying curiosity. They felt lied to, betrayed, and asked important things.
"If the reason for Hell is to punish sinners, doesn't that mean the people running it are on our side? Why is there eternal damnation, what if these people can be redeemed? What about those born in Hell to demons, don't they have any say in the matter? Why is Hell permanent, why isn't it merely a phase one must go through?"
Eventually, the hardcore fanatics and those brave enough to question the system were fighting one another in Heaven. Once upon a time, he might have cared, but he had long ago lost his compassion. Anything he had believed he could accomplish in Hell had long since been abandoned. So many looked to him for guidance, but what could he provide? He was just as stuck in this eternal torment as they were. He had been his father's favorite, the whole reason he was in this damn position. The rebellion was a ruse that went too far, he only did it at his father's urging. He knew what his father knew; people needed someone to blame, and he could provide the perfect scapegoat. But even though he truly was on the side of the "angels", he no longer felt so benign on the matter.
Father had said it was a responsibility, that he had a purpose of greatness in the universe. Greatness. In a dank, dark, stinking, rancid pit. Right.
From his tower, he looked out the window the the ground. Demons and fallen and damned souls alike meandered through the streets, throwing back their heads and opening their mouths, catching the blood on their tongues like snowflakes. Mad laughter filtered up from the streets below to his tower. This is what his father had damned them all to. Madness. One couldn't maintain their sanity and pureness in such a filthy place.
It took a minute for him to realize he had shattered the glass of brandy in his hand. The glass shards were slowly pushing out of his skin and the cuts healing over. He stared at his hand for a minute, thinking. Raising his head, he looked up at the ceiling of his tower, pretending that this time his father would listen and respond.
"Dear Father in Heaven, it's me, the Devil..."
In truth, the whole thing was coming sooner or later.
People seemed to assume that angels had no free will, that it was a punishment of the rebellion, or that the free will enabling the rebellion itself was a fluke. He found this amusing. Of course all angels had a mind of their own! Hive mentality was a difficult thing to break away from, and it was difficult to betray what a parent instilled into you from existence. But those of the rebellion had been precocious scamps. Now, other angels had begun asking questions, begun displaying curiosity. They felt lied to, betrayed, and asked important things.
"If the reason for Hell is to punish sinners, doesn't that mean the people running it are on our side? Why is there eternal damnation, what if these people can be redeemed? What about those born in Hell to demons, don't they have any say in the matter? Why is Hell permanent, why isn't it merely a phase one must go through?"
Eventually, the hardcore fanatics and those brave enough to question the system were fighting one another in Heaven. Once upon a time, he might have cared, but he had long ago lost his compassion. Anything he had believed he could accomplish in Hell had long since been abandoned. So many looked to him for guidance, but what could he provide? He was just as stuck in this eternal torment as they were. He had been his father's favorite, the whole reason he was in this damn position. The rebellion was a ruse that went too far, he only did it at his father's urging. He knew what his father knew; people needed someone to blame, and he could provide the perfect scapegoat. But even though he truly was on the side of the "angels", he no longer felt so benign on the matter.
Father had said it was a responsibility, that he had a purpose of greatness in the universe. Greatness. In a dank, dark, stinking, rancid pit. Right.
From his tower, he looked out the window the the ground. Demons and fallen and damned souls alike meandered through the streets, throwing back their heads and opening their mouths, catching the blood on their tongues like snowflakes. Mad laughter filtered up from the streets below to his tower. This is what his father had damned them all to. Madness. One couldn't maintain their sanity and pureness in such a filthy place.
It took a minute for him to realize he had shattered the glass of brandy in his hand. The glass shards were slowly pushing out of his skin and the cuts healing over. He stared at his hand for a minute, thinking. Raising his head, he looked up at the ceiling of his tower, pretending that this time his father would listen and respond.
"Dear Father in Heaven, it's me, the Devil..."
A Magical Menagerie Masquerade (Part 1)
Friday, September 19, 2014
Choosing a magical companion animal wasn't something one undertook lightly, especially when choosing the wrong pet could absolutely ruin your chances at getting an invitation to the ball. In Heartdale, the Masquerade of the Blessed was the most important event of each year. It was an enormous affair involving elaborate costumes, immense spreads of food, grand dances, and the most elite members of society.
You couldn't simply pick any animal you liked. You needed to know what was in fashion at the moment and what was not. This was why Pluckywhistle's Menagerie existed. It was a complex taking up an entire street, filled with gilded cages and enclosures housing a variety of beasts. It also had everything one needed for whatever animal they chose as catching their fancy. The most in season were always kept at the front, often rotating as tastes changed.
However, there was one particular Blessed who had just been selected to choose his animal, and he didn't care about such things. He only wanted a loyal companion, one who would kill and die for him and evoke the same sentiment in him. He had always been a peculiar Blessed. Originally an orphan turned street urchin, the township had been beside itself when discovering he was a Blessed. He was given a name, and a high society family adopted him as their own. Henry Wyless received an education at the magnificent Academy Lesurge, the most prestigious of schools for the Blessed. An entirely new wardrobe was provided for him, and school supplies were acquired. What had surprised everyone though, was that Henry worked tirelessly to pay them all back, and somehow managed to make straight-A's at the Academy. He was a prodigy, and refused to take anything for free. Now, he finally had the chance to pick a companion animal.
Upon entering Pluckywhistle's, he had been immediately targeted by salesman Bonacarte. The small man was decked out in fine livery, and had an unfortunately high-pitched voice. As Henry began to move to the back, he felt Bonacarte following behind him.
"The more updated creatures are at the front, sir. You do want an invitation to the ball, don't you?"
Knowing the gentleman behind him couldn't see, Henry rolled his eyes. "No. I'm looking for a true companion animal, not a prop to get invited to a social event." After all, he would be invited regardless. The Wyless' were a prominent family, and had no other children of their own. He was, in essence, their only son and a bachelor. Not inviting him would be a massive mistake in the eyes of the ladies.
Silence fell as Henry's sharp eyes took everything in. He quickly noticed the cage that was set far in the back, nearly obscured by the shadows. He weaved past a variety of different creatures to the forgotten number, much to Bonacarte's audible dismay. As he neared, a large mass with glowing red eyes rushed the bars, slamming into them. The whole cage rattled. Henry didn't flinch, but moved closer, cocking his head in curiosity. The beast in question wasn't growling or snarling, but panting. In front of him was a dog about the size of a cow's calf, and the most brilliant emerald shade. The bright eyes were violet in color, not red, and the beast seemed rather friendly.
"Who is this incredible creature?" Henry asked.
"This is our cu sith, he's a fairy dog. We've been looking to get him placed elsewhere, he takes up too much space and no one is interested in adopting him. Are you interested in him, sir?"
"Yes. Yes I believe I am. Can I meet him?" Henry turned toward Bonacarte with an eager expression.
"You...you want him out of the cage?" Bonacarte squeaked.
"Well... Yes."
"Okay..." Bonacarte inched his way around Henry and slid forward. He tentatively touched a hand to one of the cage bars, and muttered the spell before leaping backwards, expecting an attack. The cu sith sat back on its haunches, not even making a move to leave the cage, still panting in a friendly way. Henry smiled an moved close, boldly coming up to the beast and placing one hand atop its head. His eyes closed. After a moment, they snapped open with a new clarity, and he turned to the small salesman.
"I want this animal and all of the required items for such a creature's keep. I'm taking him."
"Very good, sir." Bonacarte replied, thoroughly baffled but happy to be rid of the monstrosity. The cu sith had never acted with such calm as it had today, it was almost unbelievable. Watching Henry, the most peculiar feeling slid down Bonacarte's spine, but he shrugged it off. It was lucky Henry had chosen the beast, the items to keep such a monster were many, but the fee for him had been slashed and slashed until he was mere pennies. It wouldn't hurt the young man's pockets much.
After Bonacarte had scurried off, Henry smiled and looked over his new companion. "We've got to think you up a brilliant name. Maybe Forfax? It's an honorable name, you see." The dog merely smiled wider, continuing to pant. Henry nodded at his furry behemoth of a friend. "Forfax it is."
You couldn't simply pick any animal you liked. You needed to know what was in fashion at the moment and what was not. This was why Pluckywhistle's Menagerie existed. It was a complex taking up an entire street, filled with gilded cages and enclosures housing a variety of beasts. It also had everything one needed for whatever animal they chose as catching their fancy. The most in season were always kept at the front, often rotating as tastes changed.
However, there was one particular Blessed who had just been selected to choose his animal, and he didn't care about such things. He only wanted a loyal companion, one who would kill and die for him and evoke the same sentiment in him. He had always been a peculiar Blessed. Originally an orphan turned street urchin, the township had been beside itself when discovering he was a Blessed. He was given a name, and a high society family adopted him as their own. Henry Wyless received an education at the magnificent Academy Lesurge, the most prestigious of schools for the Blessed. An entirely new wardrobe was provided for him, and school supplies were acquired. What had surprised everyone though, was that Henry worked tirelessly to pay them all back, and somehow managed to make straight-A's at the Academy. He was a prodigy, and refused to take anything for free. Now, he finally had the chance to pick a companion animal.
Upon entering Pluckywhistle's, he had been immediately targeted by salesman Bonacarte. The small man was decked out in fine livery, and had an unfortunately high-pitched voice. As Henry began to move to the back, he felt Bonacarte following behind him.
"The more updated creatures are at the front, sir. You do want an invitation to the ball, don't you?"
Knowing the gentleman behind him couldn't see, Henry rolled his eyes. "No. I'm looking for a true companion animal, not a prop to get invited to a social event." After all, he would be invited regardless. The Wyless' were a prominent family, and had no other children of their own. He was, in essence, their only son and a bachelor. Not inviting him would be a massive mistake in the eyes of the ladies.
Silence fell as Henry's sharp eyes took everything in. He quickly noticed the cage that was set far in the back, nearly obscured by the shadows. He weaved past a variety of different creatures to the forgotten number, much to Bonacarte's audible dismay. As he neared, a large mass with glowing red eyes rushed the bars, slamming into them. The whole cage rattled. Henry didn't flinch, but moved closer, cocking his head in curiosity. The beast in question wasn't growling or snarling, but panting. In front of him was a dog about the size of a cow's calf, and the most brilliant emerald shade. The bright eyes were violet in color, not red, and the beast seemed rather friendly.
"Who is this incredible creature?" Henry asked.
"This is our cu sith, he's a fairy dog. We've been looking to get him placed elsewhere, he takes up too much space and no one is interested in adopting him. Are you interested in him, sir?"
"Yes. Yes I believe I am. Can I meet him?" Henry turned toward Bonacarte with an eager expression.
"You...you want him out of the cage?" Bonacarte squeaked.
"Well... Yes."
"Okay..." Bonacarte inched his way around Henry and slid forward. He tentatively touched a hand to one of the cage bars, and muttered the spell before leaping backwards, expecting an attack. The cu sith sat back on its haunches, not even making a move to leave the cage, still panting in a friendly way. Henry smiled an moved close, boldly coming up to the beast and placing one hand atop its head. His eyes closed. After a moment, they snapped open with a new clarity, and he turned to the small salesman.
"I want this animal and all of the required items for such a creature's keep. I'm taking him."
"Very good, sir." Bonacarte replied, thoroughly baffled but happy to be rid of the monstrosity. The cu sith had never acted with such calm as it had today, it was almost unbelievable. Watching Henry, the most peculiar feeling slid down Bonacarte's spine, but he shrugged it off. It was lucky Henry had chosen the beast, the items to keep such a monster were many, but the fee for him had been slashed and slashed until he was mere pennies. It wouldn't hurt the young man's pockets much.
After Bonacarte had scurried off, Henry smiled and looked over his new companion. "We've got to think you up a brilliant name. Maybe Forfax? It's an honorable name, you see." The dog merely smiled wider, continuing to pant. Henry nodded at his furry behemoth of a friend. "Forfax it is."
Pandemonium, Part 3 - Conclusion
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
There was only the brilliance of the lilac light.
There was only this moment, the here and now...and then there was nothing.
--
Sticky eyes peeled back and squinted at the harsh light centered directly above them. It was bright. It hurt. The eyes closed again. My ears could hear snatches of words. Simple things:
"...we're losing him..."
"...get me 5 ccs..."
"...scalpel, no, clamp..."
"...blood pressure is dropping again..."
When her voice cut through it all, my body became hyper alert. Suddenly, every sensation was raw, and brushed the wrong way on my nerves. The clingy, sweat-stained fabric of something was plastered to my skin, making it itch. There was a deafening silence in the room that stank of fear. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, the taste unpleasant, like a mouth full of dirty socks. I didn't open my eyes again. I just listened to her bare feet on the floor, stepping closer and closer to me.
"Hello, dear," Her voice was creation in itself, painfully full of meaning.
"Hello, Mother," I barely croaked out, my throat red and raw. There was a pulsing in my mouth and I tried to smack my lips together for moisture, but my mouth was drier than the Gobi desert.
"You haven't used your power in a long time. You didn't think there wouldn't be a backlash, did you?"
"Had to save her."
"The ghoul," I could hear the distaste in her voice. She couldn't understand why I would sacrifice myself for a "lesser" creature. Not speciest, just factual in her opinion. She had never understood my need to help others. Never understood why the loss of people I cared for was so damn painful. I like to believe she once cared about things like that, that so much exposure caused her mind to seal that part of herself off, to keep her from feeling that pain ever again. But moments like this, I'm not sure. "Regardless of your foolish decision, I am not going to allow you to die." I wanted to say I wished she would, but the few words I had already spoken had scraped against my throat like a hacksaw. I couldn't, plain and simple.
Her hand touched my forehead, cool and comforting. Then, there was darkness again.
--
I woke up in a hospital room. I hadn't been in a hospital room in a long, long time. The window blinds were pulled up, curtains drawn to reveal the gray skies of Pandemonium. Necromicon went on chugging while I lay feeble in a bed with a horrible need to use the bathroom. I settled for continuing to observe my environment.
The walls were taupe, a little stained here and there, probably by a bodily fluid of some sort that I would rather not contemplate. Minimal furniture, a recliner next to the bed's nightstand. The bathroom was tiny, I could see from here. The floors were brown linoleum. There was one picture on the wall, a small watercolor of a particular flower framed and put up as if an afterthought. I sighed.
The door opened, much to my surprise. A shaggy blonde poked his head through and muttered, "Thank god!" upon seeing me before he ran in. Clutching his hand was a small eight year old boy with bloodshot eyes and a red, running nose. Releasing Wally's hand, Fen leaped at me, landing on my stomach and hugging me so tightly I thought he might break me.
"Dad!" Fen said, voice muffled by my hospital gown. Tears from his eyes were already soaking through the standard issue garb, and I gently untangled him from around my neck.
"Hey. There's no need to cry, bud," I said, tipping his chin up and smiling. His lip quivered. "I'm alive, see? It's alright. Did Wally treat you well?"
Fen cracked a smile at that. "He let me ride on his shoulders, and he made funny faces, and sometimes he drank red stuff from little baggies, but he wouldn't share it. He kept saying you'd be okay but..." An embarrassed blush crept across his face, "I didn't believe him."
"Well, I guess you ought to start believing him now, huh?"
Fen giggled, and I looked over at Wally, offering him a small smile which was returned. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was paler than the norm. Fen had put him through the wringer. Damn.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and then Tyr pushed his way inside. A huge breath left him when he saw me there sitting up, and he came over, grabbing my hand to give it an enthusiastic shake.
"Mal, don't you ever do that again. I thought you were dead! Well, dying." I had never seen Tyr so emotional before, and it made me feel...weird. Apparently he felt the same way, because he cringed and fidgeted on his feet. "So, uh... Due to everything that's transpired..." Tyr grimaced. "I hate to be the one to have to say this... The department can no longer affiliate itself with you. You've got to get out, find a new place of business, and reapply for your specialist permit."
"Are you kidding me?!"
Tyr looked apologetic, "I'm sorry, but you know how it is. I kept your secret as long as I could, but once others found out who your mother was, I mean after all that happened..." The regular joes, he meant. Once they found out my mother was The Almighty, they didn't want a damn thing to do with me. Suddenly, I was upgraded from threatening, to dangerous. I solved so many cases, and this is how they repaid me. Damn it!
"Fine, I'll move out."
"That's great, Mal," Wally nodded enthusiastically. "Good that you're gearing up to get back on your feet." He moved closer to my bed and pulled out a newspaper from behind his back, several things circled in red. "Might I suggest one of these fine buildings?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "What, you;'re already real-estate hunting? You don't even know if I'm really going to take you on as my partner or not."
"Oh, you totally are," Wally said dismissively. He pointed to a picture on the paper, "Look at this one."
We stayed that way for a while. Fen on my lap, Tyr standing by my left, Wally on my right jabbering on about something or other. Eventually, Tyr cleared his throat and excused himself, off to bring justice to the masses. Wally took Fen to get dinner, and I was left on my own.
With effort, I got out of the bed and made it to the bathroom. I finished up and was exiting when I was stopped cold by the sight of Belinda on the recliner by the bed. Her gaze was focused outside, and she had a "Get-Well!" bear in her lap. There was a bag of candy treats on the nightstand.
"Belinda?" It came out as a question, me almost not believing what I was seeing. She'd been exposed to me when I was cranking out full power but she had come back? Even my wife wouldn't have a damn thing to do with me after seeing me like that...which ended with her and our daughter being killed. Now, someone I'd never done anything more for than try to get her to smile was here and waiting for me.
She turned, startled. "Oh! Hi, Mal." Awkward silence poured into the room, filling it to capacity. "I, uhm, I came to say thanks."
"Oh, uh. No problem, any time. Not that I wish there's another time, but, I mean...you know what I mean." Idiot.
"Yes," She smiled. I moved back to the bed, not able to keep standing on my legs which were threatening to give out. I made it to a sitting position with a grunt, and pulled my legs up to the bed itself, the head raised almost like we were sitting in two chairs. It would have been cozy had we not been in a hospital. "Have you talked to anyone about...things?"
"What things?"
"Well, you know Mal," Belinda blushed. My brow furrowed, I truly didn't know what she meant. When she saw I was serious, she bit her lower lip and tried to explain. "I mean, everything that happened. I don't even know everything that occurred. I thought I was going to, well... I thought that was the end. Then you did that crazy light show thing, and people are saying The Almighty is your mother, and..." She forced herself to stop and looked at me.
"It's a long story."
"I don't have anything else to do. They put me on leave at work."
"Alright then... You're right. The Almighty is my mother. I'm her only son." Belinda cringed at the information, but I understood. For several years now in Pandemonium, most citizens see her as a cold bitch, and I agree. She is. She lets the lesser gods do their thing, and wants nothing to do with her creations. The only thing she cares about is me, but we don't have a good relationship. She's not the ultimate being people want, but they don't push me away because of that. They simply don't want to do something to upset me that might upset her and get them obliterated. Like she'd take time out of her "busy schedule" to bother smiting someone. Like I couldn't do it myself.
"So, how long have you been..."
"Alive?"
"Yeah."
I sighed. "Millennia."
"Wow."
"Yeah. She only saved me because I was dying. If I die, she'll get in a mood. It keeps everyone else safe when I'm alive. I grew up with most of the gods. Babysat for them when they had kids, watched those kids grow. They all know me, but only Tyr knows the truth. The others think I'm some god of a pantheon that was long ago destroyed except for me. It's a dumb theory, but they like it. Guess that's ruined now.
"I've got a lot of power. As much as my mother does, actually, but she'd never admit it. I wouldn't either. I do my best to never use it, never let it surface. That's why I got so torn up after everything went down. I hadn't used it in so long, it was going to burst me apart. My body wasn't used to the power, wasn't a good conductor. I guess now I'll have to start slowly building back up my usage and tolerance for it."
"Is that why you take care of Fenrir?"
"How do you know about that?" I asked,sharper than I meant to.
"Wally told me," Belinda said softly.
"Oh," That idiot kid. "But, yes. I'm not truly a god. Fen can't accidentally kill me or hurt me. I have experience with kids. Loki doesn't. It's better this way."
"When are you coming back to work?"
My brow knitted in confusion, "Uhh, didn't Tyr tell you? I'm not coming back. Everyone wants me out. Find my own building, reapply for a permit and all that."
Her face paled, and it took me a minute to remember that for ghouls, outrage and anger make them pale. "I can't believe that! Well, if they're firing you, I'll just quit."
"Belinda--,"
"No!" She cut me off. "That's not acceptable behavior. Besides, if you're left to run your own office, you'll never survive the paperwork." She gave me a look. Okay, so maybe she did all of my paperwork when I got called onto cases, but she didn't have to rub my face in it. "So I'll work for you."
"Wait, what?"
"Wally said you're already looking at places. You'll need an administrator. Who better than me?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Besides, then...maybe I'll be safe," Her voice dropped, became quiet once more.
"Safe? From what?"
Her eyes widened in horror. "From Krishna!"
"Why would you need to be safe from him when he's gone?"
"Mal, he's only gone. He could come back!"
"No, that's not..." I gave a frustrated sigh. How to explain what I'd done? "He isn't going to come back. He's not gone in a traditional sense. He's simply gone. All of the atoms, molecules, particles that made up the god Krishna are not in existence. There is no longer a Krishna. How could you think I'd just let him get away after what he did to you?" I was a little hurt, I'll admit it. I mean, I save her life and she thinks I must have done a half-assed job of it? Does reputation count for nothing anymore?
"Y-You did that?" And now I've scared her off.
"Yes."
"For me?" Her voice squeaked.
"Well, yeah."
"That's, uhm, that's..." Belinda blushed a brilliant crimson shade I had never before seen and got up. She gathered her purse and flung the teddy bear at me. As she rushed out of the room, she called back, "That's really very sweet Mal, I have to go now and we can talk job stuff later, thank you."
I was left alone with no clue what just happened. At least no more people would be dying.
At least, not until it was another day in Pandemonium.
There was only this moment, the here and now...and then there was nothing.
--
Sticky eyes peeled back and squinted at the harsh light centered directly above them. It was bright. It hurt. The eyes closed again. My ears could hear snatches of words. Simple things:
"...we're losing him..."
"...get me 5 ccs..."
"...scalpel, no, clamp..."
"...blood pressure is dropping again..."
When her voice cut through it all, my body became hyper alert. Suddenly, every sensation was raw, and brushed the wrong way on my nerves. The clingy, sweat-stained fabric of something was plastered to my skin, making it itch. There was a deafening silence in the room that stank of fear. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, the taste unpleasant, like a mouth full of dirty socks. I didn't open my eyes again. I just listened to her bare feet on the floor, stepping closer and closer to me.
"Hello, dear," Her voice was creation in itself, painfully full of meaning.
"Hello, Mother," I barely croaked out, my throat red and raw. There was a pulsing in my mouth and I tried to smack my lips together for moisture, but my mouth was drier than the Gobi desert.
"You haven't used your power in a long time. You didn't think there wouldn't be a backlash, did you?"
"Had to save her."
"The ghoul," I could hear the distaste in her voice. She couldn't understand why I would sacrifice myself for a "lesser" creature. Not speciest, just factual in her opinion. She had never understood my need to help others. Never understood why the loss of people I cared for was so damn painful. I like to believe she once cared about things like that, that so much exposure caused her mind to seal that part of herself off, to keep her from feeling that pain ever again. But moments like this, I'm not sure. "Regardless of your foolish decision, I am not going to allow you to die." I wanted to say I wished she would, but the few words I had already spoken had scraped against my throat like a hacksaw. I couldn't, plain and simple.
Her hand touched my forehead, cool and comforting. Then, there was darkness again.
--
I woke up in a hospital room. I hadn't been in a hospital room in a long, long time. The window blinds were pulled up, curtains drawn to reveal the gray skies of Pandemonium. Necromicon went on chugging while I lay feeble in a bed with a horrible need to use the bathroom. I settled for continuing to observe my environment.
The walls were taupe, a little stained here and there, probably by a bodily fluid of some sort that I would rather not contemplate. Minimal furniture, a recliner next to the bed's nightstand. The bathroom was tiny, I could see from here. The floors were brown linoleum. There was one picture on the wall, a small watercolor of a particular flower framed and put up as if an afterthought. I sighed.
The door opened, much to my surprise. A shaggy blonde poked his head through and muttered, "Thank god!" upon seeing me before he ran in. Clutching his hand was a small eight year old boy with bloodshot eyes and a red, running nose. Releasing Wally's hand, Fen leaped at me, landing on my stomach and hugging me so tightly I thought he might break me.
"Dad!" Fen said, voice muffled by my hospital gown. Tears from his eyes were already soaking through the standard issue garb, and I gently untangled him from around my neck.
"Hey. There's no need to cry, bud," I said, tipping his chin up and smiling. His lip quivered. "I'm alive, see? It's alright. Did Wally treat you well?"
Fen cracked a smile at that. "He let me ride on his shoulders, and he made funny faces, and sometimes he drank red stuff from little baggies, but he wouldn't share it. He kept saying you'd be okay but..." An embarrassed blush crept across his face, "I didn't believe him."
"Well, I guess you ought to start believing him now, huh?"
Fen giggled, and I looked over at Wally, offering him a small smile which was returned. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was paler than the norm. Fen had put him through the wringer. Damn.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and then Tyr pushed his way inside. A huge breath left him when he saw me there sitting up, and he came over, grabbing my hand to give it an enthusiastic shake.
"Mal, don't you ever do that again. I thought you were dead! Well, dying." I had never seen Tyr so emotional before, and it made me feel...weird. Apparently he felt the same way, because he cringed and fidgeted on his feet. "So, uh... Due to everything that's transpired..." Tyr grimaced. "I hate to be the one to have to say this... The department can no longer affiliate itself with you. You've got to get out, find a new place of business, and reapply for your specialist permit."
"Are you kidding me?!"
Tyr looked apologetic, "I'm sorry, but you know how it is. I kept your secret as long as I could, but once others found out who your mother was, I mean after all that happened..." The regular joes, he meant. Once they found out my mother was The Almighty, they didn't want a damn thing to do with me. Suddenly, I was upgraded from threatening, to dangerous. I solved so many cases, and this is how they repaid me. Damn it!
"Fine, I'll move out."
"That's great, Mal," Wally nodded enthusiastically. "Good that you're gearing up to get back on your feet." He moved closer to my bed and pulled out a newspaper from behind his back, several things circled in red. "Might I suggest one of these fine buildings?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "What, you;'re already real-estate hunting? You don't even know if I'm really going to take you on as my partner or not."
"Oh, you totally are," Wally said dismissively. He pointed to a picture on the paper, "Look at this one."
We stayed that way for a while. Fen on my lap, Tyr standing by my left, Wally on my right jabbering on about something or other. Eventually, Tyr cleared his throat and excused himself, off to bring justice to the masses. Wally took Fen to get dinner, and I was left on my own.
With effort, I got out of the bed and made it to the bathroom. I finished up and was exiting when I was stopped cold by the sight of Belinda on the recliner by the bed. Her gaze was focused outside, and she had a "Get-Well!" bear in her lap. There was a bag of candy treats on the nightstand.
"Belinda?" It came out as a question, me almost not believing what I was seeing. She'd been exposed to me when I was cranking out full power but she had come back? Even my wife wouldn't have a damn thing to do with me after seeing me like that...which ended with her and our daughter being killed. Now, someone I'd never done anything more for than try to get her to smile was here and waiting for me.
She turned, startled. "Oh! Hi, Mal." Awkward silence poured into the room, filling it to capacity. "I, uhm, I came to say thanks."
"Oh, uh. No problem, any time. Not that I wish there's another time, but, I mean...you know what I mean." Idiot.
"Yes," She smiled. I moved back to the bed, not able to keep standing on my legs which were threatening to give out. I made it to a sitting position with a grunt, and pulled my legs up to the bed itself, the head raised almost like we were sitting in two chairs. It would have been cozy had we not been in a hospital. "Have you talked to anyone about...things?"
"What things?"
"Well, you know Mal," Belinda blushed. My brow furrowed, I truly didn't know what she meant. When she saw I was serious, she bit her lower lip and tried to explain. "I mean, everything that happened. I don't even know everything that occurred. I thought I was going to, well... I thought that was the end. Then you did that crazy light show thing, and people are saying The Almighty is your mother, and..." She forced herself to stop and looked at me.
"It's a long story."
"I don't have anything else to do. They put me on leave at work."
"Alright then... You're right. The Almighty is my mother. I'm her only son." Belinda cringed at the information, but I understood. For several years now in Pandemonium, most citizens see her as a cold bitch, and I agree. She is. She lets the lesser gods do their thing, and wants nothing to do with her creations. The only thing she cares about is me, but we don't have a good relationship. She's not the ultimate being people want, but they don't push me away because of that. They simply don't want to do something to upset me that might upset her and get them obliterated. Like she'd take time out of her "busy schedule" to bother smiting someone. Like I couldn't do it myself.
"So, how long have you been..."
"Alive?"
"Yeah."
I sighed. "Millennia."
"Wow."
"Yeah. She only saved me because I was dying. If I die, she'll get in a mood. It keeps everyone else safe when I'm alive. I grew up with most of the gods. Babysat for them when they had kids, watched those kids grow. They all know me, but only Tyr knows the truth. The others think I'm some god of a pantheon that was long ago destroyed except for me. It's a dumb theory, but they like it. Guess that's ruined now.
"I've got a lot of power. As much as my mother does, actually, but she'd never admit it. I wouldn't either. I do my best to never use it, never let it surface. That's why I got so torn up after everything went down. I hadn't used it in so long, it was going to burst me apart. My body wasn't used to the power, wasn't a good conductor. I guess now I'll have to start slowly building back up my usage and tolerance for it."
"Is that why you take care of Fenrir?"
"How do you know about that?" I asked,sharper than I meant to.
"Wally told me," Belinda said softly.
"Oh," That idiot kid. "But, yes. I'm not truly a god. Fen can't accidentally kill me or hurt me. I have experience with kids. Loki doesn't. It's better this way."
"When are you coming back to work?"
My brow knitted in confusion, "Uhh, didn't Tyr tell you? I'm not coming back. Everyone wants me out. Find my own building, reapply for a permit and all that."
Her face paled, and it took me a minute to remember that for ghouls, outrage and anger make them pale. "I can't believe that! Well, if they're firing you, I'll just quit."
"Belinda--,"
"No!" She cut me off. "That's not acceptable behavior. Besides, if you're left to run your own office, you'll never survive the paperwork." She gave me a look. Okay, so maybe she did all of my paperwork when I got called onto cases, but she didn't have to rub my face in it. "So I'll work for you."
"Wait, what?"
"Wally said you're already looking at places. You'll need an administrator. Who better than me?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Besides, then...maybe I'll be safe," Her voice dropped, became quiet once more.
"Safe? From what?"
Her eyes widened in horror. "From Krishna!"
"Why would you need to be safe from him when he's gone?"
"Mal, he's only gone. He could come back!"
"No, that's not..." I gave a frustrated sigh. How to explain what I'd done? "He isn't going to come back. He's not gone in a traditional sense. He's simply gone. All of the atoms, molecules, particles that made up the god Krishna are not in existence. There is no longer a Krishna. How could you think I'd just let him get away after what he did to you?" I was a little hurt, I'll admit it. I mean, I save her life and she thinks I must have done a half-assed job of it? Does reputation count for nothing anymore?
"Y-You did that?" And now I've scared her off.
"Yes."
"For me?" Her voice squeaked.
"Well, yeah."
"That's, uhm, that's..." Belinda blushed a brilliant crimson shade I had never before seen and got up. She gathered her purse and flung the teddy bear at me. As she rushed out of the room, she called back, "That's really very sweet Mal, I have to go now and we can talk job stuff later, thank you."
I was left alone with no clue what just happened. At least no more people would be dying.
At least, not until it was another day in Pandemonium.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)