A Scripta

Mender Taggarts looked up at Idaho's approach. "Oh, she died already?"

Idaho stopped short. Mender Taggarts, "Tagz" as he called her, had been his personal trainer since Lazarus passed him on to her. She was a dark-haired, buxom woman who wore combat boots and a typical monocle that most Menders wore. She came from the 37th century, from the colonized planet Gelsian, a rough-and-tumble planet where the inhabitants were well-known to not suffer fools gladly.

"Yes. I want to fix it."

"I'm sorry, Idaho, you can't."

"Why the hell not?!"

Tagz crossed her arms across her chest and studied him. "Because it's part of your destiny."

"Fuck my destiny."

The gaze became angry. "You have a duty not only to us, but to time at large, Idaho. You still have a lot of trials by fire to go through before you realize who you really are." She turned away. "I suggest you take some time off for mourning, Idaho. You won't be able to concentrate on your work, and I don't have time to babysit."

Idaho turned on his heel, stormed out of the room, bursting into flame as he did so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How's he doing?"

Sonic Butterfly jerked at Suicidal Wombat's entrance. "Shit, man, don't scare me like that. What're you doing here?"

Wombat nodded to the hallway where the private rooms were housed. "Aestas."

"Hm? Oh, yeah. 'ja know her?"

"No, but I know Idaho. Checkin' on 'im."

"He's fine."

"Not if he's like Masonry." He walked on into the hallway, passed over to Idaho's room. He knocked gently on the door, and nodded to himself when Idaho called entrance.

He parted open the door. "Duncan."

"Oh, hi, Womby."

"Hey, mate. Sorry 'bout Ariel."

"I'll be all right."

"Hm, yeah, well..." He closed the door quietly. "I'm sure ya will, but what about her?"

"What do you mean?"

"'er spirit, mate. Ain' nobody seen 'er."

Idaho turned slowly and looked at him. "Because she's with me. She's bound to me or something."

"Bound? Th' only thing that c'n do that is a Pure Marriage or..."

"Or...?"

"She don' want to leave you."

"Why, Womby? I'd only hurt her."

"Why d'ya say that, mate?"

"I didn't want her life."

"Did she want yours?"

He looked sorrowful for a moment. "Yeah. But what if she changed her mind?"

Womby gave him a glare, that encompassed both anger and pity. "She can't now, can she?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wombat heard the spirits speak and followed their direction. Before, they could be often wrong - spirits that he had often controlled and forced to his bidding would say and do things to confuse and spite him. These spirits, these wraiths seeking and becoming comfort, would merely make suggestions.

It was two days after the funeral; he couldn't bring himself to approach Idaho then. But he had seen Ariel hover by him, trying to comfort him in her own way. Idaho was doing his level-best to ignore her, and didn't see her pain like Wombat did.

He followed his guides into Perez Park, a place he hadn't been in quite some time. Hydra still lived there, plaguing the unwary new hero. He followed their direction deep into the woods and found a small house with a set of docks. He didn't remember seeing this house before, but, then, he never really searched it out.

Wombat went up the dock, his feet barely touching the wood. Spirits were quiet here, which was good, but the Hydra hissing in the background made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He knocked gently on the door.

He heard movement inside, then Idaho's voice, cautious: "Who's there?"

"Me, mate," Wombat said quietly.

Locks were undone and the door opened slowly. "How did you find me here?" he asked. He stood topless and barefoot in only jeans. He would look like any man who looked suddenly disturbed, with the exception of the wood-cutting axe in his hand.

"Spirits tol' me. They wouldn'ta tol' me if they din't think it's right."

"No, I guess not, but this isn't my house."

"I'll wait'll ya get dressed, an' I'll talk t'ya out here."

"No, I'll go get my coffee and come outside. Want anything?"

"Coffee?" His eyes brightened.

Idaho smiled. "How do you take it?"

"Milk an' sugar, 'nuff for a layer on th' bottom."

"I'd better just bring out the pot."

A few moments later, Idaho came out with a pot of coffee, a mug and spoon, and a half-gallon carton of milk. He came out again with his mug and a sugar bowl. Wombat made his coffee silently, and after comments of how good it was, he got down to business. "The funeral was beautiful."

"I hear they're supposed to be." He looked down. "Her parents think it's my fault."

"Her dyin'?"

He nodded. "She wanted to be a hero. I told them I tried to dissaude her, but they didn't listen to me. They think I talked her into it. They think I got her killed - "

Womby looked for Ariel but didn't see her.

" - but she went off to the Isles on her own, to see Kitty. And not my fault she got drained dry by --" He cut himself off.

"A vampire?"

"A dampire."

Womby snorted in a chuckle. "Dhampyr. Daywalkers."

"Whatever. She sucked Ariel dry, and now she wants me to forgive her." He glared angrily at Wombat. "I can't. I can't."

"Now's not a good time, Duncan. But I din't come 'ere for 'at." He sipped at his coffee. "Ariel's bound t'ya, you said?"

"Yeah. Twisted Twilight - she's my original's girlfriend," his voice dropped low and he spoke angrily, "they're made for each other. Anyway, she told me that she bound Ariel to me. So I'm going to make her tell me how to release her."

"Ya think, mate, she don' wanna?"

"What do you mean? Don't all souls want to be released?"

Wombat raised an eyebrow and smiled gently. "I c'n tell ya of five righ' now that don't."

"Why not?"

"They all got th'r reasons. But yours don' wanna leave 'cuz she loves you."

He looked painfully at Wombat. "Why?" he cried.

"B'cause she does, ya dope! An' still ya hurt 'er. You ignored her the whole funeral."

"What was I supposed to do, say 'Hi' to air?"

"Yes! Jus' talk t' yerself - they'd f'rgive ya yer grief."

Idaho swallowed. "I didn't know that."

"Eh, mate, ya dunno lotsa things. That'll cover yer ass only so long. Did you love her?"

"Yes."

"With yer heart an' soul?"

"No."

Wombat raised an eyebrow. "At least yer honest."

"I couldn't give up myself. She gave up everything because Twisted...twisted her into it."

"Don' matter, mate; 'swhat she wanted. Yer Twist jus' pushed it a little." Wombat drained his mug. "Lis'n mate, here's what th' spirits say, 'kay?" His face turned serious, and he focused entirely on Idaho as he spoke. "She loves you with what's left of her being. Do not deny her that, Idaho, no matter how close to your original you might think you are. Even Masonry's heart is full of devotion - so can yours be. It's not a surrender, but a sharing. We do not expect you to give all today, but give small pieces, and you will see." Then Wombat closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then relaxed.

The two men looked at each other, when Wombat opened his eyes. Without another word on the matter, Wombat said goodbye and leapt off into the trees. "Think he'll listen?" Wombat whispered.

The spirits didn't answer.