Friday, August 22, 2008
Idaho knew better than to walk into the apartment with a "Honey, I'm home!" He knew she wouldn't be there, just like she wasn't for the past few weeks.
He sighed as he shut the door and locked it. It was partially his fault, not being around much anymore. He has his own abilities to work with now, using his fire abilities to heal instead of hurt. He knew that she had darkness about her, similar to Twisted Twilight, and he'd overlooked that, though it made him uncomfortable.
The apartment was four yawning rooms, too big for us now, he thought, now that we're never home. But it was good to have a place to come home to, not to sleep in the D, in one of the abandoned houses at King's Row or at the hostel in the southern end of Steel Canyon. He went into the kitchen area, to look in the probably empty refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat.
As he expected, it was empty except for two tubs of something with white fur and a half gallon of milk that he didn't dare open. He saw the glimpse of a bottle of beer in the way back, but he kept that there as a reminder of what he almost started to do. He almost spent most of his time at the D, almost became a permanent fixture there. That's why he went to Boston, to escape the alcohol and heroing. When he found that Masonry had let Ariel die again, he returned only once, and thought that heroing was no longer his place. So he stayed in Boston and grew addicted to ink instead of booze. It wasn't until Ariel returned to life, that she would hero again under a different guise, that he decided to also return once again and mimic her, by becoming what was known as a fire-user.
He closed the refrigerator, walking across to a cupboard. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom.
Idaho tilted his head, wondering if he could hear it again. He went to the doorway of the bedroom.
Ariel lay there, tangled in the bedsheets, one stockinged foot sticking out from the bottom of the bed. He looked at her and smiled; she didn't even have time to get her clothes off before collapsing into the bed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to her light snoring, and he bent down to whisper, "Honey, I'm home."
He sighed as he shut the door and locked it. It was partially his fault, not being around much anymore. He has his own abilities to work with now, using his fire abilities to heal instead of hurt. He knew that she had darkness about her, similar to Twisted Twilight, and he'd overlooked that, though it made him uncomfortable.
The apartment was four yawning rooms, too big for us now, he thought, now that we're never home. But it was good to have a place to come home to, not to sleep in the D, in one of the abandoned houses at King's Row or at the hostel in the southern end of Steel Canyon. He went into the kitchen area, to look in the probably empty refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat.
As he expected, it was empty except for two tubs of something with white fur and a half gallon of milk that he didn't dare open. He saw the glimpse of a bottle of beer in the way back, but he kept that there as a reminder of what he almost started to do. He almost spent most of his time at the D, almost became a permanent fixture there. That's why he went to Boston, to escape the alcohol and heroing. When he found that Masonry had let Ariel die again, he returned only once, and thought that heroing was no longer his place. So he stayed in Boston and grew addicted to ink instead of booze. It wasn't until Ariel returned to life, that she would hero again under a different guise, that he decided to also return once again and mimic her, by becoming what was known as a fire-user.
He closed the refrigerator, walking across to a cupboard. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom.
Idaho tilted his head, wondering if he could hear it again. He went to the doorway of the bedroom.
Ariel lay there, tangled in the bedsheets, one stockinged foot sticking out from the bottom of the bed. He looked at her and smiled; she didn't even have time to get her clothes off before collapsing into the bed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to her light snoring, and he bent down to whisper, "Honey, I'm home."
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Powerhouse Jack stared at the bottle before him. It would soon join the four or five bottles littering the floor next to him.
It was Friday night at the D, and no one else seemed to notice the man in the corner of the Tiki bar, where the mask floated over to him and unemotionally asked if he wanted another. Jack could only nod, knowing that if he got off the stool, he would fall down after his feet hit the floor.
It was also three days after Pen had died, and he couldn't get the weight of the man off his shoulders. Men had died in front of him before - while he was in Korea, he wouldn't forget the refugee who stood in line like the rest of them, then suddenly exploded as he approached. He got bits and pieces of the man - and the women and children next to him - landing all around him.
He didn't drink then.
He didn't drink when his wife of twenty years died after a bout with cancer in the 1980's, a wife that he no longer loved.
He didn't drink when he saw another hero friend get paralyzed from the waist down after fighting far too much with the Fifth Column.
Age.
He perked up his head, looking bleary-eyed at the Tiki mask that hovered before him. "What did you say?""Nothing."
He felt someone looking at him and turned around to face nothing. He felt someone very close to him, standing almost on top of him, and he looked in the mirror to see who it was.
His eyes glowed a fiery white, something that hadn't happened in a long, long, time.
"Lodestar," he whispered.
He was filled with a sense of someone hugging him. Jack sunk his head down onto the bar and let his forehead rest on his folded forearms. The sense of the hug slowly filled his entire body, bringing him on the brink of tears. Lodestar had done this a few times before, but never with this much intensity, this much...love.
Soon it ends: you know it, I know it.
"Yeah," Jack said, realizing what Pen had meant to him. An old adversary from an old war, the two had made peace with each other and fought crime together. Pen's death struck him because they were both old war horses, and their end time was getting near. Even though Jack knew his body was being kept alive and strong by his Kheldian bond-mate, he also knew that the body itself was getting old and his Kheldian would need to move on, to find another host soon.
"What will you do, Lodestar?" Jack asked gently.
Die with you.
Jack looked up, facing himself in the mirror, white eyes aflame. "What?"
We are both old.
"Die? We'll both die?" He looked away from the mirror, looking at the Tiki mask but not seeing it.
Age and die together.
He stared at the air. Die? He would die too, go into that final moment, when his life would slip away and...what would happen to him?
Suddenly sober, he raised the bottle and poured another shot. "I'm not ready to die yet," he said, and bolted it back. No, he had too much to do - and the first thing to do was finish this bottle.
It was Friday night at the D, and no one else seemed to notice the man in the corner of the Tiki bar, where the mask floated over to him and unemotionally asked if he wanted another. Jack could only nod, knowing that if he got off the stool, he would fall down after his feet hit the floor.
It was also three days after Pen had died, and he couldn't get the weight of the man off his shoulders. Men had died in front of him before - while he was in Korea, he wouldn't forget the refugee who stood in line like the rest of them, then suddenly exploded as he approached. He got bits and pieces of the man - and the women and children next to him - landing all around him.
He didn't drink then.
He didn't drink when his wife of twenty years died after a bout with cancer in the 1980's, a wife that he no longer loved.
He didn't drink when he saw another hero friend get paralyzed from the waist down after fighting far too much with the Fifth Column.
Age.
He perked up his head, looking bleary-eyed at the Tiki mask that hovered before him. "What did you say?""Nothing."
He felt someone looking at him and turned around to face nothing. He felt someone very close to him, standing almost on top of him, and he looked in the mirror to see who it was.
His eyes glowed a fiery white, something that hadn't happened in a long, long, time.
"Lodestar," he whispered.
He was filled with a sense of someone hugging him. Jack sunk his head down onto the bar and let his forehead rest on his folded forearms. The sense of the hug slowly filled his entire body, bringing him on the brink of tears. Lodestar had done this a few times before, but never with this much intensity, this much...love.
Soon it ends: you know it, I know it.
"Yeah," Jack said, realizing what Pen had meant to him. An old adversary from an old war, the two had made peace with each other and fought crime together. Pen's death struck him because they were both old war horses, and their end time was getting near. Even though Jack knew his body was being kept alive and strong by his Kheldian bond-mate, he also knew that the body itself was getting old and his Kheldian would need to move on, to find another host soon.
"What will you do, Lodestar?" Jack asked gently.
Die with you.
Jack looked up, facing himself in the mirror, white eyes aflame. "What?"
We are both old.
"Die? We'll both die?" He looked away from the mirror, looking at the Tiki mask but not seeing it.
Age and die together.
He stared at the air. Die? He would die too, go into that final moment, when his life would slip away and...what would happen to him?
Suddenly sober, he raised the bottle and poured another shot. "I'm not ready to die yet," he said, and bolted it back. No, he had too much to do - and the first thing to do was finish this bottle.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"Well, look who's here! Frosty, ol' buddy!"
Frost turned at the voice and stifled a small groan. A black-skinned man, with fragile blue and red wings, stood just slightly behind him.
"What, no hug for me? I'm hurt."
Frost folded his arms across his chest and watched him advance. "Grim," he said quietly.
"Yes! That's my name, don't wear it out. How's it going? How's your boyfriend?"
Some people turned around to look at Frost, but he ignored the looks.
"I miss looking into his big, blue eyes, massaging his big shoulders, rustling his hair, petting his--"
"Did you come here to sell anything?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. But I'm so happy to see you." He walked over and put a comradely arm around Frost's shoulders. Frost immediately shrugged him off, irritated. Grim stepped back, a broad smile on his face. "Aw, Frosty, now I'm really hurt. We queers, we have to stick together, you know."
"I have some work to do," Frost replied, now angry.
"You admit it, Frosty, don't you - "
"My orientation is no one's business but my own," he almost snarled at Grim. Grim's grin grew wider, as he put his hand on Frost's arm.
"Is that your hand on my boyfriend?" came a deep, growling voice from behind Grim, just loud enough for the two men to hear. "Better take it off before I tear off your head."
Frost stepped away, turning to face Masonry who had come up behind them. "Don't, Mase, it's not worth it."
"It would be very worth it," Masonry growled again, his eyes never leaving the back of Grim's neck. "Touch him again and I swear I'll hurt you."
Grim smiled, poked Frost, and folded his arms across his chest. Masonry reached out and grabbed at Grim's neck, but Grim danced away. "Eh eh eh, heroes don't hit heroes at Wentworth's, even when one cheats another." He grinned again at Frost.
Frost bristled at the allegation, while Masonry took another step forward. This time Grim didn't move. "Go ahead, and they'll throw you out faster than when you got out of jail free with a Lodestar on your back."
Masonry stood, his hands clenched at his sides. He noticed one of the Wentworth's employees speak into his headset. He saw Frost's frown, and rocked back on his heels as if physically stopped.
Grim laughed. "He's got you pussy-whipped, doesn't he?"
"I think you'd better leave," Masonry said quietly.
"I got some work to do, first. Just a friendly conversation among friends, aren't we ol' buddy? After all, you did take me on Christmas. I was a sorry substitute for who you really wanted, wasn't I? Did you enjoy it, because I sure as hell didn't." Grim's face slowly lost its smile.
Masonry slowly raised his head, defiance in his eyes. "If you won't leave, then I will." He nodded to Frost and started to leave Wentworth's.
"That's right, walk out!" Grim yelled, attracting some attention. "Now that you got what you wanted, what am I to you, huh?"
Masonry stopped.
"Nothin', right?"
Masonry seemed to nod, and kept right on walking. Frost gazed for a moment at Grim, shook his head, and went back to the markets, leaving Grim standing in the center of Wentworth's, his own darkness oozing out around him.
Frost turned at the voice and stifled a small groan. A black-skinned man, with fragile blue and red wings, stood just slightly behind him.
"What, no hug for me? I'm hurt."
Frost folded his arms across his chest and watched him advance. "Grim," he said quietly.
"Yes! That's my name, don't wear it out. How's it going? How's your boyfriend?"
Some people turned around to look at Frost, but he ignored the looks.
"I miss looking into his big, blue eyes, massaging his big shoulders, rustling his hair, petting his--"
"Did you come here to sell anything?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. But I'm so happy to see you." He walked over and put a comradely arm around Frost's shoulders. Frost immediately shrugged him off, irritated. Grim stepped back, a broad smile on his face. "Aw, Frosty, now I'm really hurt. We queers, we have to stick together, you know."
"I have some work to do," Frost replied, now angry.
"You admit it, Frosty, don't you - "
"My orientation is no one's business but my own," he almost snarled at Grim. Grim's grin grew wider, as he put his hand on Frost's arm.
"Is that your hand on my boyfriend?" came a deep, growling voice from behind Grim, just loud enough for the two men to hear. "Better take it off before I tear off your head."
Frost stepped away, turning to face Masonry who had come up behind them. "Don't, Mase, it's not worth it."
"It would be very worth it," Masonry growled again, his eyes never leaving the back of Grim's neck. "Touch him again and I swear I'll hurt you."
Grim smiled, poked Frost, and folded his arms across his chest. Masonry reached out and grabbed at Grim's neck, but Grim danced away. "Eh eh eh, heroes don't hit heroes at Wentworth's, even when one cheats another." He grinned again at Frost.
Frost bristled at the allegation, while Masonry took another step forward. This time Grim didn't move. "Go ahead, and they'll throw you out faster than when you got out of jail free with a Lodestar on your back."
Masonry stood, his hands clenched at his sides. He noticed one of the Wentworth's employees speak into his headset. He saw Frost's frown, and rocked back on his heels as if physically stopped.
Grim laughed. "He's got you pussy-whipped, doesn't he?"
"I think you'd better leave," Masonry said quietly.
"I got some work to do, first. Just a friendly conversation among friends, aren't we ol' buddy? After all, you did take me on Christmas. I was a sorry substitute for who you really wanted, wasn't I? Did you enjoy it, because I sure as hell didn't." Grim's face slowly lost its smile.
Masonry slowly raised his head, defiance in his eyes. "If you won't leave, then I will." He nodded to Frost and started to leave Wentworth's.
"That's right, walk out!" Grim yelled, attracting some attention. "Now that you got what you wanted, what am I to you, huh?"
Masonry stopped.
"Nothin', right?"
Masonry seemed to nod, and kept right on walking. Frost gazed for a moment at Grim, shook his head, and went back to the markets, leaving Grim standing in the center of Wentworth's, his own darkness oozing out around him.