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.

“Hey, Mikey.”

Grimaulkin turned, his hands on fire. He felt more than saw the Death Mage at his back, and he turned to glare at him.

“Mikey, it’s me, Alex. Can’t tell anymore with the eyes. But I know you, man.”

Grimaulkin studied the older-looking man. Death Mages usually gave up bits of their essences in order to summon those zombies that did their bidding, and therefore aged faster than their counterparts. Alex could be about Mikey’s age, if not even younger.

“Don’t quite remember you, man.” He immediately buckled down for a fight.

“I’m not here to fight you.”

“Then what?”

“I’m here to congratulate you, and wonder if you’d be interested in working together.”

Grimaulkin stared at him. “Word travels fast.”

Alex folded his arms across his chest. “How you got where you are is no secret, Mikey. What you’re doing over here in Paragon is tempting fate, though.”

“I have the power, how I use it is my own choice. It’s in the contract.”

“You cheated.”

Grimaulkin shrugged. “Didn’t we all?”

“Yeah, we did.” Alex grinned. “But I need your help.”

“Oh? What do I get out of it?”

Alex held out a brown pouch and hefted it. “This.” He tossed it to Grimaulkin, who caught it on the fly. He noticed there were two pouches, one brown and fat, and the other black, flat and folded against the brown one. Alex then pulled out a pair of ornate gloves from his robes and handed them to Grimaulkin.

Grimaulkin eyed Alex. “Okay, explain first.”

“You don’t want to be handling dead bodies bare handed, do you?”

“Screw you, pal!” Grim backed away quickly, dropping the pouch.

“Wait, wait, let me explain! Here…” Alex picked up the pouch, put on one of the gloves. He took out something from the pouch that looked like a dried out chicken bone, tossed it on the ground. It hissed in the grass, grew, and a creature that looked like a skeleton with leather instead of skin rose up. Grim backed away as it turned to face him, swaying side-to-side, barely able to keep itself up.

Alex summoned darkness, which even he could feel in the air, and the creature took a shuddering, angry breath, its eyes filled with darkness and focused slightly tighter on Grim. Grim gulped and backed away further, the smell of it now stronger of death and the grave.

“Now…tell me why… I would want…that!” Grim tried to hold down his lunch, breakfast, dinner, and all the way back to last week’s Sunday dinner.

“First of all,” Alex said, “it’s your servant, would do everything you tell it. It’s quiet, discreet, and disposable.”

“So’s Louie.”

“But you can’t bring Louie to the Isles, can you? He’s a little too obvious there. The Legacy Chain would eat you for dinner if they felt you pull a soul out of the Netherworld.”

“Tell me why I’d go to the Isles.”

“To fetch some bones for me.”

Grimaulkin laughed.

“Plus, there’s lots of different magical items there that can’t be found here. The Legacy Chain has tons of things there. All I want is bones,” he held up the black pouch. “The zombies will drop an extra bone for you for every enemy it kills, it’ll look like the one you used, except it won’t have the enchantment on it.” He held up one of the bones from the brown pouch – it had a red, glittery symbol on it.

“So I use the bones and get old like you?”

“No, here’s where it’s great for you, Mikey.” Alex grinned. “You have your powers from an outside source, not from within you. That’s where you’ll get the power for your summoning. You won’t get old like me. I get more bones, better bones, and you get better magical items, things that can help you with your…quest.”

Piss off Grimmy by using her power to summon zombies. Heh, heh, heh, she’ll love that. “Those gloves aren’t enchanted, they won’t stick to me or anything?”

“No, they only make the zombies more focused on your will.”

Grimaulkin held out his hand. “Okay, let me try it. As long as I’m not downwind.”

The door opened with a tiny tinkling of bells. “Be right with you,” said a voice from the far end of the store.

Idaho stood at the counter as a small, grey-haired, grey-bearded man peered his head from around the corner of a bookcase in the rear of the store. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Are you the owner?”

“Yes—“

“I want to buy this store from you.”

“I just bought it.”

“I know. The person who sold it did it by mistake. I want to buy it back from you.”

The man stepped out from the back of the store. “It’s not for sale.” He was small and older, like Penelope Yin's grandfather.

“I’ll give you twice what you paid for it.”

He brushed his hands against his pants. “It’s not for sale.”

“Three times. She made a big mistake. This was her sanctuary.”

The man smirked at him. “That’s not my fault, buddy.”

Idaho felt fire just below the surface of his skin. Anger, fury, frustration – being blocked, pushed, forced – all I want to do is help people, make them happy…and fix things. I can’t fix everything. He took out a card and calmly left it on the counter. “If you change your mind.”

He only shrugged at him, and Idaho walked out, dejected. He summoned an Ouroboros portal and stepped lightly through. He walked a few feet away from the portal and sat on the ledge, staring out at nothing for a long time.

“Mender Idaho,” called a voice behind him.

He turned around, confused. A man in a brown kilt, wearing two strange monocles and a hood came over to him. “How are you? Fine, I guess. You’re not in uniform?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been with us for thirty years and you haven’t aged a day.” Idaho stared at him. The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve gotten you confused with another Idaho-in-time. I see you as you are now. You’re just starting, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You haven’t even seen the Pilgrim yet. You haven’t even started working with Mender Dundee. You both have such a long partnership, you’re friends for years! There I go again.”

“Wait, wait – Mender?”

“Sure, that’s your title – well, it will be. You’re one of the best at it, too. You’re able to walk into any time period, and see exactly the few things that are just slightly off kilter and get it just right. Aaaand…” he tilted his head slightly sideways, “it’s what you’re made to do. C’mon, Idaho, let’s get started!”

He started walking toward the Pilgrim, following the Mender quietly. “How do you know all this?”

“You told me, Duncan Idaho, when I initiated you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Mender Lazarus.”

I can fix everything...

The man known as Masonry gently folded the report closed. The wind from the bay flittered the lace curtains gently as he looked out at his small fiefdom. In the large manse next door, his benefactor, a minor Hungarian baroness, would call upon him to organize some of his “artist lessons” or other examples of his work. In the meantime, he had the time and leisure for his own pursuits, so long as they did not contradict her demands, or compromise any of her – or her husband’s – concerns.

This report had been expertly prepared, even if it was months old, it was still highly important. The first, most important thing, is that this Masonry made a mistake, but, truthfully, it was honest. Consider these strange facts: Finally, the man he wanted to exact revenge upon, Nate Greene, finally admitted to having a girlfriend. True, the man changed his name to a state (how original), he picked up an axe instead of a mace (again, how original). Now Masonry had a way to get Nate – kidnap the girl, abuse her, make her into his puppet and change her, slip a few secret traps into her, and let her go.

Imagine his surprise at reading this report that another man named Masonry was found with this same girl in the winter chalet, attempting to do the same thing. Come to find out, the girl was not Nate’s girlfriend, but the girlfriend of a clone of Nate – a clone created by Darcy, to alleviate Darcy’s “loneliness.”

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Nate kidnapped his clone’s girlfriend. And Nate has a girlfriend who helped him with the kidnapping.”

The woman who sat in the chair across from him, a secretary that had been given orders not to speak unless spoken to directly, stared at the grains on the desk attempting to find a pattern in them. When Masonry spoke, the woman looked up.

“Is this confusing or what, Dina?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Answer my question, please.”

"Yes, sir, it is confusing."

Masonry nodded. "Two females. Excellent. I prefer working on females, their skin is more pliable. I was afraid I would have to deal with males, with Nate's preference for his own gender. Dina, I want information on Nate’s canvas. She’s in the hospital records. And I also want the other canvas returned to me. I’d like to improve my work on her.”

Dina scribbled some notes. “Once I finish with her, get that clone. It might not be perfect, but I can practice on that until I get the proper canvas.” Masonry waved his hand in dismissal. Dina slowly got up from her chair, then put one huge, swollen lump that was a foot on the floor in front of her, and used it to rock herself forward. The foot was perfect, but the one it was attached to wasn't. He'd have to deal with that, but not today.

First, he'd plan on what to do with the canvas once it would be delivered.

This entry deals with homosexual themes, and may be offensive or graphic to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Grimaulkin watched the huge man on the other side of the Chalet. Man, he looks sick, he thought. He could barely stand up straight. He had collapsed in one of the couches by the fire, and Grim watched as he closed his eyes and breathed deep.

Grim set down his mug of beer and headed over, looking a little closer. The man had his eyes closed, looked like he was passed out. Grim stopped short, startled. First, he could smell death on him. Second, he could swear he looked like Idy.

He advanced slowly, peeking slowly around the corner. He did look like Idy, except for a few small details in his face. He sat down across from him, put his boots up on the table between them, and studied him. Finally, the man moved his head and slowly opened his eyes. "How long have you been staring at me?"

"Only a couple of minutes," Grim said with a smile.

"Huh." He sat up slowly. "What can I do for you? I'm not working."

"Neither am I. Buy you a drink?"

He shrugged. Grim took that as an affirmative answer and went to the bar. He returned with a scotch and a beer, and offered both. The man took the beer. Then Grim sat next to him. The man sat up a little straighter. Grim smiled at him. "Don't worry, I'm not going to bite."

He nodded. Grim slowly sat closer until their legs were touching. The man didn't move. Then the man moved closer. He put his arm around Grim's shoulders, and Grim leaned back into him. Both men sighed comfortably.

Since the booth was sort of in the corner, only people intentionally looking could see the two men there. Finally, the man raised his arm from Grim's shoulders and said, "Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

"I thought you'd never ask."

The two of them left the chalet and went to the red side part of the Pocket D, which was totally empty. A couch, tucked in the corner, was perfect for their needs. Grim first wanted to make sure: "What's your name, anyway?"

"Masonry," he replied with a smile, taking Grim by the goatee and lifting his head. "I've always loved this about my man," he said, stroking the goatee before leaning his own face forward.

---------------------------------

Idaho turned around when he saw the base's bathroom door open. He saw Grim, holding his clothes close to his body, backing out of the bathroom.

"Grim?"

He jumped, dropping a few items onto the floor. Idaho could never remember seeing the man jump at sudden noises. He bent to help with the clothes, but Grim protested. Idaho saw blood on them, then looked up at Grim's face. His eye was bruised. "Grim? What happened?"

Grim smiled slightly. "I got laid."

"That's not getting laid, that's getting beat up."

"No, no it isn't. He got a little rough, that's all. I was the bottom, it was all right."

Idaho put his hands on his hips. "Who did this to you?"

"You need to promise me, Idy, promise me on your life and soul, that you won't go after him."

"I know him?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I promise."

"You have to repeat it. It's an oath."

Idaho sighed. "I promise on my life and soul that I won't go after him."

Grim looked Idaho in the eye. "Masonry."

Idaho stiffened, Grim stared and watched Idaho struggle with the oath. Idaho whispered, "He raped you."

"No, he didn't." Idaho started walking down the hall to his room, Grim following him, yelling, "I started it. It was consensual, Idy, we both wanted it! He got a little rough--" The door slammed in his face. "Idy, Idy!" Grim banged on the door.

"Be right out," Idaho said calmly, almost icily. Grim backed up and hit the wall. In a few minutes, Idaho was in his hero uniform, axe in hand.

"Don't go after him, you swore an oath!"

"I'm not going after him," Idaho replied. "I'm going to kill some Freakshow." And put that bastard's face on every single one of them.

Details of Grim's assault are available via RP.

Rosie Santos' grandmother would have kittens if she ever knew what she was going to do. Even liposuction would be preferable to this. Good Catholic girls wouldn't resort to magic. Rosie knocked on the door to the New Age store. The peephole opened quickly, then slammed shut. A very large woman pulled open the door about six inches wide. "Can I help you?"

Sheepishly, Rosie held up the black business card. On it, the name said "Seagn", not "Shawn" as she had thought. The woman nodded and stepped aside. "Seagn!"

"Hello?" The black haired woman came down the small hallway. "Oh, Rosie. How's it going?"

The floor creaked under Rosie's weight. "Do you have a cellar?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." She glanced around the corner. "Right this way." Seagn brought her around the stairs that were set in the middle of the building, opened the door to the front of the store, then brought her to the cellar. It smelled of must, books, and incense. Seagn pulled out a chair, but Rosie refused it, so Seagn sat.

Rosie paced a little. "I was thinking about what you said. What do I have to do? Do I have to hurt him? Do I have to know him?"

Seagn smiled at her. "Listen, Rosie. The spell will wear off in time. So if you find a guy and you really like him, and he likes you with that glamour, someday he's going to wake up next to you as you are now."

"What if he likes me the way I am?"

She shrugged. "Good luck, then."

Rosie rubbed her nose. "I don't know."

Seagn stood up. "Didn't he hurt you? Didn't he tell you how much he loved you? Didn't he give you something precious and tell you all kinds of nice things, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you? Didn't he promise so much to you? Didn't you believe him?"

Rosie tried to blink back tears. Seagn walked up to her and caught a tear on her fingertip. "See this? He did this to you! Are you going to let him walk all over you like that?" She flicked her finger, the tear splashing against the concrete of the cellar. "Are you going to let ANY man do that again to you? To anyone? You have the obligation to never let something like this happen to anyone again!" Seagn took Rosie by the chin and glared at her. "Even if it's just one man. One at a time."

Blinking, Rosie stepped back. Seagn looked away and stepped back also. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm... you better still think about it. It's a big step." She offered a small smile. "How about you come upstairs and meet my sisters."

"I don't know."

"The floor will support you. You saw Beira, she's a big girl."

"I weigh 800 pounds."

"I assure you, it'll be fine." She motioned up the stairs. As Rosie went first, Seagn made a motion with her hand, and a rune appeared in the air at Rosie's ankles, wrapping around them. She wouldn't weigh as much in the rooms above, at least while she was here.

Silent Blue couldn't believe it. Out of the whole of Paragon City, a security level 50 picked her to be a sidekick. He said he had watched her for about an hour over in Kings Row and liked what he saw, and after joining her for a mission, asked her to come with her to help him. His name was Masonry - he was made of stone, had a deep, but nice voice. The only thing that bothered her was his eyes: they were totally black.

They went into a nondescript warehouse, where she came face to face with a woman wearing a skimpy, but colorful outfit. Then the woman threw what looked like a metal ring at her - it slashed into and through her.

Masonry took out the scantily clad woman and then ran over to Blue. He smiled, but it wasn't the same gentle smile he had given her all day; it was angrily joyful. "I think she's ready for you now, Twist," he said, and plunged his hands into her gaping wound. He let out a gasp synchronized with her own, in pain or pleasure, she wasn't sure.

Blue felt something invade her consciousness. She saw a skeletal face looming before her and screamed. It resolved itself into her own face. Don't be afraid, dear, it said. I am Death. Surrender or it will be painful for you.

Skeletal hands plucked at her very being, shredding it away. She forgot her parents. She forgot her friends. She forgot her super hero name. She forgot her own name.

Masonry opened his eyes and removed bloody hands from the girl's body. "Twist?"

The body knitted itself quickly. The girl opened her eyes, now a sapphire blue. "Mase," she said, smiling.

Masonry gathered the girl in his arms and kissed her. Releasing her, Twist shook her head. "Two hours, no more."

Masonry sighed. "Oh, Twist..." He put his head on her shoulder. "There has to be one out there."

"There is, lover, there is." She reached up and caressed his cheek. "Enjoy this one for now."

----------------------

The phone on the desk rang shrilly. The man in black held his head against it; any sudden noise, no matter how low, usually bothered him. This was strange, considering he could create loud and sudden noises that could scramble up the insides of most people's internal organs.

He plucked the phone off its cradle before it had a chance to disturb him furhter. "Alderman, FBSA."

"Another heroine buried in a metal storage crate, sir. Kings Row again."

"Oh, Jesus. Who does this one belong to?"

"Northstar Angels, sir."

Third one of those this month, he thought sourly. Someone's out to get them. He needed to talk to Myra and fast, before she and her girls thought of vengeance. "Be right down," he sighed.