A Scripta

He stumbled down the street. Okay, it was another Friday night, and like all the other Friday nights, he went to the bar with the guys he did construction with. And like all the other Friday nights, he got so drunk he could barely stand.

Luckily, he didn’t have to drive home. Someone would point him in the general direction of his home and he would find his way, most of the time. Once or twice he found himself in the park down the street, and once in an alley way with his wallet missing. He knew he shouldn’t do this, but he did.

He looked up at some bright lights and saw a Starbucks was still open at 1 am. Maybe if I get some coffee I’ll sober up, that’s what I’ve heard. He knew he wasn’t anywhere near his house because he didn’t remember a Starbucks…

He went inside. There were college students in all the comfy chairs. College, where is there a college…?

Cambridge? How did he get so far away from home? Think, think. Frankie had a car. They went across the Charles River Bridge. They were supposed to pub crawl in Somerville. Where the hell was Frankie?

He patted himself down – he had lost his cell phone again. He felt his wallet in his back pocket. He pulled it out and counted the money – not enough for a cab. When he saw Frankie Monday, he was going to put a two-by-four up his nose.

The barista was staring at him while he thought all this through. He focused on her and said, “Coffee. I don’t care what. Black.”

“Right away, sir,” she said, and poured some dark liquid from the spigot. He paid her, tasted it and immediately grimaced. Strong shit.

He turned from the counter and surveyed the area. There was a large chair right next to a dark haired woman reading a huge book. He made a beeline for it. As he did, he happened to look over the shoulder of the woman and saw the illustration in the book.

“That symbol means strength with mercy,” he said.

The woman looked up, her blue eyes boring into him. “How do you know?”

He lifted his arm and showed her a tattoo. Entwined within a bunch of tattoos on his arm, he traced the symbol out for her.

She peered at his arm, at the intricacies of the tattoos. “This…this is all magic.”

“Shh,” he said. “Not here.” He sat down next to her. “There’s a lot of…weird people here.”

She looked down, and he pushed down his long sleeve to cover the arm again. “Do you have a lot of tattoos?”

He nodded. “All over.”

“How come?”

He sipped the coffee again, and closed his eyes in disgust. “At first it was defiance. Then I found a purpose.”

“What?”

He looked sideways at her. “It’s a long story.”

She closed the book. “I have all night.”

“Unfortunately, this place closes at 3. And I have to find my way home.” He sipped again.

“You’re lost?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I remember crossing the Charles, but after that…”

“Where do you live?”

“Brookline.”

“In the city?”

“Yeah. It’s not pleasant, but nobody bothers me. Much. What about you?”

“I don’t live around here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Paragon City.”

He stared at her, stunned, for a minute. “You’re a long way from home this late at night.”

“I’m staying with a friend. I wasn’t tired.”

“Oh.” She was actually kind of pretty, if severe looking. She looked like someone you wouldn’t want to tangle with or cross. But underneath, he could sense something warm about her, but it was under so many layers of protection that she wouldn’t let it out. He held out his hand. “I’m Duncan Idaho.”

“Diane Cook.”

They shook. She had a very firm handshake. She was strong, he liked that.

“So what other tattoos do you have?”

“Maybe they’re in this book. Is it a grimoire?”

This time it was her turn to look stunned. “Yes…”

He reached for it, and pulled it toward him. She sat closer to him, and they paged through the book together. He pointed out some symbols that he knew he had, and they discussed symbols that maybe he should have gotten. Idaho could tell she was burning to know why he was covered in all this magic, but he wasn’t going to tell her.

Then they started talking. He didn’t want to ask about Paragon City, but she talked about it anyway. I don’t want to go back there, he thought. The more they talked, the more he realized he liked her. And the more he realized he liked her, the more he forgot his first love, Aestas, the reason he left Paragon City.

“Last call!” yelled the barista.

The two of them looked at each other. “Almost three already?” She got up and stretched, smiling at him. He got up as well.

“I guess I’d better get across that bridge somehow.”

“I have a car, I can take you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. I don’t know if I’ll still have a parking spot when I get back…”

He helped her into her coat, and they walked out of the Starbuck’s together. He walked with her down the street a little. He stopped suddenly, and she took two steps and stopped. “What’s wrong?”

He tilted his head. Something felt wrong. His back prickled, which was a harbinger of the direction of the attack, part of the magic. He heard footsteps. He whirled around and burst into flame. His clothes turned to dust.

Behind him a gang of about six kids with assorted weapons stood at the ready. He crouched, and then saw fire out of the corner of his eye.

Diane stood next to him, a flaming shield on one arm, and a flaming sword in the other hand.

“Shit!” the gang yelled almost in unison, and ran.

Diane and Idaho looked at each other, one encased in flame, one brandishing fire.

They both said together, “You’re a hero?” Diane laughed first, and then Idaho joined her. As he laughed, his fire died out, and he stood before her, naked. He looked down and covered himself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said with a smile, and took off her coat. He used it to cover his front, but nothing could cover his back. “I’d better take you home.”

“Hopefully nobody sees me…”

They made a mad dash to the car, and she unlocked the door, letting him in. He gasped at the coldness of the leather seats. She climbed in next to him. “You should wear a fireproof costume under your clothes.”

“I usually don’t do that,” he said as she started the car. “I mean, fire up. I only do it if I’m threatened, I’m usually very controlled.”

“Are you a mutant?” She eased out of the parking spot.

“No, I’m a clone.”

“There’s another one of you running around?”

“He doesn’t burst into flame. It’s a long story.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that tonight. I hope I get to hear these long stories.”

He smiled, looked out the window. “I could see you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Duncan Idaho, are you asking me out on a date?”

“I think I am.”

“Well, considering you’re a naked man in my car, we're intimate enough that you don't need to ask me.”  She grinned at him but was blushing.

He grinned as well, “Good, tomorrow at…six?”

“Six is good.”

“And you’ll know where I live…” and he started giving her directions.

They parked outside of what looked like a simple brownstone house, but on the first floor was a boutique. “Shit, my keys, my wallet, everything went up.”

“Can you get in?”

He opened the door to the car. “I leave a key to the house in a hiding place. I’ve come home without my keys before.”

“Hey, wait, Duncan?”

“Hm?”

She leaned over the seat and kissed him. He opened his mouth to the kiss, and she kissed him deeper. He pulled away, blushing furiously.

She glanced down at his groin, but the coat was covering it. “Uh, I’m sorry, you, can, uh, keep that.”

“Good. Thank you. I’ll clean it for you tomorrow.”

“Uh huh.”

“Right.” They stared at each other for a minute, and then he turned away. He glanced both ways down the sidewalk and sprinted to a glass door beside the boutique. He opened it, and flicked on the light in the hallway. She couldn’t see where he bent to get the key, but he flicked off the light quickly and ran up the stairs.

Diane Cook, Pyrablade, smiled and shook her head. “Only in Paragon,” she muttered, pulling back out into the street.