Wednesday, February 6, 2008
“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.”
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.”
Thursday, January 31, 2008
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...
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...
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
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.”
“Is this confusing or what, Dina?”
“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.Saturday, January 5, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, January 4, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Suicidal Wombat, in his old robes, stood before the door of the store in the haunted Isle of Croatoa. Witches glared at him, but he ignored them all. You can’t hurt me anymore. I’ve lived with what you’ve taken, and I don’t miss it anymore.
yesyoudo
Wombat whirled, claws bared, hackles raised on the back of his neck. He thought he heard a whisper, like the whispers he’d heard when the cursed spirits hung onto him. He learned to eventually use their power, and could control them. He trained them to do his bidding using his own blood or the blood of his enemies, until he overstepped his bounds and got the spirits wrenched out of his very soul.
I use my own spirit now. It’s not as strong, but it does the job.
He pushed open the glass door. It parted silently, not creaking like the old B-grade horror movies would normally do. He heard the hiss of the neon sign over the general silence of the store. Keeping his claws open, he padded quietly down the cereal aisle, eyes warily looking side to side but more sensing with his aura.
you missusyou we missyou
This time he didn’t whirl, but stopped in surprise. The whispers were clearer but still overlaid, garbled. A ghost appeared before him and he slashed, gathering his auras. It screamed in pain and went at him, but didn’t even touch him. More ghosts appeared.
no humans needwe miss youtake ushold uscomfortmake us wholeyouheld us keptus safe needhelp holdcomfort whole
Wombat fell to his knees, holding his head. “Stop, stop!” Spirits converged on him, he could feel them battering his auras.
Safe saveus help saveus keepushold –
Mark.
His eyes flashed open and he looked on a woman, her hair cut short like an Initiate in the Cabal, a gentle smile on her face. Wombat stared up at her, his mouth parting in disbelief. “R…Rachel?”
Mark. Then he noticed that she was encased in green, translucent, just like the others.
“Ray, Ray, no, no, no!” He reached for her, but his hands fell through her. He lost his balance initially and stumbled, but righted himself immediately. “Rachel, not you, too!”
Rachel’s apparition followed him. Mark. I’m all right.
“You’re dead!”
I’m all right. She reached out to him. You release us.
Comfort wecomfortmake uswhole make youwhole release safewholelove quieteasemakequiet
You are in pain.
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Human paincomfortrelease comfort helpwhole make wholemissus you miss
Release me, Mark.
He raised his head, his eyes full of tears. “Rachel…”
Her ghostly hand pawed at his claws. Release us.
Comfortpainhelpus
He looked up at her eyes. “God'a mercy on yer soul, sheila." He slashed deep inside the apparition. Nothing happened. Not a scream, not a cry of anguish, nothing. But he felt something travel slowly up his arm, like someone anesthetizing him, and then he turned to the next ghost and did the same. The same thing happened. Soon, he was going through the store, slashing at ghosts, feeling more and more heavy, more and more sleepy, more and more at peace. They didn’t whisper, demand, cajole, or even talk. They only covered him like a warm blanket.
The next thing he realized was waking up, sitting in a mess of spilled cereal boxes in the corner of the store. Diffused light came in from the window, and the clock registered three hours had gone by. The ghosts were still with him, no longer angry, no longer hurtful. He no longer wanted to control or use them either. He lay back, comfortable in the embrace of spirits, like a man who's taken enough opium to be down for a week.
yesyoudo
Wombat whirled, claws bared, hackles raised on the back of his neck. He thought he heard a whisper, like the whispers he’d heard when the cursed spirits hung onto him. He learned to eventually use their power, and could control them. He trained them to do his bidding using his own blood or the blood of his enemies, until he overstepped his bounds and got the spirits wrenched out of his very soul.
I use my own spirit now. It’s not as strong, but it does the job.
He pushed open the glass door. It parted silently, not creaking like the old B-grade horror movies would normally do. He heard the hiss of the neon sign over the general silence of the store. Keeping his claws open, he padded quietly down the cereal aisle, eyes warily looking side to side but more sensing with his aura.
you missusyou we missyou
This time he didn’t whirl, but stopped in surprise. The whispers were clearer but still overlaid, garbled. A ghost appeared before him and he slashed, gathering his auras. It screamed in pain and went at him, but didn’t even touch him. More ghosts appeared.
no humans needwe miss youtake ushold uscomfortmake us wholeyouheld us keptus safe needhelp holdcomfort whole
Wombat fell to his knees, holding his head. “Stop, stop!” Spirits converged on him, he could feel them battering his auras.
Safe saveus help saveus keepushold –
Mark.
His eyes flashed open and he looked on a woman, her hair cut short like an Initiate in the Cabal, a gentle smile on her face. Wombat stared up at her, his mouth parting in disbelief. “R…Rachel?”
Mark. Then he noticed that she was encased in green, translucent, just like the others.
“Ray, Ray, no, no, no!” He reached for her, but his hands fell through her. He lost his balance initially and stumbled, but righted himself immediately. “Rachel, not you, too!”
Rachel’s apparition followed him. Mark. I’m all right.
“You’re dead!”
I’m all right. She reached out to him. You release us.
Comfort wecomfortmake uswhole make youwhole release safewholelove quieteasemakequiet
You are in pain.
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Human paincomfortrelease comfort helpwhole make wholemissus you miss
Release me, Mark.
He raised his head, his eyes full of tears. “Rachel…”
Her ghostly hand pawed at his claws. Release us.
Comfortpainhelpus
He looked up at her eyes. “God'a mercy on yer soul, sheila." He slashed deep inside the apparition. Nothing happened. Not a scream, not a cry of anguish, nothing. But he felt something travel slowly up his arm, like someone anesthetizing him, and then he turned to the next ghost and did the same. The same thing happened. Soon, he was going through the store, slashing at ghosts, feeling more and more heavy, more and more sleepy, more and more at peace. They didn’t whisper, demand, cajole, or even talk. They only covered him like a warm blanket.
The next thing he realized was waking up, sitting in a mess of spilled cereal boxes in the corner of the store. Diffused light came in from the window, and the clock registered three hours had gone by. The ghosts were still with him, no longer angry, no longer hurtful. He no longer wanted to control or use them either. He lay back, comfortable in the embrace of spirits, like a man who's taken enough opium to be down for a week.