Into the Fire

City of Smut :)

2009-11-19T12:24:46Z

Note: the following fic includes content of an adult and/or explicit sexual nature and as a result may not be suitable for all readers or necessarily safe for work, etc.

Seriously, SMUT ALERT!!!

Compiled from a collaborative effort by Christine & Simms.

If you are of delicately-offended sensibilities or just plain don’t like to read about this kind of thing, turn back now!

Really. You’ve been warned.

Her house.

Which now, it seemed, she wouldn’t need to be locking up and closing down for a few days. The retreat she’d planned, a weekend of isolative meditation to restore control and emotional equilibrium … that had been meant to help her get her head back together after these past weeks of unrest.

Today had changed all that. She had other plans. Better plans. Much better than fasting and turning her mind inward as she floated lotus-style in one of the mystic foci, the ruins, the places of power that dotted the northern coastline of Vagabond Hills.

Much better.

Theo kissed her again once they were inside. His lips soft, his mouth warm. His arms strong around her as he pulled her close, held her. Strong, yes, but gentle. He was so powerfully built, while Larrah was so slight, that he could have crushed her without even thinking about it.

Larrah knew how inconvenienced he’d been during his weeks caught in demon-form, subject to all the usual desires and none of the ability. She wouldn’t have been surprised if those frustrated appetites had boiled over, wouldn’t have minded …

But he held her with that gentle care, and kissed her in a way that said he intended to take his time. To go slow, and be thorough. To show her how it was supposed to be done. To put her desires and satisfaction before his own.

He’d chosen her. Wanted her. Her. Larrah. As she was and who she was. To be with her, to see if they could make something lasting of this. Something more than just sex.

Maybe they could, maybe they couldn’t. All Larrah knew was that she was willing to try. She knew him, she liked him, she trusted him. They weren’t untried kids fumbling in furtive, guilty shadows. They weren’t near-strangers seeking just a quick hour’s casual passion.

The kiss alone proved that. As did the earlier talk of sleeping arrangements, and the fact they’d come here, to her home. She’d never brought anyone home before.

They went up to her apartment. Grimalkin, curled on the couch, glanced up at them with drowsy eyes. Yawned. Burrowed her nose between her paws.

“Hope she doesn’t mind,” Theo said, leading Larrah into her room.

“Mind what?”

“This.” He shut and locked the bedroom door.

“She’ll have to cope.”

Earlier, while she’d showered, he had stripped and remade the bed, taken down the silencing drapes that had been hung around it. The pillows were freshly plumped, the quilts turned invitingly down.

Theo unfastened her headband, and brushed back her hair when it fell loose around her face. He studied it, stroked it. A faint, curious expression – half smile, half-frown – curved his lips. As if he didn’t quite know how to ask the question without offending her.

Larrah scooped up her hair, lifted it, let it sift strand by strand through her fingers to settle against her shoulders and neck. “Premature grey is one thing, but mine started coming in that way when I was about eleven.” She shrugged. “Magic. Lots of hidden fees.”

“Adds to the mystery and appeal,” he said. The hand that had been stroking her hair moved to caress her cheek. Then trailed down her throat, lingering at the collar of her sweater.

“So, does this mean,” she inquired, “that I can finally just enjoy getting your clothes off without it being for medical reasons?”

He grinned. “And enjoy having me undress you?”

“That, too.”

“Definitely.” He grasped the bottom of her sweater in both hands and, with one smooth movement, pulled it up and over her head.

Theo tossed the sweater onto the nearby chair. “No sense in getting it dirty.” He gazed at her pale skin, the plain black bra standing in a sharp contrast. His hand traced down the strap and across the swell of her breast. No tan lines. No imperfections, just pale delicate skin. Theo kissed her neck, a slight nibble at the base of her neck and shoulder.

“All the beauty hidden under clothing.” His hands traced down her spine and settled at the waist of her pants.

Larrah sighed contentedly and pulled at his t-shirt edges, working it up and over his head. He leaned down to help her remove the clothing. It was dropped to the ground, as if a hindrance to her progress. Theo wrapped his arms around her again, pressing flesh to flesh, passing some of his warmth to her.

He had almost given this up. Passed up the opportunity of being with her. The urge to strip her and have his way tickled the back of his mind, but he pushed it down. No. She deserves the full treatment. Not some hurried encounter.

Theo found the buttons to her pants and slowly undid them, carefully unfastening each one. His finger slowly traced down her stomach and pushed open the waist of her pants, letting them pool at her feet. More pale skin and a pair of black undies.

She kicked away the pants, scooting them towards the chair. Larrah smiled at Theo, running her hands across his chest, exploring his flesh in a different way.

“I missed this,” she said, “when you came in all bloody. I have to play doctor more often.”

He grinned and lifted her head. His lips touched hers gently, brushing with a soft intent.

Hands fumbled at the belt of his pants. Pulling. Pushing. They dropped to the ground with a thud, letting him step out and push them away. A pair of dark red boxer briefs contrasted to his own tanned skin. His interest was self-evident.

Theo's hands explored her curves, the swells of her flesh. “You have such soft skin.” The clasp on her bra came undone and he gently pulled it away. Another article of clothing to be hunted down in the morning.

With magevision and with her touch she gave him a thorough going-over. And, yes, enjoying it very much. Appreciating it very much. He sported many old scars that told many old stories, but the rest of him …

Anatomy lessons had never been like this.

They stood caressing each other, his hands large and warm, slightly rough on her breasts but in a good way, a very good way. Larrah let her head fall back as he bent to kiss her neck again. She reached down and grasped him firmly through the briefs, felt him groan against her neck, surge his body toward hers.

“We don’t need to rush,” he said, almost gasping the words in her ear. Reminding himself as much as telling her. “We’ve got all night.”

“Mmm,” she said by way of agreement, and roved her hands around to the back instead, holding him to her, relishing the feel of him, the size and strength and heat, the sheer physical presence, the tenderness, the closeness.

“Have any supplies up here or do I need to run downstairs real quick?” Theo asked some time later.

“Thought you said you had your own.”

“One in my wallet. We’ll need more.”

She chuckled. “In the clinic, the drawer by the --”

“I remember.”

He kissed her, then slipped from the room, once again closing the door before Grimalkin got any ideas. Larrah listened to him move through the house. She could still not quite believe they’d ended up here, but she wasn’t going to question it. Wasn’t going to miss her chance again.

Clad just in panties now – simple black cotton, nothing fancy – she crossed to the bed and sat at the edge. It was a solid piece of furniture, sturdy oak, and while she’d never subjected it to any kind of rigorous activity, she felt confident it’d hold up. Maybe not without some creaking, and there was the matter of the headboard … hearing it in Grandville may have been exaggeration, but she suppressed a grin at the prospect of her neighbors for a block around getting an earful. Wondering, no doubt, what in the world was going on at the clinic, construction?

Larrah heard Theo return, heard him tell the cat, “oh, no you don’t.” Then he came in and tossed a generous handful of square foil envelopes onto the nightstand.

She regarded the pile, then him, amused. “Enough?”

“Put them on my tab,” he said.

“Well,” she said, with a sly smile, “that is what they’re for.”

Theo stopped, stared at her a moment, then laughed. “Sister Larrah has a wicked mouth.”

“You knew that.”

“And I like it, too.” He set a knee on the bed, curled his arm around her shoulders, pressed her backward with a hungry kiss. “Now, where were we?”

“You were being very good,” Larrah murmured as she moved her hands to his back, pulling him closer.

“The bed's a bit small. Need to find something bigger later on.” Theo lay half on her. His leg over hers. One arm wrapped under her back, half supporting his weight. The bed creaked under the movements, but nothing that threatened a collapse. At least the headboard isn't banging on the wall. Yet.

The next time would be at his place. His bed. More room to explore and move about. There was the private shower and tub.

His other hand moved downwards and cupped her breast fully, fingers moving to feel, test, measure. A thumb gently traced around the nipple. No rough grope. No inexperienced fumble. No hurried squeeze. Just a slow measured action. He moved downward, the hand tracing a line down her flesh to the panties. No marks or flaws. Just smooth alabaster skin.

His hand slipped under the edge and cupped her backside. Again pausing to feel and explore. Theo was going to leave no inch untouched. His mouth continued to kiss and nibble her lips, with the occasional move to her throat.

Larrah sighed. “Mmmm... I could get used to this ...” Her own hands gripped his back and explored. There was nothing modest to either of their actions.

“Ladies first,” he said, nuzzling into her neck again. “Best damn advice...”

"No argument from me," she replied, her breathing less steady and a faint flush coloring her skin in a light rose.

Theo's hand shifted under the panties, slowly moving from back to front. His fingers brushed through the fine hair, crooked downward, dipped, rubbed. Her breathing sharpened under the touch. He lingered there for a moment, then his hand moved to the edge of her panties he lifted her up slightly. He paused just long enough to send them to the floor next to the bra.

“No grey there.” Theo gazed over her naked form, grinning broadly. “I could get used to this, too,” he said. His own breathing was rough and ragged. There was more to do. So much more.

His hands roamed up her legs, feeling and massaging them with a firm motion. He kissed. Licked. Nibbled. Nothing was left unattended by his mouth or hand. Occasionally, Theo would stop and return to kiss her inviting lips. Sift a hand through her hair, the grey mingled with black. His fingers gently brushed over the sunken eye sockets. He ran a finger along her chin and throat.

Then he settled onto the bed beside her. “Show me,” he said, sliding his palm over her stomach. “Show me what you like. What feels good.”

Larrah arched her neck, rolled her head on the pillow, gazed up at him with her magevision as he lay propped on an elbow. Finding only earnest truth in his expression, she nodded. She ran her hands down, past his where it rested at her waist. Watching him as he watched her.

Then lower still. A practiced touch, her fingers skilled, deft, knowing. This her solitary, private pleasure. Silent but for the quickening of her breath. Her pale skin tingling with the rosy flush of building arousal.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” Theo murmured. “And … damn, that’s sexy.”

She took his hand, brought it to join hers, guiding his fingers. “You told me it only really counted when it was someone else’s hand. Let’s find out.”

He followed her lead, took over, the strokes of his fingers slow and deliberate as he emulated her actions to provide the same pleasure … then with a greater urgency to keep pace with his own desire and need.

Larrah gave herself fully over to the sensations that pulsed through her body. To have this, the focus so on her … with him, with someone who cared … more than ready, yet still so willing to wait, to delay his own satisfaction until hers was assured …

With her other hand, she reached down to take hold of him again, into the briefs this time, finding smooth hot skin and hard flesh, a denser bristling wiry softness of hair. He made an impassioned sound low in his throat and pushed against her.

Then in a crashing tremor that coursed through her outward from her core, the moment arrived. She drew in a gasp, pressed his hand with hers and pinned it between her thighs. At the height of it, Theo kissed the side of her neck, the hollow at its base. He whispered her name in a low tone of impassioned desire.

She relaxed with a shaky exhalation, rolled and turned so that her face was buried in his chest. He held her, caressing her back. At last Larrah lifted her head again. She kissed him.

“I want you in me,” she said, her voice husky. Ridding him of the briefs. Freeing him as he helped with no hesitation.

Theo groped for the pile on the nightstand, found a packet, tore it open. He did so with none of the interrupting mood-breaking pause, that ‘hang on a minute’ muttering and awkwardness. Better still, with none of petulance she’d run into before, no sulky spoiled-little-boy whining about showers with raincoats. None of that.

He covered her body with his, hooked an elbow under her knee, and lifted her hips from the mattress. Then drove deep with a single powerful thrust. Larrah clasped tight, clutched his shoulders, clung to him.

No magevision now. Her other senses. Her every other sense. Hearing the wordless sounds from low in his throat. Smelling the good clean scent of sweat and exertion, feeling it slick upon his back. Tasting his kisses, tasting herself on his lips.

And working with him, rocking with him, urging him on. Harder and faster until her headboard did indeed commence a vigorous slamming against the wall, as the bed creaked and shook.

*

Brother Etienne paused in his sermon to his brethren. From Sister's Larrah's clinic came the sounds of banging against the outside wall. He glanced backwards at the building. Perhaps the Sister is having some construction done on her place. It was persistent and quite loud. The Brother frowned at the distraction and wondered just how long it would last. After five minutes, it got louder and then stopped.

"I must speak with Sister Larrah about the construction noises," he grumbled, and turned back to his sermon. "Why are you all smiling?"

One of the younger members looked up. "I think the Sister has a male visitor, Brother Etienne."

"The Sister would not risk her power with the loss of her purity. Do not disparage her with such thoughts or comments. She may walk the edge of a knife, but there is still hope for her salvation."

"Yes Brother."

*

Theo moved faster and faster, caught in throes of passion. Of desire. Of need. Of pure, raw want. Just the bare minimum of control or restraint. All that mattered was the moment and Larrah. She moved with him. He felt her skin, her touch, her kiss. She was caught in the moment. Her face betraying the passionate enjoyment of the act. Even without a sound, the physical responses told him everything. He could feel it, the wave building up, and rode it out.

Theo groaned as the moment of release hit, hugging Larrah tightly. He could feel her respond, locking legs behind his, nails digging in, and a passionate kiss. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the band holding his long hair back had long since disappeared, letting it drape down the side of his head.

"Sorry, that was too fast," he said softly into her ear, then nibbled it lightly.

Larrah smiled, stretching the length of her body against him and slipping a leg over his. “Best encounter of my life and he’s apologizing …” Her skin was flush with sweat, heat, and passion. She buried her face into his shoulder, kissing it warmly.

He smiled. "You are fantastic and beautiful." Theo rolled off to the side, pulling Larrah over with him. They lay face to face in a tangle of blankets and sheets. Wordlessly basking in the afterglow, kissing lightly. She was fantastic. Everything he wanted. Everything he could have wanted. His hands traced a pattern on her skin as they both recovered. And he had all night to show her how special she was.

“I think the bed might not make it all night. And the neighbors must be wondering what the hell is going on.”

“Let them wonder,” she said, placing another kiss on his lips. “And if the bed breaks, there's always the clinic.” Larrah grinned at him. “You're not going to let a creaky bed stop you?”

“Never broken a bed before, but first time for everything.” He reached over to grab another foil packet and grinned back. “Do you want to put it on this time?”

*

The sounds that had so amused his congregation resumed again some twenty minutes after they had first ceased.

Brother Etienne swept the faces of those gathered before him with an arch, smug look. Clearly, it was some manner of construction work taking place at Sister Larrah’s clinic. And the workmen had but taken a short coffee break before once more setting to their labors.

This latest round was not such a loud, rapid spate of pounding and hammering, but a much steadier rhythm, and protracted, continuing for …

He lost his place, forgot what he’d been saying, had to refer to the crumpled notebook he kept in his belt pouch.

Some of his followers were smirking again. A couple even elbowed each other, and winked, when they thought Brother Etienne unobservant.

In the name of Martin Henri, what were they doing in there, installing new paneling throughout the building?

*

Theo woke with a slow and pleasant lethargy, the kind that came from hours of sleep following a lot of the most enjoyable exertion.

He was also slightly throttled, with Larrah’s arm draped limp and deadweight across his neck, but he didn’t really mind. She slept with her face mashed into his shoulder, her hair a tangled grey-black cloud around her head, her pale limbs and slim torso half-entwined in a sheet.

Happy and content … and worn out.

The frustrations of the last few weeks gone.

Memories played over him and he savored them, smiling up at the thin dawnlight and shadows tracing patterns on Larrah’s ceiling. How she had been, so unreserved, so passionate in her strangely silent way.

The thought tried to intrude, the thought of how close he had come to missing out on this. To letting her walk away. He pushed it out of his head. He hadn’t. That was what mattered.

As a result, they’d made a respectable dent in the pile of condoms he’d brought up from the clinic. And, judging by the occasional irate meow and scratching at the door, offended the cat by locking her out of the bedroom all night.

Larrah groaned, stirred. She mumbled something, the words thick and muffled, inaudible. As she shifted, her arm shifted as well, and then it was more than slightly throttling him. That, he sort of had to mind, so he grasped it and drew it gently down a few inches until it rested on his chest.

“Mmph,” she said.

“Hey,” Theo replied. He squeezed her hand, felt her press a warm, wet kiss on his shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Mmph,” she said again. “Somewhere between … utterly ravished, and … mauled by a pack of wild beasts.”

He grinned and pulled her closer to kiss. “Sounds about right.” He stretched and wrapped both arms around her. His stomach rumbled. “How about some breakfast?”

*

Peoples, thought Grimalkin, could be so silly. It made them inconsiderate sometimes, too. Times like this.

Did the peoples fail to realize she had been out here by herself for most of a sun and all of a dark? Ignored? Neglected?

Since they’d gone out into the world and come back from the world smelling of foods – and brought none for Grimalkin, either, she was very much aware – they had been in the Larrah’s bedroom with the door shut.

Shut against her! Grimalkin! Unbelievable! Even when she had mewed politely to inform them of this, even when she had done a dainty scritching or two against the wood.

The only times she had seen them were the few and far-between occasions when they’d come out for more foods, or waters, or to visit the cold hard claw-clicky room that peoples used instead of good dirt or litterboxes.

Aside from that? In there rutting. And rutting. And rutting and rutting and rutting some more. Until finally they’d gone quiet, gone to sleep. Still with the door shut against her!

Perhaps silliest of all, was that the Larrah wasn’t even in heat. All that rutting and for no kittens? Silly. Very silly. Did the Theo not know?

Or was the Theo like some of the toms Grimalkin knew, toms who would rub and hunch and rut against any queen they could find, whether she was in heat or not? Any queen, other toms, sometimes blankets or cushions if nothing else was available?

He must have been one of those, she decided. Obviously, or he would have been rutting with the Raquel instead. The Raquel seemed in a low but perpetual heat, the tingle of magic on her making it so, ready to have her belly filled with many kittens.

Finally, when the new sun was shining in the windows, the door opened. The peoples looked down at her, where Grimalkin sat quite primly in the middle of the floor, with her head high and her ears up and her tail curled around her forepaws.

She swept them with her coolest reproachful gaze, then turned her head aloof to the side to let them know that she might … might be willing to forgive them for this heinous lapse into rudeness. But they would have to work for it.

**

Reposted here in my LJ because it might be deemed a tad too much for the board.

The following preview has been approved for all audiences ...

2009-11-10T07:56:26Z

From the people that brought you “At the Museum,” “Caught!” and “Just Another Day in Paragon City” …

Epic, dramatic, orchestral Hans Zimmer style music.

Poster-type shots of the Freedom Phalanx, the Young Paragons, the Liberty Alliance.

The voice of Zenith Meridian, solemn, rich with timbre and gravitas: “Our world is one of heroes. Of the struggle to bring law and justice to a troubled society.”

Sweeping aerial pan of Atlas Park, the statues, the skyline, zooming in on the flag waving atop City Hall.

Zenith Meridian, voice-over: “There are some dangers that can be faced.”

Image/video montage: Lord Recluse ranting, Council soldiers in formation, Tyrant Nadir looking malevolent, Countess Crey looking cold, Lord Nemesis addressing his troops.

Zenith Meridian, voice-over: “There are some battles that can be won.”

Image/video montage: The Aspirant taking down a Rikti dropship, Star Amethyst confronting Nightstar, both of them dogfighting the Luftwaffe.

Zenith Meridian, voice-over: “But there are some forces that not even the best heroes can fight forever.”

Darkness.

Silence.

Pause.

Then, in the darkness:

A low murmur. “Amelia …”

A soft whisper. “Arthur …”

Closeup of slender fingers smoothing blond hair.

Music again, instrumental, Taylor Swift’s ‘You Belong With Me.’

From-behind shot of a ponytailed girl in a bathroom, slipping out of a purple shirt. Bare, creamy shoulders and thin white silky spaghetti straps.

Arthur: “I, uh, don’t know if … if my mom would be exactly wild about us being, uh, here … like … um … this. You know. Alone. Together.”

Steam-fogged glass door, hissing water, glimpse of a lean, muscular male figure in the shower.

Backlit silhouette of a girl in a doorway. Wearing something satiny, and short.

Amelia: “I’m here. I’m staying.”

The two of them face-to-face, inches apart, laughing … which then turns to a moment of blushing realization and awareness.

Closeup of linked hands, clasping, holding.

Amelia: “We should …”

Arthur: “Yeah.”

Closeup of blue eyes, his, dreamy yet serious.

Closeup of brown eyes, hers, wide and heartfelt.

Arthur: “How does this thing come off, anyway?”

Amelia: “It hooks in the back.”

Rumpled sheets and blankets.

Closeup of him nuzzling the top of her head, laying his cheek against her hair, smiling.

The sound of a gasp, a sigh, a breath. “Oh …”

Darkness. Silence.

PLAYING HOUSE

An all-new feature-length fic.

Written by Christine, directed by Skystreak.

A Homewrecker Studios production.

Coming soon to a screen near you.

Ammy's Halloween

2009-10-31T14:43:14Z

Montgomery house, October 31st, 6:45 PM …

She was going out later, to the Peterson family fireworks haunted house and exploding pumpkin extravaganza … meeting Milton and Blaze and everyone there … with Greg if he could get away. But for now, she got to do the part of Halloween that was almost, almost as much fun as being able to dress up and go trick-or-treating around the neighborhood herself.

Ding-bong! went the doorbell, and Ammy went eagerly to open it, picking up the big bowl of candybars from the foyer table.

Their porch light was on, they had smiling toothy jack-o-lanterns (non-explodey ones) on the steps, a trio of mechanized cartoon-style black cats that meowed and arched their backs, and a line of cheerful ghosts swinging from the eaves. Nothing scary. No eerie sound effects, no fog machines, no coffins and vampires and ugly bristly spiders.

The group consisted of five kids, ages six through ten or so. One robot, one witch, one zombie, one princess, and one dalmatian in a firefighter’s hat. “Trick or treat!” they chorused. She doled out the candy while a couple of grownups watched from the end of the sidewalk.

Since it wasn’t the same to be just one PowerPuff Girl by herself, and since she wasn’t planning to get gothed up for the haunted house until later, she had decided to just go with the Hogwarts costume she’d worn to a Harry Potter party a couple years back. Long black robe over her school uniform, Hufflepuff scarf – she always scored Hufflepuff on those “What House Are You?” quizzes – a ‘wand’ made from a stick she’d found at the park and decorated with some paint and glitter. She’d braided her hair into two long plaits instead of her usual ponytail, and tied the ends with Hufflepuff ribbons.

Again, the doorbell. A lady in a cavewoman costume, pushing a stroller-riding baby in a dinosaur suit. Ammy awwwwwed and dropped a candybar into the bag.

It was early enough in the evening that some light lingered in the western sky, but late enough so that candles glowed orange from inside pumpkins all up and down the street. Some of the houses also had strings of lights, orange and yellow and green, or shaped like little devils, little eyeballs, little ghosts. She could see flashlights bobbing and reflectors on costumes as kids crossed the streets. Their calls, whoops and laughter rang in the just-beginning-to-chill twilight air.

No other trick-or-treaters were immediately near, so Ammy closed the door again. Her parents had gone to a cocktail party being hosted by the Dean of Humanities, not a costume party, not a Halloween party, a Serious Adult Social Gathering.

Ammy went to the kitchen and got there just as Mrs. Sheldon was putting the finishing touches on a batch of cookies. Sugar cookies, ghost-shaped, with white frosting and chocolate morsels to make their faces.

“Eee!” she squealed, hugging the housekeeper. “They look awesome! Thanks so much!”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Sheldon said, smiling. She started packing the cookies into a tin for Ammy to take along to Blaze’s haunted house. “How’s the candy supply holding out?”

“Good, but there’s only been a few so far.” Ammy helped herself to one of the broken cookie pieces from the ‘reject’ plate … Grandma Marlene said to always have a ‘reject’ plate, even if it meant breaking some cookies on purpose. How else, she told Ammy, would they know if they’d turned out okay?

Mrs. Sheldon’s ghosts had definitely turned out okay! Ammy still couldn’t bring herself to eat raw sugar cookie dough after that one time a grateful shopkeeper had given her a whole bucket of it for saving his store, but the baked ones were fine, just fine!

The bell rang again as she finished licking frosting off her fingers. She hurried to open it. Three kids, a cowboy, a mermaid, and Statesman. “Trick or treat!” And candy bars, into a treat bag with horses on it, a sea-green pillowcase, and … ell-oh-ell, a plastic bucket shaped like Lord Recluse’s head.

She put on some music – soundtrack from “A Nightmare Before Christmas,” This is Halloween, this is Halloween …” – and cracked-shook a few glowsticks just because she liked glowsticks. Always had. She rolled one across the floor for Jupiter, who only looked up at her as if to say, “you’re kidding, right?”

Next was a regular throng of kids, first- or second-graders being shepherded along by what were probably older siblings. The tween girls were dressed as sparkly vampires and looked annoyed at getting stuck with this chore.

“Trick or treat!” And candy, candy, candy. And “Happy Halloween!”

Then a lull of almost half an hour, long enough for Ammy to start worrying … it couldn’t be over already, people weren’t that paranoid about trick-or-treating anymore, were they?

Ding-bong!

She opened the door, and blinked.

“Say trick or treat, honey,” prompted a man from the sidewalk.

His wife, beside him with his arm around her, smiled at Ammy. It was one of those “be patient, she’s still new at this” kind of smiles.

And the little girl on the porch, all of three years old, had a cornsilk-blonde ponytail … a purple felt mask … a homemade outfit of purple and white …

“Twickatweet!”

“Omigosh your costume --!” Ammy said.

“Tell her who you are, honey,” Daddy said.

Wide eyes gleamed proud and delighted through the mask. “I’m Ftar Ammaffiss!”

“I … I see that …”

“And how,” coaxed Mommy, “how does Star Amethyst go?”

The little girl stomped down hard with one foot and hollered, “Bwite shineee juth-tiss! ”

Ammy burst out with giggles that were equal parts amazement and stunned disbelief. She heard herself say, “That’s right, bright shiny justice!” as she dropped a whole handful of candy bars into the purple sack with white cutout construction paper stars pasted to it.

“It’s her favorite superhero,” Mommy said, in a confiding way. “We looked all over for a real costume in the stores, but …”

“She looks great!”

“Okay, honey, still got a lot of houses to go to,” said Daddy.

“Happee How-ween!” crowed the little girl, waving, as she rushed back to her parents.

Closing the door, Ammy could only lean against it for a moment, hands over her mouth. Oh-em-gee she thought she was going to cry, that was just the … just the … she’d never expected to see …

She dashed back to the kitchen. “Mrs. Sheldon I gotta go out for a minute could you listen for the doorbell and give out the candy if any trick-or-treaters come?”

“Sure, Amelia. Everything okay?”

“Uh-huh! Back soon!” And she flew upstairs.

A few minutes later, she was gliding above Founder’s Falls, scanning the streets and sidewalks and canal-spanning bridges below. Her ponytail and cape streamed out behind her, rippling in the breeze. She watched from above as various groups of parents and kids went by, then spotted the ones she was looking for.

Ammy followed on high until the small family had almost reached the police station, glad to see that their route had taken them where she’d guessed and hoped it would. She swooped down quick, ducked inside to say hi to some of the cops she knew, and then strode back out as if she’d been there on official business right as –

-- they came around the corner of the building.

Mommy saw her first, stopped in her tracks, and gasped. Her hand clutched down tight on Daddy’s arm. He glanced the way she was staring, stumbled, almost took a header into the canal.

The little girl had been toddling along with her candy bag open and her head down, inspecting her night’s haul of treats. She plowed into her mother’s legs, went “oof!” with surprise, and looked up.

Dropped her bag. Some candy spilled out and she didn’t even notice. Her eyes behind that purple felt mask kept getting bigger and bigger and rounder and rounder.

“Well, hi,” Ammy said, with her warmest and most dazzling smile. “I really like your outfit!”

“I-I-I-I …” said the little girl.

“Say hi, honey,” said Daddy, rote prompting, sounding numbed.

“It’s her,” Mommy whispered, still clutching him. “It’s really her.”

“Hi …?”

Detective Murwell, leaning against the precinct house wall, grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets, watching.

Ammy went to one knee, and bent down to eye level. “You look just like me!”

“I …I …” With sudden shyness, she hid her face against her mother.

“It’s okay,” Ammy said. “Are you having a fun Halloween?”

The girl peeked, and did a quick nod.

“Getting lots of good treats?”

Another nod.

“Playing any bad tricks?”

Rapid headshake. “Imma good girl!”

“Of course you are!”

“Don’t you want to go see Star Amethyst, honey?” Daddy asked.

Mommy jumped and started jabbing at him. “The camera where’s the camera get the camera you have to get a picture of this!”

“What do you think?” Ammy asked the little girl. “Get our picture taken?”

The girl shuffled forward a couple of slow steps, still goggle-eyed. Ammy held out an encouraging white-gloved hand. A much smaller white glove, this one an ordinary winter knitted glove with the design done on it in purple fabric paint, slid into hers.

The two of them faced Daddy with the camera, Ammy still on one knee, the little girl beside her with an expression somewhere between paralytic anxiety and over-the-moon delight.

“How about you give Star Amethyst a hug, Kayleigh?” Mommy suggested.

“If you want to,” Ammy told her, holding out her arms.

The last of the shyness melted away, and the little girl threw her arms around Ammy’s neck. “Ftar Ammaffiss! Love yoooouuuu Ftar Ammaffiss!!!”

So Daddy got a picture of that, and another as Ammy picked Kayleigh up, and another still as – after asking permission – Ammy hovered a few inches off the ground with her eyes glowing and the little girl holding on tight.

Finally, she set Kayleigh down again. “I have something for you,” she said. “It’s a treat, but it’s not candy, okay? So don’t go trying to eat it or anything. Promise?”

“Pwomiss.”

“This is a special purple space crystal. Nobody else has these except my very own friends. I want you to have one, because you made this just about the best Halloween I ever had.”

“What do you say, honey?” prompted Daddy.

“Fank you!”

As Kayleigh marveled over the crystal, Ammy turned to Kayleigh’s parents. She gave them one of her contact cards with the Liberty Alliance logo and info on it. “Could you maybe please e-mail me copies of the pictures?”

“We will,” Mommy said, taking the card. “And thank you, thank you so much, this is the biggest thrill …”

“For me, too,” Ammy said. “It really, really is!”

The Liberty Town clocktower began to toll. Eight o’clock, and Greg would be calling soon to let her know if he was free to go to the haunted house and fireworks show.

“I need to go now,” she said, pushing off from the ground again. “And gosh, you have a whole bag of candy to go home and sort through. Remember to brush your teeth, okay? Bye!”

“G’bye Ftar Ammaffiss!” Kayleigh called, waving wildly, dancing in place in her excitement. “G’bye, Happee How-ween! Happy How-ween!”

“Happy Halloween!” Ammy called back.

Then, in a bright violet blur of light, she soared into the sky over Founders Falls, and flew toward home.

**

Gimme an Arrrrrr

2009-09-21T16:13:56Z

Fun with the base ... now my hunky pirate scrapper can haz a ship!

Pretty damn pleased with myself, actually :)

Longbow Barbie is a Twit!

2009-09-06T16:08:40Z

Hang on, that doesn't sound right ...

But!

Becca and I went to PAX yesterday, and took along the Longbow Barbie that I did. Showed her to the guys at the City of Heroes booth.

Matt "Positron" Miller took her picture, and she made his Twitter!

Hang on, that doesn't sound right either ...

Here she is!

Overdue fic post!

2009-07-25T13:49:48Z

I have been posting my "City Of" fics lately over at the forums of Last Bastion because so many of them have been collaborative or continuing or including chatlogs and such. But this one should stand alone on its own well enough!

In which The Aspirant faces

Excelsior Academy, a Thursday afternoon

“Pearce! What’re you doing?”

Arthur Pearce looked up. There were books stacked all over the table, two books propped open in front of him, a library full of books surrounding him, a calculator at his elbow, a pencil in his hand, and a page of equations and formulae half-finished in his notebook.

“Uh … studying?” he replied.

Jeremy Chilton, a skinny underclassman with crazy brown hair, did an eyeroll. “That much is obvious, yeah.”

“Well, we are in school.”

Only in Paragon City would the usual school year extend well into the summer, to cover all the make-up days needed for when classes were canceled on account of Rikti invasion, Winter Lords, or similar citywide disasters.

“Right, but, now?” Chilton said.

“What should I be doing?” countered Arthur. Wary. And with a feeling that he already knew.

Chilton leaned over, bracing his fists on the table, and checked to make sure the librarian wasn’t within earshot. “Horses-and-Hotties over on the Green? Remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. That.”

“Oh-yeah-that?”

Arthur slid one of the books closer and tried to figure out which calculation he’d been working on. “It’s just … a bunch of … girls on horseback,” he said, as off-handedly as he could.

“English style in full regalia,” Chilton said. “So let’s go already.”

“I don’t know, Chilton, don’t you think it’s kind of … juvenile?”

“Juvenile?”

“Sure. All of us out there leaning on the fence, ogling them? Pretty immature.”

“That’s not what you said last quarter.”

“Look, Chilton …” he said, trying not to blush.

“In fact, last quarter, wasn’t it your suggestion?”

“No!”

“That’s what Trowbridge says.”

“Trowbridge is a punk.”

“What-ev.”

“He is!”

“Hey,” Chilton said, raising both hands palms-out. “You want to be Mr. Mature, sit in here and study? Fine. You know where the rest of us will be.”

Five minutes later, completely unable to concentrate, Arthur gave up, slammed the books shut, grabbed his bookbag from the back of his chair, and stomped out of the library. Muttering low imprecations at himself under his breath as he went. But, going nonetheless.

If all the other guys were doing it …

He crossed Excelsior’s well-tended grounds to the fence that divided the campus from Excelsior Green, the park on the other side. The course had already been set up in preparation for Saturday’s equestrian event, and the riders currently out there were practicing before the main judging and competition.

Girls. In full English-style riding regalia. On sleek steeds. Beauty, grace, skill, athletic prowess.

Horses-and-Hotties.

And of course a whole lineup of Excelsior Academy boys along the fence. Some of them acting all casual about it, as if they always hung out here between classes and it had nothing to do with the presence of the riders. Some not even bothering with pretense, staring, hooting, leering and whistling. More like stereotypical construction workers or gang members than preppies.

Chilton was easy to spot, and so was the beefy form of Trowbridge. Who was a punk, and a bully besides. Arthur sometimes caught himself almost wishing that Trowbridge would start something with him, so that he could have the satisfaction of showing the big ape that not everyone was a pushover.

But, aside from the occasional sneering remark about Arthur’s height and blond “pretty-boy” good looks, Trowbridge rarely bothered with him. Being the son of multi-billionaire Michael Pearce carried a lot of weight, even here in a rich-kids’ private boarding school.

“Well, well, well,” Chilton said, smug. “Look who decided to join us. Knew you couldn’t stay away, Pearce.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He joined them at the fence, between Rossland and Everley. Telling himself he was a cad, a sleaze, a lech, no better than any of these other creeps.

But … girls in riding regalia.

Even when one of them was …

Heck, maybe especially when one of them was …

He still couldn’t believe he had walked straight into a pay phone like that, the other day when she’d told him about the riding lessons, showed him the outfit.

So focused on trying not to react, be cool, be unaffected … and bang, pay phone. It had left a bruise, how was that for ironic? Dodging just about everything the Council could throw at him, but give him one look at Amelia in equestrienne attire and he couldn’t get out of the way of a stationary object. If the pay phone hadn’t been there, he might have bumped into the train station wall.

She’d looked so …

And she didn’t even realize it. Worried that he’d laugh at her.

Laugh?

It was true he had barely been able to breathe, let alone talk, but laughing was one of the last things on his mind.

Not that most of the things that had been on his mind should have been on his mind. For all sorts of good reasons.

“Ohhhh yeah,” Trowbridge said as a brunette in mahogany jacket and buff-colored jodhpurs cantered past on a gloss-black Arabian. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I’d like to put her through her paces,” said Wakefield.

Similar comments and observations were being made all up and down the fence, as the various girls from the various horsemanship schools and stables rode by. Then …

Ash-blonde hair, dark violet jacket, white jodhpurs. Arthur could tell even from here that she was still nervous about riding. Her posture was proper, but too stiff, too tense. She was overthinking the way she always did, instead of just relaxing and going with her instincts. As a result, her tension transmitted itself to the horse, and sent them both into a vicious circle of increasing anxiety.

She did look great, though.

Really, really great.

“Hey, Pearce …?” Chilton said.

Uh-oh.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you used to go out with her?”

“Who?” Rossland asked. “The blonde?”

“Oh, sure,” said Everley. “That’s right. Amanda Somebody, wasn’t it?”

“Amelia,” Arthur said.

Trowbridge glanced at him. “No joke? What happened?”

“She dumped him, I think,” Chilton said.

“She didn’t --!” Arthur sputtered. “It wasn’t --! I mean … we … she … we’re just friends!”

“She dumped him,” Wakefield and Rossland said together.

“No! It wasn’t like that!”

“You saying you dumped her?” Chilton asked.

“No --! I … look, guys … hey, can we just drop it already?”

“So you aren’t going out with her,” Trowbridge said.

“I’m not going out with her,” he said. “We’re just friends.”

“So you could introdu--” Rossland began, swaggering his shoulders a little as he scoped out Amelia’s legs.

“No!”

“Woo-hoo-hoo-ooh,” Everley crowed. “Someone’s touchy!”

“Shut up.”

They howled with laughter, elbowing each other, shoving back and forth. Arthur let himself be knocked against the fence and leaned there, a hand over his forehead, stifling a groan.

Shouldn’t be out here. Probably shouldn’t attend the event on Saturday … he’d promised her he would, though … which she hadn’t really been asking … she’d been trying in her cutely earnest and endearing way to warn him, or even ask him not to … her parents were going to be there and Arthur wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing the Montgomerys for the first time since …

She hadn’t dumped him. Wasn’t like they’d broken up or anything. They hadn’t been dating. Not for real. She hadn’t been his girlfriend. Ergo, it was impossible for them to have broken up. Nobody had dumped anybody. That was all there was to it.

And okay maybe it would be a little uncomfortable, facing her parents, her mom in particular. With Ewige – Greg – there too, most likely. Okay, maybe it’d be awkward. So what? Nothing new there. He could handle it. They all could.

“Hey.” Wakefield nudged him. “She’s looking over here.”

Arthur glanced down the field, toward the start of the course. The younger girls were up for practice next, six- and seven- and eight-year-olds leading their ponies into the ring. Most of the ponies had ribbons braided into their manes and tails. The older girls milled around, taking breaks, getting water bottles, stretching, chatting, preening … and pretending not to notice the Excelsior guys at the fence.

He made eye contact with Amelia, and even from here he saw her bite her lip in a tentative smile that way she did, saw her do a sort of shy little finger-waggle wave. It was too far to say for sure if she was blushing, but … yeah … he bet she was.

Ignoring as best he could the snickers from the other guys, he raised a quick hand in return. Saw her eyes and her smile both brighten. And –

And he really, really shouldn’t be out here like this. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Wasn’t his life difficult enough already without going out of his way to make it more difficult?

A vast shadow suddenly darkened the afternoon. Too dark and solid to be a cloud.

Everybody went on instant alert. Even the students who were new to Excelsior Academy had been in Paragon City long enough to have learned that lesson.

The War Walls still shimmered pale turquoise, the sky had not gone the unnatural green of an impending Rikti attack or the eerie red that signified waves of zombies bursting up from the earth.

But … the shadow.

Looming. Blotting out the sun.

For a moment, staring up at it, Arthur wondered what the blimp was doing way over here when it usually made circuits of Atlas Park.

Only it wasn’t that familiar blimp.

And there wasn’t just one. There were several. Enormous grey airships, gliding fat and silent in wedge formation.

“What the …?” Everley said.

All over campus, and on the fields of the Green, people were stopping and looking up in bewilderment. Bewilderment, and alarm, because whatever this was, odds around this town said it wouldn’t be good.

Then there was a sound, a low but growing waspish drone of engines. Smaller craft swooped around the airships.

Planes. Old-fashioned planes.

They were Messerschmitts!

Then, as the lead airship’s course changed direction, Arthur Pearce saw the red and black insignia emblazoned large upon its curved side. Recognized it.

He wasn’t alone in that.

Panic erupted even before the 5th Column Luftwaffe went into screaming dives, even before the rattling machine-gun bursts began to tear up the lawns in stitching puffs of turf and flying dirt. Bombs rained down, blowing bathtub-sized craters wherever they struck.

Belatedly, the citywide klaxons whooped into life.

Within seconds, it was absolute pandemonium. The show horses, high-strung and spirited, went into a neighing, rearing frenzy. So did the ponies. Girls shrieked and scattered, or froze in riveted horror.

A bomb took out one of the stables in an explosion of burning hay and wooden shrapnel. The show grounds went from manicured and pastoral to a WWII no-man’s-land.

Arthur was over the fence and onto Excelsior Green before he’d fully known he was going to move. Some of his classmates scrambled after him, while others pelted toward the safety of the dorms and the underground shelters.

Panicked horses plunged through the roiling smoke. Arthur leaped sideways and one missed him by inches, passing so close that its tail flicked against his ear. Then he glimpsed a violet jacket, veered that way. Saw Amelia running toward a little girl who stood petrified in the face of a stampede. Saw her scoop the kid up and carry her out of the path of the oncoming, thundering hooves.

Saw a plane swing around and dive into a strafing run that would take it …

“Amelia!” Arthur yelled.

She didn’t hear him over the noise of gunfire and explosions. So he ran, knowing there was no time, thinking controlled collision, and tackled Amelia just as she started to turn toward the approaching plane, finally realizing the danger.

Machine-gun fire shredded the grass, splintered a jumping rail, kicked up more puffs of dirt. Arthur hit the ground rolling, holding onto Amelia as she held onto the little girl. They crashed through a ‘brick’ jump, the structure of lightweight blocks bouncing around them like chunks of styrofoam, and thudded into a flowerbox.

The little girl landed hard on her bottom with a loud, “Oof!” Then she broke into whiny, braying sobs, drumming her heels. “I hate riding lessons! I hate it! I hate horsies! I wanna go home!” She got up and ran off, still wailing.

Arthur found himself on his back in the grass with Amelia laying atop him, both of them gasping for breath.

“Um!” she said, blinking down at him with wide, startled eyes.

He grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi …?”

“We missed the mudpuddle,” he said.

Her laugh was half surprise and half disbelief. “Gosh …”

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“That … that’s the …”

“5th Column, yeah. They’re back.”

“They have Zeppelins,” she said.

“And Messerschmitts!”

“Es ist ein Blitzkrieg!”

“Ja!”

“Or … eine, einen … I can never remember those,” Amelia said.

It was just dawning on him that they really ought to not still be laying here like this when the ground shuddered anew and he looked around and saw a fear-maddened palomino bearing down on them.

“Look out!” He grabbed Amelia and rolled again, covering her, pressing both of them against the wooden side of the flowerbox, tucking his head down.

Hoofbeats, hoofbeats, a mighty lunging leap, a timeless suspended silence. The sense of the horse’s huge weight sailing over them, over the flowerbox, over the jump. And then ka-whump as it landed and galloped on.

“Pearce!” someone called.

Arthur lifted his head from Amelia’s shoulder. The initial 5th Column Luftwaffe attack wave seemed to have passed for now, the airships cruising on, the planes following. He saw shapes in the smoke, people moving across the smoldering grass of Excelsior Green. Boys in the non-uniform but nice dress code of the Academy. Girls in jodhpurs and jackets. Grooms trying to round up the terrified horses.

“Over here!” he called back.

“Um …” Amelia said again. Meaningful look up at him, and a bright blush.

“Oh! Right. Sorry.” Blushing himself now, he slid off her and got to his knees. She sat up, straightening her askew riding helmet.

His classmates approached. Chilton, Trowbridge, Everley. Others with them. Students, riders, instructors. To Arthur’s amusement, Everley was holding hands with, and murmuring comforting words to, the trim brunette that Trowbridge and Rossland had remarked on before.

“We have to get out of here,” Chilton said. “Before they come back.”

“Anyone have a heroband communications channel?” asked a girl who was maybe twelve, but was among the calmest of them. “Maybe we can find out what’s going on.”

“I do,” a groom said. “Younger brother’s with the Vanguard, told me I should carry it for emergencies.”

“Well what are you waiting for?” barked Trowbridge.

Sure enough, the heroband was broadcasting a general alert. Amelia glanced at Arthur with an urgent what now? shining unspoken in her eyes. They both knew what now, but they couldn’t very well do what needed to be done with an audience.

“There’s a shelter under the main stable,” one of the instructors said, hoisting a sniffling petite equestrienne to one arm so she could point. “We can take cover there until Longbow sounds the all-clear.”

“I think maybe you hurt your ankle,” Arthur said to Amelia. He prodded with his fingertips at either side of her shiny black boot.

“Oh … ow!” she said. “Yeah. Ow.”

He almost laughed out loud; somehow kept it under control. Not the world’s worst liar, no. But she was still pretty close. “Probably just twisted, but I better get you over to the Academy’s infirmary to see the nurse anyway.”

“Good idea.”

“The rest of you, take cover in the shelter,” Arthur said. He helped Amelia up. “Can you walk?”

“I …”

“Here.” He pulled her arm around his shoulders, put his around her waist, held her close against his side. “Lean on me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go,” the instructor said. “Follow me, this way, the main stable.”

Out of the corner of his mouth, like a con in a prison movie, Arthur whispered, “Don’t forget to limp.”

Amelia nodded.

Two steps later, fighting to contain a smirk, he added, “Other foot!”

“Oh jeez, sorry!”

“It’s okay, cupcake.”

“Hey!”

“What are you going to do, smack me with your riding crop?”

“I don’t – ooh – you – that’s – if I did have one I’d totally smack you with it!”

“Promises, promises.”

“Arthur!” she squealed.

That time, he did laugh.

They made their way toward the fence separating Excelsior Green from Excelsior Academy. Hobbling along as quickly as they could while still trying to make it look like she had a twisted ankle. And seeing, as they went, that the Zeppelins and Messerchmitts were indeed turning for another pass.

“Where’s the nearest place you can get into costume?” he asked.

“Anyplace … Farshine … energy/matter transference … it’s just kind of, well, flashy.”

“So, like you showed me the other day?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great. I’ve got a spare uniform stashed in here, won’t take a minute.”

He darted into Sawyer Hall, down a corridor, up a flight of steps, down another corridor, with Amelia hurrying after him. “Where are you --?” she started.

“Shh.” Arthur threw a quick glance around, opened a supply closet, tugged the pull chain to turn on the light, braced one foot on the lowest shelf to boost himself up, popped a ceiling panel open with the heel of his hand, and snagged down a duffel bag.

“Never a phone booth around when you need one?” She snickered.

Blushing again, he said, “Have you seen the phone booths around this town?”

“Well, okay, yeah.”

“Besides, even the old-school kind that are completely enclosed, they’re still completely enclosed in panels the top halves of which are see-through Plexiglas.”

Amelia nodded and shrugged. “So you’re going to change in there?”

“Nope. Stairwell.”

And down another corridor, to a plain door with an old red-and-white “Exit” sign and a smaller black-and-white “North Stairwell” sign. There, Arthur paused.

“Wait out here, stand guard?” he asked.

“Um. Sure.”

In the dimly-lit stairwell, he did the quick-change routine, crammed his regular clothes into the duffel, affixed his mask with spirit gum, disarranged his hair from Arthur’s combed-back style to Aspirant’s rakish one, and rapped on the door.

“Okay.”

The door inched open, and one anxious wide eye peeped through, ready to flinch back immediately in case he was still indecent. Upon seeing him pulling his gloves on, she relaxed and pushed the rest of the way through. “Already? Gosh.”

“Lots of practice.”

“I guess.” Then she took a deep breath and the whole stairwell lit up brilliant purple-white, the angles of the steps casting strange sharp shadows.

When the flash faded – and the afterimage faded from his retinas, wow – there stood Star Amethyst in her uniform, arguing her hair from the neat horsewoman’s braid into the familiar ponytail.

“See, that was a lot faster,” he said. “When did you learn it?”

“I didn’t learn it really. Farshine just sort of figured it out a couple weeks ago. If I’d’ve known how to do that before, your dad … well … you know.”

“Yeah. Uh. This way. Roof access door.” He kicked his duffel under the bottommost flight of steps and ascended at a run, Ammy following.

Both of them clicked on their comms as they went, and listened to the broadcast alerts. Longbow, the PPD, and several local hero groups were trying to get things organized, while various newbies and independents chimed in. Overlapping conversations crackled with a lot more static than seemed usual.

The roof access door was supposed to be kept locked, but spirit gum had more than one use and the custodian in charge of Sawyer Hall was approximately ninety years old and never went upstairs if he could help it. Aspy opened it, checked, and then emerged.

“Oh-em-gee,” Ammy said.

He kind of had to agree with her. Even accustomed to Paragon City as he was, huge 5th Column Zeppelins and Messerschmitts flying in formation wasn’t something you saw every day. More bombs were raining down, as well as --

“Are those paratroopers?” he said. “Or … hang on …”

“Fall … Fallsher … Fallshesomething,” she said.

He snapped his fingers. “Fallschirmjäger!”

Some of them were indeed paratroopers, red and white chutes billowing open as they descended. Others took to the air by way of gasflame jetpacks. And some, apparently, under nothing but their own power.

“That’s a lot of Nazis,” Aspy said.

Ground troops, too. Tanks, and regiments of infantrymen complete with wolves and vamps and robots. Already, several city blocks were embroiled in what looked like footage from a war movie.

His plan had been the usual – into the majestic old tree that grew at the corner of Sawyer Hall, down through its concealing branches, over the stone wall that bordered the north edge of the campus from a dense greenbelt and creek ravine beyond.

Instead, he turned and dimpled a grin at Ammy. “Fly me?”

Her smile dazzled. “Any time!”

Then her eyes shone, and the air hummed, and he felt that joyful exuberant energy wash over him, suffuse through him. Gravity became suddenly a problem for other people to worry about. Their feet lifted from the roof. It was effortless, it was incredible.

And in that moment of pure unfettered delight, Ammy looked so beautiful, so transcendent, that it almost hurt.

“Now remember you gotta stay close,” she said, shaking a warning finger at him.

He almost said how any closer than they’d been back there on the show grounds and they’d have to get married or something, but caught himself in time. Couldn’t say that. She might take it the wrong way. Or she might not take it the wrong way … which could even have been worse.

So he just grinned again. “Will do, cupcake.”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” He reconsidered. “At least, not from too high.”

“Or at least from over a lake!”

“I can swim.”

“Good!”

“But you still wouldn’t.”

“Oh … you!”

“Come on.” He soared upward, amazed all over again at the ridiculous ease of it. “Those Nazis aren’t going to beat themselves up! Paragons, GO!. And … Alliance, Attack!, or whatever.”

“Whatever?” she shouted, zooming after him as he left Excelsior Academy a dwindling patchwork of lawns and buildings below. “Whatever?!?”

“Well, sorry, not used to it!”

They flew toward the thick of the battle, where many other costumed heroes blurred and swooped around the vast grey Zeppelins.

And what a battle it was! Epic!

Messerchmitts buzzed everywhere, spitting their staccato bursts of machine-gun fire. Rockets and mortar shells shattered the air. The Luftwaffe jetpack-soldiers – Falken, Aspy heard someone identify them as over the comm; “falcon,” made sense – also carried guns and put them to efficient use.

Other soldiers, those flying without benefit of jetpacks, attacked with snapping bursts and bolts of electricity. The Donner and Blitzen divisions, naturally! And the main explanation for all the static interfering with the comm channels.

The Aspirant had been in some pretty bizarre scenarios before, defending Paragon City against supervillains, giant monsters, invading aliens and other hazards. He had personally taken down a Rikti Dropship once, nearly getting himself killed in the process but hey it came with the territory.

He had even fought while flying before, with a jetpack of his own. But it hadn’t been like this. Then, he’d had to concentrate as much on the flying as on the fighting, had to compensate for the bulky weight and encumbrance of the pack itself, couldn’t rely on his surpassingly keen reflexes as much. Evasive action had been a lot more challenging strapped to that thing.

This, he didn’t even have to concentrate on at all. He thought it, he did it. Sometimes he didn’t even have to think it, he just did it as soon as the impulse registered. It was instinct. He ducked, he dodged, he spun, he kicked, and it was just like fighting on solid ground only not. He didn’t have to jump, didn’t have to factor in where the floor was, didn’t have to stick the landing.

It was acrobatics and aerobatics and martial arts combined. Gymnastics without the rings or bars. Inherent strength and speed and grace, a lifetime of rigorous physical training and discipline, and now sheer instinctive flight.

With a partner there to back him up, glinting eyebeams and flaring out brilliant coronas of brightness … there to surge cool fizzy green tingles of invigorating, balming energies at him when one of his foes got in an occasional lucky shot … trusting him so fully she’d follow his every lead without hesitation no matter how reckless it might seem … him knowing she wouldn’t bail on him, knowing he could count on her no matter what …

A pretty partner, too, and – moving on!

All this, and he got to kick the schnitzel out of Nazis?

Could it get much better?

But then it did, because then he was dogfighting with Messerchmitts. Dogfighting! And him without a machine gun, let alone a plane.

He was smaller, lighter, with greater maneuverability, able to change direction on a dime, able to twist and tuck and turn in ways that not even the Blue Angels could have matched. Zip and around and up and kicking at the flaps and aileron then pushing off and speeding away as the craft veered wildly out of control –

Ejector seat, and there went the pilot, a parachute blossoming.

“Aspy!”

Another bearing down on him and he heard Ammy’s warning and dove, under the path of bullets, under the plane. There was a blinding purplish flash from overhead, stunning the pilot through the cockpit’s windscreen. The fuselage passed over Aspy with the same sense of immense weight he’d felt when the horse jumped, but a lot faster, the wind whipping at his hair, almost tumbling him.

He jigged straight up in its wake, launching a vicious barrage of kicks at the tail to disable the rudder and stabilizers. And there went another Messerschmitt into a crazy corkscrew!

At the top of his arc he almost slammed into Ammy, but reacted in time. He hooked an arm through hers, hearing her shrill cry of surprise as they spun in a tight almost-square-dance midair move.

“You okay?” she shouted.

“Excellent!”

Letting go, letting himself be boosted by the added slingshot momentum of the spin, he hurtled straight at an oncoming plane. Had a moment where he locked gazes with the pilot, one of those moments, those know-thy-enemy, marking someone, now-it’s-personal kind of moments, wonderful.

And then the pilot – a skilled pilot, probably one of the Luftwaffe’s best … a genuine Nazi flying ace! – banked in pursuit. Gunfire spatted past. Ammy was shouting again, something about staying close, oops, if he suddenly got too far from her that would be bad because they were a long way above Paragon City.

She raced after him, a bright purple blur against the sky, keeping pace, keeping him within range, and then he saw what he’d been looking for, what he’d been hoping for, a pair of Messerschmitts hot on the tail of a Longbow chopper.

The chopper had been hit, its red and white hull pierced with rows of holes, smoke churning. The pursuing pilots paid no attention to anything but their quarry, and the same could be said of the one chasing Aspy.

Intent, focused, determined … and oblivious until Aspy dodged sideways at the last possible moment, so that the peppering of bullets meant for him tore into the other Messerschmitts instead!

“Yes!” He punched a victorious fist into the air as the crippled planes plunged.

His pursuer lost a few precious seconds to shock and aghast outrage at what Aspy had made him do. A highly indignant Ammy cracked the cockpit’s canopy with a double overhand blow, her arms exploding with white-violet starbursts. The pilot, startled and maybe not wanting to get his head cracked the same way, hit the ejector and pow! was arching up and away as his plane dropped after the others, toward the distant river below.

Seriously, could it get any better?

Then it did again.

Word came across the static-ridden channels that someone had sighted a Luftwaffe commander atop the flagship Zeppelin. Which was right close nearby. Aspy didn’t even have to glance over to know that Ammy was totally on the same word of the same line of the same page.

Fighting a Luftwaffe commander on top of a Zeppelin. How could they not?

Of course, they weren’t the only ones who would never be able to pass up an opportunity like that. As they skimmed up the immense curved grey side, they heard a vigorous bellow from above.

“Normally I do not like hitting women, Kommandant Rabenflugel, but in your case el Mosquito Gigante will make an exception!”

Then, as they rose over the Zeppelin’s horizon, there he was, the masked super-luchador in red and yellow, facing off against a shapely Nordic blonde with a sharp grey-and-black uniform, officer’s cap and eyepatch.

Fighting a Luftwaffe commander on top of a Zeppelin alongside the Giant Mosquito?

Aspy was beginning to wonder if he was even awake. He hoped so, because this was all just too awesome to not be real.

“Drop us right there,” he told Ammy.

“Omigosh hi GM!” Ammy cried, as she released the enveloping bond of energy.

The effect lingered a moment, long enough for Aspy to reacquaint his body with the idea of gravity and which way was down, and then he landed cat-agile on the Zeppelin’s surface. It did not wallow like a giant balloon or trampoline; the framework provided a rigid, if slightly awkward, footing.

“iHola, chicos! Perfect timing! I am about to introduce this alemán malvada to my very good friend, the Body Slam of Justice!”

“You may try, Sie grosse gelbe Wanze,” Kommandant Rabenflugel retorted, “but when you fight me you fight the entire Luftwaffe!”

She whistled, and wing after wing of reinforcements, in the person of red-clad Donners and grey-clad Blitzens and jetpack-wearing Falkens, appeared in formation behind her. It might have been impressive under other circumstances, but …

The Giant Mosquito’s features, concealed by his mask, nonetheless managed to convey a look of utter confusion. “What did you just try to call me?” he asked. “A gross what?”

“She called you a big yellow bug,” Ammy said, with an apologetic little grimace.

“Oh? Well, today it will be the bug that does the squashing! The meaty fists of the Giant Mosquito will swat you all like flies!” And he charged, bounding across the Zeppelin toward the Kommandant.

Aspy yelled, “Save some for us!” and rushed after the wrestler.

“Fear not, amigos!” Giant Mosquito declared, wading gleefully into the fray. “There are bandidos enough for us all!”

And the pummeling began.

The pummeling, the kicking, the eyebeams.

Lightning bolts, some red and some electric-blue.

Gouts of pure seething darkness, gritty and cold.

And bullets. Lots of bullets. Pinging off Ammy’s translucent purple shield-bubble, missing Aspy altogether, probably ricocheting off of the Giant Mosquito’s bare and astoundingly muscular chest. Well, maybe not, but would it have surprised anyone? Would it really?

If the stern and icy-gorgeous Kommandant did get whipped with a title belt, Aspy didn’t see it. All he knew was that there were Nazis around him, and he was jumping, spinning, a heel to this one’s chin, a snap-kick to that one’s chest, a leaping roundhouse to the side of the other one’s head, the toe of his boot rupturing a jetpack valve so that the unlucky Falke went flaming-cartwheeling off the Zeppelin.

A Zeppelin which was, he realized at some point, descending at a steep and tilted angle. In distress. Going down. The previously well-ordered Luftwaffe ranks were in total disorganized retreat.

“Time to go!” Ammy called, flying toward him. He’d somehow worked his way almost to the airship’s nose.

“Catch!” Aspy called back, seat-dropped, slid down the curved side, and shoved himself off into open space.

“Eep!” She darted close, the energy welling out from her again to encompass him. Then she jabbed him in the ribs. “Don’t do that!”

“What? I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.”

“But still! Omigosh!”

They descended through the chaos and aftermath. Medics, cops, Longbow and other emergency personnel ran every which way, triaging, arresting, untangling ejected pilots from their harnesses. The neighborhood was a disaster area, bombed out and still smoldering, but from the looks of things, civilian casualties had been light. Property damage astronomical, of course, but civilian casualties light.

Ammy landed them on the intact rooftop of an apartment building at the edge of the perimeter, where a few other heroes had already assembled. The Giant Mosquito was among them, managing to simultaneously look both magnificent and ‘ho-hum-just-another-day-in-the-life-of-el-Mosquito-Gigante.’

The tattered remnants of the 5th Column and Luftwaffe forces were vanishing into the distance.

“We won!” someone hollered, and a general cheer erupted.

Aspy whooped, sweeping Ammy up and around so that her cape and ponytail flew. “That was great!” he laughed as she squealed and kicked her feet, clutching his shoulders.

With her eyes shining from delight now rather than her powers … breathless and so pretty, her face flushed with excitement …

All he’d have to do …

He slowly set her down. Not yet able to release his hold at her waist, though he knew he really really should. And soon. As she stood there with her hands still resting on his shoulders …

It’d be so …

If he just …

But it would …

Then a large figure lumbered over to them, and Aspy felt a big heavy hand clap him heartily on the back. He and Ammy both started guiltily, looking up.

“Excellent work, compadres! That was a fight truly worthy of el Mosquito Gigante! Star Amethyst, you were amazing, as always. And you, Aspirante, would make a fine luchador. Such catlike grace! It would almost bring a tear to the eye of the Giant Mosquito.” He paused, considering, and added with a broad grin, “If, of course, the Giant Mosquito ever cried!”

Aspy and Ammy both laughed along with the huge luchador, seizing the opportune interruption to let go of each other and step apart. Aspy, at least, with a sweeping sense of relief … and maybe a little disappointment … not that he was going to admit it, even to himself …

Moving on.

“Um,” Ammy said, as the Giant Mosquito went over to congratulate some other heroes for their part in the glorious battle. She was blushing bright pink. “We … um … we should …”

“Uh, right,” Aspy said. He cleared his throat. “Get you back to the show grounds and me back to school before people start wondering.”

“What do I tell them if they ask about the infirmary?”

“The nurse was busy and your ankle felt better by then so we figured it wasn’t broken after all?”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay, good.”

“Oh, and Ammy?”

“Yeah?” Those wide, wistful eyes …

He tried for a smile. “Don’t forget to limp. That foot.”

“Got it.” She smiled too, and gave him a hopeful look. “Fly you there?”

“You bet!”

And off they went.

**

With the utmost thanks to SkyStreak for not only permitting this but actively encouraging, suggesting and indeed egging me on … and to GM for dialogue help in regards to a certain luchador!

Launching a new SG!

2009-05-08T15:23:11Z

Oalthu 19: Legacy

The Oalthu Fleet. Vast trans-galactic space liners. Interstellar cities capable of FTL travel between the systems.

Part colony craft, part cargo conveyance, part troop transport, part prison ship, part slave ship, part science lab, part alien zoo, part passenger vessel.

Over a hundred decks, from the massive engine rooms to the luxurious domed observation lounge. Massive. Magnificent. When in orbital dock around the various worlds where they make port, the Oalthu ships have been known to cast eclipsing shadow-paths across the planetary surfaces below.

But something went wrong aboard the Oalthu 19.

Disastrously wrong.

A ship-wide catastrophe occurred, leaving the engines disabled and the life support systems sporadic at best. Off-course and unmanageable, out of control, adrift. The officers and ranking echelons of the crew dead, injured, missing. The structure of the vessel itself impaired, fracturing. Contact with the rest of the fleet lost.

Chaos and panic raged throughout the decks. Riots. Looting. Escaped prisoners, slaves, science specimens, zoo creatures. Some managed to reach escape pods and lifeboat shuttles. Others were not so fortunate.

Violent clashes erupted between groups fighting for supplies and resources. Wild free-for-all mob mentality melees broke out. Families were torn apart. Small scattered groups of survivors clung to a fast-dwindling hope of salvation.

At last, the fracturing ship's distress signal was picked up, far out in the western spiral arm. Picked up by Vanguard, of a planet called Earth.

There followed a lengthy period of search-and-rescue, salvage operations, examinations, questions, quarantine. Attempts at communication with others of the Oalthu Fleet and the various worlds along its route have been intermittent and less than successful.

But, at last, Vanguard's experts deemed some of the refugees of the Oalthu 19 fit to be released from quarantine and custody. They were provided with immigrant visas, accommodations, equipment, and the various other necessities. And then more or less left to their own concerns.

**

Oalthu 19, the SG

Server: Victory
Side: Hero (to begin with, though associated villainside characters are certainly possible)
Meeting times: to be determined
RP: heavy

Archetypes: Any
Origin: Any
Powersets: Any
Levels: Any

What we're going for:

Alien Nation meets Lost, with dashes of Aliens, Pitch Black, Red Dwarf, Hitchhiker's Guide, Star Trek, Star Wars, Halo, Starship Troopers and basically any space-themed setting thrown in.

Characters would most likely be survivors of the ship, and therefore from a multitude of possible other worlds and alien races. They might be crew members, colonists, star rangers, robots, space marines, freed slaves, prisoners, passengers, science experiments, interstellar gypsies, spies, merchants, stowaways, ambassadors, entertainers ... practically anything goes.

Other characters could be from Earth, possibly as Vanguard liaisons, military contacts, social workers, new friends ... anyone with a reason to be involved with the Oalthu refugees.

Some may be just seeking to fit in and make the best of their new lives. Some might devote all their energies toward finding a way home. Others might have goals, secrets, hidden motives, troubled pasts. There could be physical, mental or emotional issues to deal with as a result of the disaster.

Additional characters can join the group at any time, as they are released from quarantine, loved ones are reunited, shuttles or escape pods are discovered, etc.

Missions may involve friends or relatives who fell into the hands of enemy groups and need to be rescued ... items, relics, or information to be retrieved ... other problems that must be resolved.

Each character will have the opportunity to take a turn in the spotlight. Exploring back story and personality through roleplaying with the group, advancing storylines by means of missions and the Mission Architect.

**

Sometimes even evil ...

2009-04-27T13:25:52Z

... cleans up pretty good.

Knave of Swords, continued

2009-03-14T19:01:32Z

Medical care in the Rogue Isles was … brisk and efficient. Some might say callous. Some might say revolving-door. Phrases like “further tests just to rule out” or “admitted overnight for observation” weren’t often heard. Extraneous lab work with extraneous fees wasn’t often done.

When it came to the drugs, they were … quick and generous. Some might say heavy-handed. Some might say erring on the side of overkill.

Vince, aka Violent Crime, explained to Victor that it was a lesson most doctors in these parts learned early and well. Didn’t take too many instances of some supercriminal or psycho tearing up the emergency room, shouting for more painkillers or else this orderly was gonna get it for the nurses and physicians to adopt a don’t hesitate, medicate mentality.

Triage ‘em, trank ‘em, treat ‘em, and turn ‘em loose was, as far as Victor could see, the standard motto of the hospitals here.

Anna concurred. She still held onto Reg’s weapons, and the blue-black glasses that had gone flying when Victor knocked him to the ground, all of which she’d collected while Victor called Vince to arrange transportation to Black Heart Memorial.

That same callous efficiency and pharmaceutical generosity had already been applied to Reginald.

In less time than it would have taken for the usual admittance forms to be filled out back home, Reg was pumped full of morphine, his ribs (three sprung, one cracked, but none fractured as a result of Victor clouting him with his shield; the attending physician’s professional opinion was that there was going to be “a fucking epic” bruise) taped and wrapped, and his right hand (pretty well crunched; the tech said that on the X-rays, the bones looked like “one of those freaky twig-bundles from The Blair Witch Project”) was set, splinted, casted and slinged.

A nurse wandered by and offered to whip a few stitches into Victor’s cheek, but he declined. The slice was a clean straight line, maybe an inch and a half long and not very deep once he washed away the smeared and coagulating blood to get a look. He settled for applying pressure, splashing on some iodine, biting back some profanity, slapping a Band-Aid into place, and calling it good.

Four hours later, when Reg had regained a soupy semi-consciousness (“How’s the hand, cuz?” Victor had asked, and “Whuh han?” was his reply), the doctors said he was ready to be discharged. They gave Victor a large unlabeled bottle of pills that looked like something a vet might give racehorses – ‘As Neddeed,’ the pharmacist had scribbled on the brown plastic in black Sharpie, brought around a wheelchair that had maybe been new when Nixon was president, and made to hustle them out.

Only when Victor planted himself in the doorway and wouldn’t budge did one of the doctors, in a rare show of after-care compassionate follow-up, suggest that Reg might need to see an osteopathic surgeon, and at the very least he’d want physical therapy to make sure he didn’t lose any function in the hand. “Get him one of those sand-filled stress ball squeeze things,” was his parting medical advice.

Then they were out of there, and headed back for the safe house that Vince had arranged for Victor and Anna to use as their lodgings while they were in town. It was, Victor knew, just as well they hadn’t wanted to keep Reg overnight at the hospital. Vince’s people, who’d been more than helpful already, brought the news that their little skirmish in the hills below Mount Diable hadn’t been as private as they’d thought.

“Surveillance?” Victor asked, when Vince relayed this bit of information. “By whom?”

“Does it matter? Spying on each other, blackmail, extortion … regional pastimes.”

“They need better hobbies around here.”

“Vic, those are the better hobbies around here.”

“Point,” he agreed. “So, since by now everybody and his dog knows what happened out there, are we going to be okay at your place, or should we fly out tonight?”

Vince looked mock-insulted. “You impugning my security?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Victor said. “The safe house it is.”

***

Victor had called home from the safe house to update the family … a perfunctory gesture in this case, since where their ‘boys’ were concerned, distance didn’t much matter for Clara and Clarice.

For that matter, it would have been perfunctory even without the twins. The video plastered all over the internet took care of that. Luckily, whoever had gotten the footage was too far away to pick up the sound.

They had managed to make it out of the Isles with no further conflicts or trouble, though word of Annarchy Regal’s reappearance had no doubt caused, and would no doubt continue to cause, plenty of people more than a few sleepless nights.

The doctors back in Paragon City weren’t wild about the quality of care Reginald had been given, but grudgingly admitted that his ribs would be fine, and he’d need just a single surgery to make sure the fractured bones in his right hand were set properly.

Needless to say, there were plenty of Royals who were none too thrilled with the three of them. Especially Miles. Miles was, and this for him was exceptionally rare, mad. Honest-to-God pissed at both Victor and Reggie. For arguing, for going, and for actually fighting each other.

“You cut him,” he’d accused Reg, standing yet again at a hospital bedside. “You cut Victor, our cousin. You cut him in the face, you could have put out his eye, you could have killed him, he might have a scar for the rest of his life to remind him what a stupid arrogant stubborn ass you are!”

Reg, leaning on pillows with his arm elevated in a complexity of pulleys, only nodded. Weary, drugged, his eyes once more hidden behind the blue-black lenses.

Clarice put a hand on Miles’ shoulder. “It’s all right.”

“But they …”

“We know,” Clara said, putting her hand on his other shoulder. “Give them some time, though.”

“Give them some time,” Clarice said.

“Okay,” Miles said, and smiled at them both. “Okay, Moms. I will.”

***

Brickstown, some weeks later

The buzz and crackle, the snapping of sparks. The rough laughter and jeering. Freakshow, and they were that, all right. Disfigured almost beyond belief. Bristling with steel. Scythe blades and sledgehammer heads grafted on where hands should have been. Humming electrical nodes sprouted from some of their shoulders. Even the parts of them still recognizably human were scrawled with tattoos. Their faces were twisted monstrosities. Their hair, when they had it, screamed up from their heads in spikes and hawks.

And now they surrounded Winston and Eunice. Blocking their way. They already had Eunice’s purse, had slashed it open and spilled its old-lady contents onto the sidewalk in a scatter of cosmetics, grandbaby pictures, coupon envelopes, pill bottles. A blue-haired one, to the rollicking amusement of his buddies, had taken her crochet hooks and punched them through the sides of his nose so that they dangled down, strange new jewelry. Another had snapped the clasp of her necklace with one hard yank.

They had Winston’s wallet, one would-be Edward Scissorhands hacking the credit cards into plastic slices and telling Winston that they were doing him a favor, he should thank them, people needed to cut down on spending in these tough economic times. One of them was trying to latch Winston’s watch, a retirement gift from the firm, around a wrist that was an ugly fusion of scar tissue and metal.

“Now the ringzzz,” their apparent leader said. He hovered above the rest, in a whirring cloud of electricity.

“Oh no not the rings please not my wedding ring,” quavered Eunice, curling her bunched and arthritic hands against the front of her cardigan. “Not my opal, it was my mother’s.”

“Here, now, look,” Winston said, mustering his nerve. “We’ve given you enough. Let her keep her rings.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” the Freakshow leader laughed. “Zzzomeone wantzzz to be a hero.”

“Well, damn it, if that isn’t a cue I don’t know what is,” said a smooth, cultured voice from above them, in a tone of I-can’t-believe-I’m-really-doing-this.

Then, dropping from a rooftop into the circle of Freaks, came an athletic masked man in a sleek tight-fitting outfit of black and royal blue.

The next several seconds for Winston and Eunice passed in a blur of flaring cape, flashing blades, the screech and squeal of metal on metal. They clung to each other in the midst of it all, both of them sure that they were about to die, caught in this melee like fieldmice in a combine.

Freaks dropped, got up, dropped again. Lightning sizzled. Sledgehammer fists whanged together with pulverizing force inches above the masked man’s blond head.

And suddenly it was over.

“Sir, ma’am.” He held out the watch and broken necklace. “Think these belong to you.”

“Who … who are you?” Winston asked, squinting at the blue-black lenses shielding the man’s eyes. “I don’t recognize you.”

“Just as well.” He knelt, scooped the contents of Eunice’s purse back into its slashed halves, gave it to her.

“But who are you?” Winston persisted. “We’ll have to tell the police about this.”

“Here.” In a quick little gesture like a magician’s flourish, he produced a card from somewhere.

Winston took it. Not quite a playing card, not quite a Tarot card. “Knave of Swords,” he read aloud, squinting now at the archaic-style lettering.

“Thank you,” Eunice said. “Oh, thank you, young man, God bless you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, ma’am,” he said, with a cynical half-smile. “But somehow, I doubt it.”

With that, he was gone.

***

February sweeps / March madness!

2009-03-14T18:55:45Z

Since the storyline goes all over the place and involves several different writers, characters and points-of-view, here’s some linkage for navigating through the drama!

A Realization In which The Aspirant makes, well, a realization!

Misaligned! In which The Aspirant goes missing, and then returns … with shocking results!

Escape Velocity! In which Star Amethyst reacts!

Panic! In which Rebecca Faith reacts!

Eternal Night! In which Ewige Nacht reacts! (scroll down to the posts beginning March 5th)

Meet the Parents! In which Ewige Nacht braves the wrath of Mrs. Montgomery!

Complications

2009-02-25T02:23:08Z

Saturday Morning, Montgomery House

Cheese omelette, toast and jam, fresh fruit, orange juice, coffee.

The clink and click of silverware on china. Mrs. Sheldon’s low inquiring murmurs for refills, seconds, clearing away.

Mom’s voice a steady sound like the ocean.

Damp hair against her neck, the sides of her face. Jupiter twining around her legs, knowing better than to meow in the dining room but making sure she nonetheless knew he was there in case she could be bothered to let fall a morsel of egg and cheese.

Dad at the end of the table, nodding and grunting at the usual spots and pauses, but really immersed in a sheaf of notes and papers.

Then a long pause. An expectant one. Expectant turning impatient.

“Amelia?” A bit loud, a bit sharp.

“Huh?” She looked up, blinking several times in rapid succession. “Sorry, Mom, what?”

“For God’s sake, weren’t you even listening to me?”

“I … um … sorry.”

“You were miles away. Is it so much to ask for a portion of your attention at the breakfast table?”

“Just … thinking,” Ammy said, and desperately willed a rosy blush not to color her cheeks.

“Head in the stars,” her mother said, doing a brief little eyeroll. “And just what daydream is so fascinating this time?”

No blush … please … no blush …

Luckily, an answer wasn’t really required there, wouldn’t have been welcomed anyway. She was able to make an apologetic gesture as she reached for her juice glass, sipped, set it down, busied herself spreading jam on a second piece of toast.

Good thing, too, because if she had answered, had told her parents what she’d been thinking about, ooh uproar. Even Dad would have dropped all his papers and paid immediate, shocked attention.

“I was saying,” Mom went on, in a tone that said she was only repeating it once and what a shame it was she should even have to, “that I made an appointment for you at the salon this afternoon for a set and style, before tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow … night?” Her mind whirled. For the Liberty Alliance meeting? Since when had her mother cared about that?

Mom pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes in exasperation. “Charles,” she pleaded.

“Hmm, yes, dear,” he said. Papers rustled. “I agree.”

“Hopeless!” She flung her hands in the air, causing Mrs. Sheldon to have to do a quick sidestep to avoid having the coffee carafe knocked flying. “Both of you, utterly hopeless, good Lord.”

“Sorry,” Ammy said, yet again. “What’s tomorrow night, Mom?”

“You have,” her mother said, tapping the edge of her plate with the edge of her butterknife for emphasis, “a date.”

“I do?” He’d said he’d see her Sunday if not before, but …

“Yes, Amelia, which you’d know if you hadn’t been sitting there thinking about God-knows-what instead of engaging in simple, polite conversation with your parents. And you, Charles, you’re just as bad.”

“Sorry, dear,” he said, shifting more papers. “Promised Professor Thidwick I’d go over some of his notes in preparation for --”

“No one cares, Charles.”

“Yes, dear.” Dad knew that particular tone as well as Ammy did, the tone that said he better put those papers away or he’d have to fish them out of the duck pond. He stacked them, slipped them into a folder, and set it aside. Then cleared his throat. “You were saying?”

“If you’re both quite finished with your distractions?”

Ammy and her father nodded in unison.

“Now, then.” Mom laced her fingers and twiddled her thumbs the way she did when she was more than usually pleased with herself. Her smile was a cat-in-the-cream one. “I got a call from Collette last night.”

“Ms. Pearce?” Ammy blurted. “Arthur’s mom?”

“Yes, Amelia. May I continue?”

Again, Ammy nodded, though now with worry fluttering in its customary place. Was this about what she’d told Arthur the other day? Was he mad? Upset? He had seemed … gosh … she didn’t know really … disappointed almost, when he heard about her date with E.N. … which was crazy, because … well, because for lots of reasons.

And her mom sure didn’t look like Ms. Pearce had called up to complain about Ammy … what? … two-timing her son? Cheating on her pretend boyfriend? Or to argue about cummerbunds vs. vests?

“She’d heard about your grandfather’s stroke and offered her well-wishes, and then the conversation turned to you and Arthur.”

“Oh …” Ammy said, in a meek voice, with a sinking sensation. Here it came, whatever it was.

“Well, as you know, she once danced with the Paris Opera Ballet, and maintains her connections. As you might also know --” her tone suggested the unlikeliness of this, given her inattentive daydreamer of a youngest child “—the Paris Opera Ballet is performing here, in Paragon City, tomorrow night. One show only, one night only, their only scheduled performance in the States this decade. And Collette has invited us to accompany the three of them to the show.”

“The ballet?” Dad said.

“I told you about this last night, Charles.”

“Ah … yes, so you did.”

“We’re going to the ballet … with Arthur and his parents?” Ammy asked.

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Um …”

“So. The salon. We’ll get your hair done. I don’t know what you’ve been doing with it but it certainly does look funny in this light.”

Ammy touched her hair and bit her lip. She’d done the dye job herself that time and must have accidentally skipped a step from when TD&S did it, since there’d been one of the little tubes left over after, it sure hadn’t wanted to wash out as easily.

“He didn’t mention it, Arthur I mean,” she said.

“I’m sure he wanted to wait until everything was confirmed,” Mom said. “And I don’t want to hear Word One about your little Sunday night club meeting. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Amelia Jane. Those Liberty Paragons will just have to carry on their superhero silliness without you for once.”

***

After The Ballet
(Written by SkyStreak with assistance by Christine.)

As the ballet let out, the Montgomery and Pearce families posed for a handful of pictures with assorted patrons of the ballet. They engaged in small talk as the choreographer of the performance rushed up to confirm their attendance of the after-party. Collette quickly accepted the invitation, excited to reconnect with old friends. Mrs. Montgomery was just shy of giddy with anticipation.

Arthur rolled his eyes, clearly not interested in attending the party.

"Mom, Dad? Would it be OK if we didn't go, please?" he asked, then turned to Mrs. Montgomery. "There's a midnight showing of an independent film at a small arthouse theater not too far from here that I've been wanting to see. You think it would be OK?" He turned to Amelia as well, clearly asking for her to accompany him.

"If the Montgomerys approve." she said, deferring to the other set of parents.

"Of course we approve!" Mrs. Montgomery replied before her husband could give his opinion one way or the other.

"That's great! Thank you!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'll get her home to you safely as soon as the movie is over."

He guided Amelia through the crowd as quickly as he could, escorting her outside.

"This will be so much better than an after-party...." he told her, laughing.

*

"God..." Arthur said. "That was embarrassing."

"Yeah." Amelia replied.

"I can't believe the usher caught us..." he paused, laughing. "...sleeping! Not like it's a boring movie at all..."

"No..."

"I was up late on patrol last night, then I was doing a bunch of stuff today, and then the ballet..." Arthur tried to explain. "I just got really comfortable there and...."

"I was really comfortable too..."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

The post-movie crowd had dispersed as the pair walked past a sausage and hot dog vendor.

"You hungry?" Arthur asked. "I'm starved."

"You eat that!?" She asked, surprised.

"I let loose every so often." He told her, then turned to the vendor. "Sausage, extra mustard..." he paused briefly, looking at Amelia, blushing slightly, "...hold the peppers and onions. And a Coke, please. And whatever she wants."

The vendor took Amelia's order, took the cash from Arthur and handed over the sandwiches and drinks to the pair.

"Don't get anything on that dress." the young man warned his companion. "A. Your mom would probably be unhappy. And B. It looks way too nice to ruin."

Amelia paused, trying to figure out how to walk, eat a sausage, hold a Coke, and try to keep from getting anything on her.

"Ummm....." she replied.

"Let's go over here." Arthur indicated a small green area halfway down the block.

When they arrived, he removed his tuxedo jacket, and laid it down on the ground, motioning for Amelia to sit, taking a seat on the ground himself.

"You'll ruin your tux." She told him, still standing.

"It's worth the sacrifice." He said, laughing with a wink. Again, he motioned for her to sit.

When she finally acquiesced, she giggled with a thought.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Vest, huh?" She asked, pointing at the vest with her sausage hand.

"Yeah." He said smiling widely, exposing a dimple that very rarely showed. "See what I was saying? If I had a cummerbund on, I might be a little cold now, but with a vest? No problem at all. With a cummerbund, all I could offer you is an extra napkin."

"Look at us." she laughed. "Dressed like this at a midnight showing of Evil Dead?"

"Evil Dead 2." He corrected her. "Totally different."

"Right. Sorry." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "How could I get that mixed up?"

"I'll let it slide." he chided her. "So you have a problem with being the 'Best Dressed Couple' in the place?"

"Couple?" She asked, surprised.

He paused for a moment, thinking quickly.

"Yeah. Couple." He said, recovering. "Like two people. A couple. A couple of people."

Again, there was another one of the pauses that the two had been having more and more lately, both looking around for something to steer the conversation to anything but them.

Instead, they finished their food and drinks in silence, and then walked toward the train to get Amelia home.

"Wow." Amelia said, breaking the silence. "Evil Dead....2? Sausages? Coke? I think I'm seeing a new side of you."

"Not new at all." He explained. "I love ballet, symphony, opera, museums.... But I like normal stuff too."

"Evil Dead 2 is normal?" she asked, teasing.

"Normal, regular, average, whatever." He continued. "With all the 'responsible' things I have to do, it's great to just kick back and have silly fun, you know?"

She nodded, understanding.

"So how did it end?" She asked.

"Everyone else dies, and he opens the portal, but doesn't know how to shut it off, gets sucked through, and winds up being transported back in time to medieval days. It sets it up for the sequel."

"There's an Evil Dead 3?" she asked.

"Nope," he explained. "Army of Darkness."

"Does that make sense?" She asked.

"Did any of that movie make sense?"

"Good point." she replied as they waited for the arriving train to come to a complete stop.

*

"Safe and sound, and it's only...." he looked at his watch. "2:37am. Will your Mom be mad?"

"No." she told him, looking back at the house, noticing subtle movement of shadows from her mother's bedroom window. "She knows we're here and she knew where I was....and besides, she approves of you.

"Good." he said. "I'm glad."

"Me too." she replied.

"I had a great time tonight Amelia."

"Me too." she replied, wincing slightly at her repetition of the same words.

The two paused looking at each other, she one step higher than him at her front door. At precisely the same instant, each realized that they were now in 'date mode.' As a matter of fact, they had been almost the entire night. The seconds that passed seemed like an eternity.

"Help!" A cry pierced the night from not too far away.

The pair simultaneously looked in the direction of the call for help.

"I'll get it." he said, indicating her mother's bedroom window. "You need to get in."

"Yeah," She agreed reluctantly, opening her front door. "You go."

As he ran off in the direction of the person in need of assistance, Amelia closed her front door, resting her back against it.

At precisely the same instant, the two took a deep breath then let it out slowly, shaking their heads...

***

Montgomery House, 2:40 am

“Oh, gosh,” Ammy whispered, leaning against the front door with her hands clasped-folded against her mouth because she didn’t know what else in the world to do with them and they were trembling, she was trembling, it was all catching up with her.

She could hear her mother moving around upstairs and hoped-prayed-hoped she wouldn’t decide to come down and interrogate Ammy, already hearing it in her head. The whole Do you have any idea what time it is young lady and What in God’s name were the two of you doing as if I couldn’t guess and When your father hears about this he’ll --

“Amelia?” From the top of the stairs.

Flinch. “Yes, Mom.”

“Arthur brought you home?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Oh, good. Sleep well, sleep in if you want, don’t worry about school. I’ll call in to the office for you. Even the best students deserve to play hooky once in a while.”

And then her parents’ bedroom door clicked shut, leaving her standing openmouthed in the foyer, blinking eyes that felt twice as big as they ought to be.

This was her house, right? She hadn’t accidentally stepped through some dimensional mirror into Opposite Universe, had she?

Shaking her head again, more bewildered than ever, she went up to her own room to change into her pajamas, wash her face, brush her teeth. She crawled under the covers and turned out the bedside lamp, then lay there staring up at the shadows on the ceiling as Jupiter settled into a big warm furry ball at her feet.

This was all so …

So … what?

Sleep seemed forever away, and no wonder. There they’d been in the movie theater, a midnight showing of Evil Dead …

“Evil Dead 2,” she told Jupiter.

Arthur in a tux – vest, like he said, no cummerbund. Ammy in an evening gown her mother had rushed her out to shop for specially for the occasion, after their trip to the salon. They couldn’t have looked blonder and more clean-cut if they had stepped off a brochure or something.

And everyone else at the theater … rabid Bruce Campbell fans and cult horror/comedy movie freaks … in grungy jeans, long trenchcoats, “This is my BOOMSTICK” t-shirts, black pants loaded with chains and zippers and straps, skimpy tank tops, piercings, tattoos …

She and Arthur had looked as out of place there as she and E.N. had the other night all gothed up at the ice cream shop. But it was … fun … the movie hilariously twisted and wrong … the crowd fandom-wild … they’d all been laughing at the funny parts, squealing at the gross parts …

They had been sitting sort of slouched down, leaning together so Arthur could explain to her what had gone on in the first movie so she’d have an idea of what was happening in this one – it still hadn’t made a whole lot of sense, but she had the impression that was okay, it didn’t have to make a whole lot of sense.

Then she’d felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder, looked over, and saw that he’d dozed off. His head had tipped further and further sideways until it bumped her arm. He twitched a couple times, mumbled. Shifted. Settled his cheek more comfortably on her shoulder. Exhaled and relaxed.

Gosh he was so cute when he was asleep.

Gosh she wasn’t supposed to be thinking that.

But he really was.

She’d bitten her lip in uncertainty. Wake him up? He’d be all embarrassed, probably. She sure would have been. Mortified even. And he had to be majorly exhausted to conk out in this noisy theater with the screams and hoots and gooshy special effects noises. It would have seemed mean to disturb him.

And … well … it was just so … so nice sitting there like that, him trusting her enough, feeling at ease with her enough that he could just fall asleep against her that way, here surrounded by strangers. It gave her a sort of pressury ache in the middle of her chest, but not the kind that hurt or made it hard to breathe. Except it did, a bit anyways.

All she’d done, she was pretty sure, was lean her head against his for just a minute, just one wistful little minute, and closed her eyes to try and figure out what to do.

The next thing she’d known, there was somebody standing over them, shining a red-tinted flashlight in their faces. Arthur had snapped out of sleep more Aspy than Arthur for a split second before he realized where they were. Ammy had just jumped, startled and gasping.

“Hey, Prom Dates,” the usher with the flashlight had said, sneering down at them. “Show’s over. Unless you wanna be locked in all night, you better get a move on, huh?”

Somehow, the movie had ended and the entire theater emptied around them as they slept, totally oblivious.

Jeez, and she’d been worried about embarrassing him if she’d nudged him awake. Oops. But he’d laughed about it, they both had, and somehow it was all okay. Then they’d gone for a late-night snack, and then he walked her to the door from the train station, and … there on the steps she’d turned to say goodnight … and for a second she almost thought … it almost seemed …

Oh gosh.

This really was so …

What?

She tossed and turned until Jupiter got annoyed and left. It wasn’t until the clock on her nightstand showed 4:10 am that she finally drifted off to sleep.

***

Second Date

2009-02-21T16:12:47Z

ConflagratBlaze: Yo.
Amelia: hey Blaze!
ConflagratBlaze: Hey Ammy. 'Sup?
Amelia: rescuing a guy from the Council and then I gotta get all gothed up again, eek.
ConflagratBlaze: Gothed up? Why?
Amelia: going out to that club tonight.
ConflagratBlaze: ..... Ammy's got a date! Ammy's got a date! *can tell that he is doing a taunting dance over the comm*
Amelia: Blaze!!!!
Amelia: and so what if I do, huh? gosh!
ConflagratBlaze: With EN or Aspy?
Amelia: BLAZE!!!!!
ConflagratBlaze: What?
Amelia: I am NOT ... ooh ... you ...
Amelia: and anyways who else would I be going to the goth club with, oh-em-gee?
ConflagratBlaze: Who knows? Aspy coulda gone goth. Maybe next he'll go all hill-billy.
Amelia: you can quit that anytime you know jeez he HAS a girlfriend remember the gorgeous redheadone it isn't LIKE that he's my FRIEND!!!
ConflagratBlaze: So.... he's like an un-boyfriend or something?
Amelia: he's like a FRIEND, okay???
ConflagratBlaze: Geez... okay, okay. Take a chill pill....
Amelia: ::raspberry noise over the comm::
ConflagratBlaze: Real mature, Ammy.
Amelia: oh thanks that means a lot coming from Mr. Maturity himself!
ConflagratBlaze: I know it does.

***

Second Date

Amelia: um, hi *smile*
Greg: Hi, Ammy.
Greg: You're looking ... well, gorgeous. Thanks for coming tonight.
Amelia: oh, gosh ... thank you ... and thanks for asking me, too
Greg: Always my pleasure. I mean that.
Greg: So, I hope you like Italian. There's this great little restaurant a block from the club.
Amelia: sounds great
Greg: *pulls out her chair once they're inside*
Amelia: and, um, I didn't quite have the nerve to leave the coat, so ...
Greg smiles
Greg: Hey, *touches her hand* it's like I said, whatever you're comfortable in. I mean that.
Greg: So I'd suggest something light before we hit the club. Which is going to be hard, because the desserts here are -so- good.
Amelia: it's neat ... I never would have thought of, you know, dressing like this on my own ... but I kinda ... yeah, I like it
Greg cocks his head to one side
Greg: It suits you. It's the perfect blend of color and mystery. Perfectly gothtacular.
Amelia: *giggles*
Greg: Oh, and Michael says hi.
Amelia: how's he doing? it must be difficult sometimes, you know, being on different sides
Greg orders Pasta alla Puttanesca and Peasant Bread
Greg: He's doing well, his arms are all healed up and everything. He said he's thinking about a trip to Greece this summer to do some ruin work, and he wanted to invite the two of us along.
Greg: Um ... if ... y'know ... you want to go, that is.
Amelia orders appetizer sampler with a little bit of everything
Amelia: to Greece? ruins, like, archaeology?
Greg: Yeah. He likes to dabble in a little of everything, if it's historical.
Amelia: gosh, that would be amazing
Amelia: not sure if I could get my parents to go for it ... they weren't crazy about me going to Japan and that was with Bashera, not with ... well ... *blush* ... a guy
Greg: And I kind of understand why he's a villain. He's ... *waves his hands, somewhat at a loss for words* ... he doesn't see things the same way 'normal' people do.
Greg: To him, anything precious is to be saved. And ... I guess people are kinda down on the list.
Greg: Oh. Geez. Um, well, shoot. I hadn't thought of that. I guess it would look pretty bad.
Amelia: I'm not sure I even know what normal is anymore, I used to think I did but more and more I'm thinking everybody's just weird in different ways
Greg laughs
Greg: I like that philosophy.
Greg: And hey, normal's overrated.
Amelia: but yeah, my dad, he'd be all in favor of the archeology stuff, but ...
Greg makes a mental note to ask if Michael would mind taking a chaperone
Greg: I suppose Mrs. M. could come along. She's a sweetheart, but talk about quelling any urges. *shivers dramatically*
Amelia: he gets a little funny sometimes, overprotective I guess
Amelia: who's Mrs. M?
Greg: Oh, Mrs. MacGregor, God-pop's housekeeper and cook.
Greg: She and her husband have been with him forever, it seems like.
Amelia: oh like Mrs. Sheldon, she's ours, our latest anyway ... Mom goes through people fast sometimes
Greg: Really? Wow. I'd think you'd find one that fits and stay with 'em.
Amelia: it's not usually them so much
Amelia: she's, um ... exacting
Greg: Oh. Okay.
Amelia: my mom is
Greg: *rubs the back of his neck*
Greg: So ... erm ... if I ever meet them at the Opera, make sure my shoes are tied?
Amelia: *twists a loose strand of hair* anyways ... it WOULD be neat, the Greece thing, I just don't know if they'd go for it
Greg: Well, hey, you've got a few months to bring 'em around to the idea.
Amelia: and yeah ... *fretful sigh* ... not sure what to do about that ... introducing you and them I mean ... they've kind of, ooh this is awkward ... they've kind of got this notion that I'm ... seeing someone already
Greg stills for a moment, then reaches for his water glass
Greg: Oh?
Amelia: *nods, fiddles with napkin* yeah ... it ... they ... Mom ... she's always after me about having a normal social life, right? so we go places and she's always trying to introduce me and set me up … and she sort of thinks now that she has?
Greg: Ah.
Greg smiles wryly
Greg: And who's the lucky guy?
Amelia: *pinches bridge of her nose, visibly realizes it's one of her mom's gestures, flinches*
Greg blinks
Amelia: it isn't like that, though ... we're friends ... it isn't ... she thinks it is, or should be, or ... oh, I don't know
Greg: Ammy? What's wrong? I ... if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I didn't mean to pry.
Amelia: it's my own fault; I should just TELL her
Greg: Um ... okay. So let me see if I understand:
Greg: You have a friend, who happens to be a boy. Your mom and dad met him, you've seen him at various places, and they think you're dating.
Amelia: *nods*
Greg: And because your mom's ... um, what'd you say ... 'exacting' ... something like that ... you don't know how to tell her that this grand passion she thinks she sees isn't really there.
Greg looks across the table at Ammy
Amelia: don't know if I'd call it that, but ... pretty much otherwise, yeah
Greg: Or is part of the problem that it kind of is?
Amelia: she's real good, Mom is, at not hearing what she doesnt want to hear
Greg: Heh, Mrs. M's the same way.
Amelia: so she goes and decides something, and she tells the whole goshdarn family about it, and she's so smug and proud and bragging and ... jeez ...
Greg: Ahhhhh.
Greg: And the more she says, the harder it is to say anything about it.
Greg: Well, does whoever it is know what's going on?
Amelia: *quick little nod*
Amelia: he thinks it's kinda funny I guess but he doesn't have to live with her
Greg: Well, at least they won't be blindsided if your mom says something to them, then.
Amelia: but I need to figure out how to tell her it isn't the way she thinks ... that she's got it wrong ... and that ... *grimaces* ... that never goes so well
Greg: *voice is soft* I'm sorry you're dealing with that.
Amelia: *squeezes his hand* thanks, sorry, I know it's all not supposed to be such a mess ... but hey these stuffed mushroom things are really good, want one?
Greg smiles, squeezes back
Greg: Sure. Want a bite of the pasta? And this bread -rocks-.
Amelia: okay *shares and samples*
Greg: Mmmmmm. You're right, they're luscious.
Amelia: the bread too omigosh
Amelia: so um but anyways, sorry, we were talking about your god-pop and I took over to go on about my mom ... his arms are better now, you said?
Greg: Yeah, they are. *smiles and shakes his head* I guess that's one of the benefits of being basically undying.
Amelia: yeah, I guess ... and the lady he rescued is okay?
Greg: Apparently so, yeah. He said something about her being ... what'd he say ... 'abstracted' lately.
Greg: But overall, she's good. *laugh* Well, for certain values of 'good', I suppose.
Amelia: I would be too, that must have been awful
Greg: Ammy ... would it ... um ... would it be easier for you with your mom if you and this other guy tried ... dating or something? *runs his finger along the rim of his glass* Maybe things might work out for you, y'know?
Greg is not looking at her, he's staring at his glass
Amelia: *drops fork*
Greg sighs softly
Amelia: uh ... um ... that SO wouldn't work for SO many reasons I don't even know where to start
Greg: Oh.
Greg: Well, um ... okay.
Greg sets his napkin down on the table
Amelia: *nudges fork under chair with toe, switches to salad fork*
Greg: I'm ... I ... oh, oh, hell. I can't say I'm sorry. I don't want you to fuss with your mom, but d ... but damn it, I like you. I really like you, and I ... kinda want to see where it can go.
Amelia: *small voice* me too
Greg looks at her hopefully
Greg: Really?
Greg looks down at his club gear and grimaces
Greg: Um ... I promise I'll dress better if I do meet your folks, though.
Amelia: yeah ... I like you a lot, and ... and going on dates, real ones ... being with somebody who ... *blushing like mad* really, you know, LIKES-me-likes me ...
Greg squeezes her hand
Greg: I do, Ammy. I really, really like you. And I really like you for who you are.
Greg: And I like being able to be me around you. Not the gloomy-gus-goth, not the snobbish rich brat, just me.
Amelia: I like that too
Amelia: I guess I just never thought about ... everything ... or that it'd be complicated ... I should have figured, maybe ... it always is, complicated I mean
Greg: smiles slightly
Greg: Yeah, it is, isn't it.
Greg: Well, hey, you want complicated ... maybe we can get Bahshera to to like Michael. Or better yet, Adriana.
Greg: ... Um ... Adriana like Michael, not ...
Greg blushes
Amelia: oh-em-gee
Amelia: uh, yeah ... anyways!
Greg: Yeah.
Greg hands credit card to waiter
Greg: Wanna walk a bit before we brave the club, or should we dart right in? *looks at his watch* We have a half-hour 'til the show starts.
Amelia: sure, let's go for a walk, that sounds good
Greg signs the slip, takes his copy, then stands up to help Ammy out of her chair
Amelia: though we may have to go for ice cream later, if the vampires don't get me *takes his arm, smiles*
Greg: Ice cream sounds good. And I'll protect you from the evil vampires.
Amelia: especially that one guy!
Greg grabs a pack of mints out of his pocket
Greg: With garlic breath like this, I'll protect you from -me- unless I have one of these.
Greg laughs
Amelia: *giggle* that would be one way to ward off the vampires
Greg: Oh, you mean Vlad the Insipid?
Greg: Vlad Could-he-be-any-paler?
Amelia: the one with the ... eew ... tongue?
Greg: Oh, jeez. I -know-!
Amelia: maybe instead of fixing up Michael with Bashera or Adriana, we should fix up the tongue vampire with that ghost bride who was staring at you all the time
Greg shivers
Greg: You're protecting her from me, you know. Euw.
Amelia: I think you mean that the other way around
Amelia: I hope so anyways
Greg: Yeah, she did look kinda ... displeased.
Greg looks at her seriously
Amelia looks back, anxious/serious
Greg: Ammy, I know you're capable of taking care of yourself, but I promise I'll do my best to protect you. I mean that.
Greg: Word of honor.
Amelia hugs his arm
Greg rests his hand on top of hers
Amelia: thanks, I know it's silly, gosh Magpie's all "you fight vampires all the time what the heck's going to happen to you at a goth club?"
Greg: Magpie? Don't think I've met that one.
Amelia: one of the YPs, Forge's, um, boyfriend I think
Greg: Oh, okay. Cool.
Greg: Well, if he doesn't know what can happen at a goth club, then he's obviously never been in the midst of a group of hormonal teenagers and Gen-X/Yers trying to keep their latex skirts from getting ruffled.
Amelia: but thanks, Greg ... I know you would ... and no matter how capable someone is, it's always better to know there's someone else there, someone to trust
Greg: Ammy ... Amelia ... I'll always watch out for you.
Greg grins impishly
Greg: Except outside your window. That'd be just creepy.
Amelia: hey!
Greg chuckles
Amelia: NOT the best way to favorably impress my dad you know
Greg smiles
Greg: And what is the best way to impress your dad? And your mom?
Amelia: I mean he's not the kind of dad who would burst out with a shotgun ... he's an academic for gosh sakes ...
Greg: 'Cause as much as I'm nervous about the idea, if I'm going to be dating you -- and I want to be dating you -- I want to be honest about it.
Greg arches an eyebrow.
Greg: Ammy, Michael's an academic, too.
Amelia: *muses on his question* I wish I knew ... seventeen years and I still can't get it right
Amelia wrinkles her nose at him
Amelia: does Michael have a shotgun?
Greg chuckles
Greg: No, but he has Mrs. M, and that's quite terrifying enough, thanks much.
Greg: And Ammy, what you said about not knowing how to impress your folks?
Greg: That's their loss. Not your fault.
Amelia: *rueful laugh* him being an academic too will either get mega bonus points with Dad, or, depending, make it loads worse, really
Greg sighs and smiles ruefully
Greg: Well, you could tell him my full name, and give him a copy of my bank statement, if that'd help.
Amelia groans
Greg: Or I could introduce him to Snuffles.
Amelia: ... Snuffles?
Greg pulls out a picture of a rat
Greg: Snuffles.
Greg: He, erm ... I asked for a pet one year. And, well, Michael's sense of humor being what it is ...
Amelia: oh cute eew a rat *grins*
Greg: *laughs* Yeah. I gave him to a friend last year, but I keep his picture on me in case anyone asks if I have a pet.
Amelia: and hey, it's not a snake
Greg: I thought about getting a snake, but I'm not always home to take ... care ... of ...
Greg: Right, so, look. The club. Isn't it pretty?
Amelia: feed them mice, you mean?
Greg twists his lips
Greg: It's weird, y'know? I can beat down on villains with the best of 'em, but I get squeamish when I think of one animal eating another in captivity.
Amelia: I don't MIND snakes so much, well, okay, it was a surprise to see someone here last time with one just slung around the neck that way ...
Greg: In the wild? Cool. Survival of the fattest.
Greg: Oh, Jessica? Yeah, that's her way of keeping guys away.
Amelia: but yeah ... my brother David had a lizard once, for like a week, and he had to feed it crickets and ...
Greg: She's a sweetie, really. Outside of the club, I think you'd like her.
Greg: Oh, oh. Euw. I hate bugs.
Greg: Bugs and spiders. *shivers*
Amelia: does it work? or does it just attract the kind of guys who like girls with snakes?
Greg chuckles
Greg: Well, it works for the most part, but her girlfriend's the club bouncer, and she takes care of the rest.
Amelia: gosh you're right, lots of people ... this band must be real popular
Greg: Oh, they -are-
Greg: Oh, wow, Find Forever Gone. I -love- this one!
Amelia leans on him and listens
Greg wraps an arm around her and rests his cheek on the top of her head
Greg: Hey, Ammy? You wanna dance?
Amelia: sure
Greg takes her into his arms and slowly begins moving to the music
Amelia: this is so nice
Greg: It really is.
Greg looks into her eyes for a minute
Greg: *whispers* Ammy, close your eyes for moment, 'kay?
Amelia: ... okay ... *closes eyes*
Greg gently, hesitantly, kisses her
Amelia: *soft gasp* oh
Greg whispers into her ear, "You really -are- gorgeous, you know."
Amelia opens eyes, realizes they're shining too much, closes them again, adjusts sunglasses, flutters hand by face a little
Amelia: I ... gosh ... thank you
Greg: No, Ammy, thank -you-.
Greg: For being wonderful. For being here, with me. For being ... you.
Amelia: could ... um ... would you do that again ... if you don't mind I mean?
Greg smiles
Greg: How could I mind visiting Heaven when I don't have to die to see it?
Greg leans in and kisses her again
Amelia slips her arms around his neck and leans her head on his shoulder
Amelia: *whispers* even nicer now
Greg: *whispers back* Yeah, it is.
Greg: You know, as much as I'm loving holding you, the next band's about to come on. Want to get some ice cream, and keep the night going?
Amelia: mmm-hmm okay ... *stirs like someone waking up* ... oh hey look, TD&S is here *finger-waves*
Greg waves at TD&S
Amelia: but yeah, ice cream would be great
Greg: Angie -- Jess's girlfriend -- asked me if I was dating TD&S. My first thought was, "but she's not Ammy!"
Greg clears a path to the door for Ammy
Amelia: well, when you both did show up to the meeting that first time, I admit I thought so too ... gothical profiling I guess? shame on me
Greg grins
Greg: Gothical profiling? I'm going to have to remember that.
Greg opens the door to the ice cream shop for Ammy, waves her through
Greg: Here you are, m'lady.
Amelia smiles
Amelia: thank you sir *does a little curtsy*
Greg smiles
Amelia adds perky smile for the people behind the counter
Amelia: *whispers* we're totally wrecking your gothy image
Greg: So ... Vanilla, Rocky Road, Cherry Chip, Co ... CORNDOG?
Amelia: what? eew! no! really?
Greg points
Greg: Right next to Bubble Gum, and below Cookie Dough!
Amelia: that's just ...
Greg: Euw!
Amelia: yeah!
Greg: Um, ma'am? If we got your corndog ice cream, could we get catsup sprinkles and a drizzle of mustard sauce on that?
Amelia: I don't think I'm that brave right now
Greg: *whispers* Nah, I'll get something dark, with lots of chocolate, and pretend to be sad while I'm eatin' it. I'll be fine.
Greg nudges her with his shoulder and grins
Amelia: go on, go up there and tell them you need something as black and hopeless as life itself, go on, get licorice flavor, do it
Amelia elbows him
Greg: Oh, a dare? Okay.
Greg clears his throat, and talks in a gloomy, depressed tone
Greg: I need an ice cream as dark as the tattered wound that once housed my soul, and as bitter as the tears I shed each night in my lonely room. Give me licorice, for nothing else will sate my sorrow.
Amelia covers mouth with both hands to try and catch the giggles
Greg busts up laughing
Greg: You ... *snickers* ... you had to giggle, didn't you?
Amelia: don't listen to him, give him a double-scoop, one cotton-candy and one sparkle-sprinkle!
Amelia: in a waffle cone!
Greg: *eyes widen in horror*
Greg: By the *chuckles* dark Gods, no. Such would destroy my ... dest ... *snrk* ... oh, heck, add some of those mini marshmallows while you're at it, please.
Amelia: you can tell Michael it's my fault if he threatens to disown you or something
Greg blushes
Greg: Erm, yeah, well, he's already threatened to kick my butt about you.
Amelia: *startled look* why? what'd I do?
Greg: Oh, no. You didn't do anything.
Greg takes her hand
Amelia: so ... what'd I not do?
Greg: He was upset because I was sighing to him about how perfect you were, and not asking you out.
Greg does a reasonably good impression of Michael's accent
Greg: "Gregory, you're being a fool. Ask her. Until you do, whether she says yes or no, you'll mope. I hate moping. It leads to poetry, and I hate poetry even more."
Amelia: *laughs* omigosh!
Greg: Yeah. And he likes you, so no worries there. It's part of why he invited you to Greece. He thinks you should be able to enjoy yourself.
Amelia: no moping though okay? promise me that. I don't mind poetry so much if it's not all non-understandable ... but moping, gah, I can't deal with moping
Greg: Well, and ... um ... I kinda told him I didn't want to go if you couldn't.
Greg: Hey, you said 'yes.' I don't have any reason to mope now.
Greg looks at his ice cream
Greg: Except for the lack of enough mini marshmallows.
Amelia looks too, trying not to snicker
Amelia: I've had that cotton candy flavor before, watch out, it is like eating pure sugar
Greg grins
Greg: Nah, that'd be kissing you.
Amelia: *flustered* oh ... um ...
Amelia smiles shyly
Greg smiles
Amelia glances at ice cream lady, blushes
The ice cream lady smiles at the two of them and turns back to washing the scoops
Amelia: I ... um ... was gonna say how if it does turn out I couldn't go, you still should, I mean, gosh, Greek ruins, that's too cool not to do
Greg: I might go, but not for the whole two weeks. I'd enjoy it, yeah, but by the same token, I ... *shrugs* ... I'd be the only one there who wasn't a Doctor, or a Professor, or a Sir this, or Lord that, or Grand Duke thingy.
Amelia: but I bet you'd be the only goth who had cotton candy ice cream with marshmallows and sprinkles!
Greg laughs
Greg: When it's just Michael and me, we talk about everything and anything, and he listens to my opinion on things. When I'm with anyone else, I'm 'the precocious child,' and they ignore me.
Amelia eyerolls with sympathy
Amelia: oh I know how that is
Greg: You know, I think you're right. About the ice cream, and about the sugar rush. Geez!
Greg: So if you don't go, I'll probably stay a week. If you do, I figured we could do part-days in the dig, and part days exploring the islands.
Greg: But if you don't, I'll bring back something for you. Maybe snitch an Elgin Marble or two, or something.
Amelia: nothing that would cause an international incident or ... bring down the wrath of the gods or something ...
Greg rolls eyes and huffs out his breath
Greg: Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. I never get to have -any- fun.
Amelia: and yeah, look out for that sugar rush; this one time a thankful shopkeeper gave me this whole drum of raw cookie dough?
Greg: Oh? Oh, geez, you didn't eat it all in one sitting, did you?
Amelia: well if you WANT to cause an international incident or draw down the wrath of the gods, go ahead, just don't do it for MY sake, silly!
Greg: Oh, okay.
Greg smiles
Amelia: and no, I didn't ... don't think I could have ... it was a big drum ... but I was bouncing off the walls ... not as bad as the time Milton made coffee for Scarlette Royal and she didn't sit still or sleep for a week or so
Greg: Woah!
Greg: Wait, Mil ... gah! She drank something he made? Didn't he, like, turn jello into explosives, or something like that?
Amelia: yeah, he's a good guy, Milton, he means well ... just, you know, look out for the coffee ... and the donuts ... sometimes
Greg nods slowly
Greg: I'll remember that.
Greg thinks, "I hope."
Amelia: the special holiday drinks he makes for the Wrong Place are okay ... usually ...
Greg: Well, so I don't go into hypoglycemic shock, shall I walk you home?
Greg: I know, I know, *most* of the way.
Greg smiles
Amelia: okay, but if you start twitching and spazzing out warn me
Greg: Oh, don't worry, I'll hold onto you. I'm sure you'd notice before I did.
Amelia curls arm around his
Greg sighs softly, but with an unmistakable tone of happiness; rests his other hand atop hers. As they walk, he'll sing some more bits of opera and operetta for her
Amelia: *contented sigh* I sure like hearing you sing
Greg: You make me want to sing. Someday, when we have the time, I'll show you the stuff I've written. I'm sure the music composition's not the best, but I like the lyrics, at least.
Amelia: isn't that kind of close to poetry? *grin*
Greg grins
Greg: Yeah, I guess it is.
Greg: In my defense, though, God-pop's never read it.
Amelia: well, I won't tell on you
Greg: So, Ammy, before you leave, would you mind ... I mean, could I ... is it okay ...
Amelia: *pauses, turns* what?
Greg takes her in his arms and kisses her
Greg: May I kiss you?
Amelia leans into it, melts into it
Amelia: uh-huh ...
Greg rests his forehead against hers
Greg: Take care of yourself, Ammy. If I don't see you tomorrow, I'll see you on Sunday.
Amelia nods dreamily
Amelia: ... okay ...
Greg: I'll stay here, but I'll watch you to your door, okay?
Amelia bites lip, smiles, waves
Amelia: goodnight Greg
Greg: Goodnight, Ammy.
Greg smiles

***

Conversations

2009-02-20T10:38:28Z

Afternoon, at Silver Lake

Amelia: Boo!
Arthur: Hey!
Arthur: How are things?
Amelia: Good, you? You okay?
Arthur: Yeah. Just taking it in.
Arthur: Pull up a boulder.
Amelia: Don't usually see you sitting around watching the world go by.
Arthur: I take breaks every so often.
Amelia: So, um ...
Arthur: What's up?
Amelia: *flings arms around his neck, big hug* Eeeee thank you the doll it's the greatest!
Arthur: :smirks:
Arthur: Thought you'd like it.
Amelia: Omigosh yes!
Arthur: I remember you talking about the Justice Woman one you wanted as a kid, and I saw that company online, so.....
Amelia: It got there on Saturday but I didn't get home until Monday morning and then didn't have a chance to see you to say thanks until now, but she's perfect!
Arthur: I'm glad you like it.
Arthur: Don't tell your Mom I got it for you. I feel like I've made a decent impression so far. Wouldn’t wanna ruin it.
Amelia: Ooh gosh ... um ... that's another thing?
Arthur: Hm?
Amelia: My mom ... *fidgets* ... we were in Boston this weekend with her side of the family; Grandfather had a stroke so everyone swarmed in to visit ...
Arthur: Oh no. I hope everything is OK.
Arthur: Boston has great hospitals.
Amelia: It was a minor one, they didn't even keep him overnight ... but just in case the relatives all have to descend en masse, you know? which ... *eyeroll* is kind of its own problem, but ... *flaps hand* anyways ... my mom kind of pretty much told everyone that, well ... *turns pink* ... that you and me, that we're ... you know ... *gulp* an item. So I wanted to let you know, warn you or whatever, in case ... in case of what I don't know but in case it is a ... problem or ... something.
Arthur: Problem?
Arthur: Why would that be a problem?
Arthur: I don't think parents 'get' the whole boy and girls as friends things without being boyfriend/girlfriend, you know?
Amelia: Yeah, and my mom ... she ... *squirms*
Arthur: She what?
Amelia: But anyways just, if someone says something, I don't know, if it gets back to YOUR mom for instance and she got the wrong idea or whatever I just figured I should make sure you knew so you wouldn't be caught off guard or anything.
Arthur: My mom would probably think its funny.
Arthur: Any time she goes anywhere, people are always assuming she's dating them.
Amelia: Okay then, well, good ...
Arthur: It makes sense anyway.
Amelia: I just don't want you to get in hot water because my mom has these ideas and her whole unshakable world view.
Arthur: Hot water?
Amelia: Or any kind of weird situation, weirder than usual I mean.
Arthur: Weird like having a picture of me kissing a supervillain in the papers?
Amelia: Um ... well ... yeah ...
Arthur: I'm not worried about it.
Amelia: Okay ... *sigh* and I know I should have said something right then and there, right at brunch, how Mom had it wrong and it wasn't LIKE that, but ... I chickened out, sorry.
Arthur: Don't worry about it.
Arthur: Just let me know if you want me to wear a vest or a cummerbund to the wedding.
Amelia: *head in hands* Oh jeez.
Arthur: I know....I know.....
Arthur: .....cummerbunds are lame....
Arthur: ...Vest definitely.
Arthur: ::nudges::
Amelia: *giggle* I'm trying to be serious here gosh!
Arthur: Me too! Cummerbunds are lame!
Arthur: Looks like a weird colorful man-girdle.
Amelia: Well it's to match the bow tie.
Arthur: You can match a bow tie to a vest.
Arthur: So.....Aside from the wedding plans, what else is on your mind?
Amelia: Don't worry he tells me, like I can't NOT worry about stuff ...
Arthur: You worry too much.
Amelia: *gives him a twisted-smile look* You haven't met my scary grandmother
Arthur: You haven't met ....ummm....my mentor.
Amelia: This was the only time in forever she was actually pleased with me, when Mom told her that.
Arthur: That you have a boyfriend?
Amelia: That I was dating YOU
Arthur: Is it that hard for your family to believe that are girl like *you* would have a.......
Arthur: Me?
Arthur: What about me?
Amelia: I mean she left out, Mom did, the whole part about how I didn't even realize you were Pearce as in THAT Pearce until Mom said so in the car on the way home from the museum ...
Arthur: Oh, so it really isn't about you dating me....it’s about you dating 'a Pearce.'
Amelia: "A girl as smart as you should be more observant, Amelia" ... *grasps forehead*
Arthur: ::rolls eyes::
Amelia: "Don't tell me you spent that whole time talking to him like he was some ordinary boy." *thumps forehead with heel of hand*
Arthur: So, on one hand I have some girls who are into me because of my ....extra curriculars...
Arthur: Now, its about who my Dad is?
Amelia: Not to me.
Amelia: Um I mean ...
Arthur: I get you.
Arthur: It’s nice actually.
Arthur: Having someone to be 'normal' around.
Arthur: Tights or money only matter so much.
Arthur: ......
Amelia: Is this what normal is like, then?
Arthur: Which sounds really odd now that I think about it.
Arthur: Normal-esque?
Arthur: Normal-sih?
Arthur: Faux normal?
Amelia: Okay, okay.
Amelia: As normal as we're likely to get
Arthur: Yeah.
Arthur: So, your Mom is impressed with my Dad?
Amelia: *nod* And Grandmother's all "well done, Helen, there may be hope for her yet!" ... gah ...
Arthur: ::rolls eyes::
Amelia: It's like living in a Jane Austen novel
Arthur: So, I didn't need to try to make a good impression?
Arthur: I could have walked in with a six-pack, chewing tobacco?
Amelia: Eew ...
Arthur: "Howdy Missus MontgOMeryyyyy....I'm here tah take yur dawter out!"
Arthur: "Yee haw!"
Amelia: Eew! *poke*
Amelia: Not even for a pretend boyfriend!
Amelia: *ponders* Ooh that came out wrong and I'm not sure HOW to fix it.
Arthur: There you go...worrying again.
Arthur: My 'cat like reflexes' even let me dodge weird statements.
Arthur: *rawr*
Amelia: I'd say sorry but people also tell me I apologize too much too.
Arthur: You should try "Know what? You have a problem with it, you can kiss my cute behind."
Arthur: ......
Arthur: ....ummm....
Amelia: *choke*
Arthur: ::blush::
Amelia: I'm gonna say that to whom exactly???
Arthur: Anyone who has a problem with what you say?
Amelia: *makes a mental list of the usual suspects and blanches*
Amelia: Um, I dunno Arthur ... that'd include some ... scary people.
Arthur: Recluse?
Arthur: Tyrant?
Arthur: Silver Mantis?
Amelia: Adriana?
Arthur: Do *not* say that to Silver Mantis!
Arthur: She'll do it.
Arthur: Adriana?
Arthur: She's not scary. She's intense.
Arthur: Big difference.
Amelia: *wide eyes* Maybe to you she is.
Amelia: But anyways, I'm not going to say that, gosh ... I can hardly imagine!
Arthur: Do it. Imagine it.
Arthur: Bet it'll make you smile.
Amelia: I imagine other --
Arthur: ?
Amelia: Uh ...
Arthur: Imagine what?
Arthur: Like smacking people around?
Arthur: "Listen up!" *smack*
Amelia: ... no ... I mean, not that makes me smile.
Arthur: "Enough backtalk!" *smack smack*
Amelia: I still feel all horrible-guilty over smacking Blaze even when he DID set himself on fire, and for threatening to slap him silly with his own hat when he wouldn't stop texting me about ... stuff …
Arthur: You want to know something I've figured out from my 'extra curriculars'?
Amelia: That sometimes you just have to slap someone silly with their own hat?
Arthur: No....
Arthur: ...although that has its merits....
Amelia: What then?
Arthur: ....It’s that instincts are usually right.
Arthur: One of the things I’ve noticed about you is that when you *do* somehting, it’s usually the right thing. It’s when you *think* about it, that you get all fouled up.
Amelia: *sigh* I hope so, 'cause I go on mine mostly ... or I try to ... it's when I also try to stop and think that I botch it.
Arthur: Exactly.
Amelia: Yeah ... or I don't think enough, or don't think first, that's what other people tell me.
Arthur: Amelia, you're obviously *very* smart....
Arthur: ...but it’s your heart that makes you you.
Amelia: *smile* Thanks.
Arthur: Alright, I need to head out.
Amelia: Okay ... thanks again for the doll, and for listening to me babble.
Arthur: Tell "Mom" I think we should have Filet Mignon or Lobster tails on the menu.
Arthur: Have fun playing with it.
Arthur winks:
Amelia: But ...
Arthur: You make it too easy.
Arthur: :snickers:
Amelia: Well one of these days though she's going to figure out ... I mean gosh ...
Arthur: Just tell her I have a superhero fetish and asked you to dress up.......
Arthur: ::blush:
Arthur: Umm...
Amelia: THAT isn't what I meant!
Arthur: I bet her opinion of me would change.
Arthur: He's a perv *and* he likes superheroes! Not with MY daughter!"
Amelia: You are not!
Arthur: Then you would be free to date all of the guys who are lining up around the block for their chance.
Amelia: Um, one guy and one date, that's not ... that's not a lineup around the block, omigosh.
Arthur: One....
Arthur: huh?
Amelia: I don't know why people think I must have like crowds of ... admirers ...
Amelia: It's just weird
Arthur: Pretty.
Arthur: Smart.
Arthur: Fun.
Arthur: No clue.
Amelia: *blush* Stop it
Arthur: No.
Amelia: Pretty-ish, okay, but jeez I asked E.N., "you've SEEN Bashera, and Rebecca, right?"
Arthur: It’s not a competition.
Amelia: *laugh* No kidding!
Arthur: That’s not what I meant.
Amelia: Well either way it isn't and I'm not trying to, I wouldn't, but it just sounds bizarre to have someone tell me how gorgeous I am when come on, look around.
Arthur: I'm looking.....
Arthur: ...ummm....
Amelia: Not literally, silly.
Arthur: I mean...
Amelia: Not this minute.
Arthur: Right.
Arthur: ANYway.
Amelia: Anyway.
Arthur: Wait.....
Amelia: what?
Arthur: You *really* went on a date with Ewige!?
Amelia: *nods* Yeah, to the opera.
Arthur: There was an opera at the goth club?
Amelia: No, the real opera.
Arthur: So you went to the opera instead of the club?
Amelia: No, both.
Arthur: Like separate nights?
Amelia: The opera, that was a week ago last Thursday, a, um, date, a DATE-date kind of thing. The goth club was before that, with him and TD&S.
Arthur: So, you went on a date-date date type date.
Amelia: Yeah ... you didn't know?
Arthur: No, well, yeah.
Arthur: I just thought people were misunderstanding.
Amelia: No-well-yeah?
Arthur: I mean, like your Mom thinking you and I are together.
Arthur: I just thought that people saw you and Ewige and just *ass*umed
Arthur: But...yeah....well....
Arthur: That’s ...cool.
Amelia: Oh ... well I guess I just figured, I mean, since he was all asking Rebecca if I was seeing anyone, that, well, you'd have heard about it.
Arthur: She mentioned something, I just....
Arthur: ...whatever...
Arthur: Yeah...so...
Amelia: What's the matter?
Arthur: Nothing.
Arthur: Just should have picked up on that.
Amelia: Do you not ... not like him or something?
Arthur: No, he's fine.
Arthur: It’s great.
Arthur: I'm glad you are, like, all dating and stuff.
Amelia: *doubtful look*
Arthur: Looks like I'm gonna have to turn in my Junior Detective badge, huh?
Amelia: Like I said it was one date, gosh, not like we're … I mean jeez Blaze and Luna go out three times and he's calling her his girlfriend but I don't know the rules.
Arthur: No, its cool. I just feel silly because I didn’t know.
Arthur: Rules are simple: If you want to be with a person, be with them.
Amelia: *doleful smile* I almost asked your advice but I thought it'd be weird.
Arthur: Weird?
Amelia: Well, with him asking your girlfriend for advice too and everything.
Amelia: Could just see it being too sitcom.
Arthur: Next thing you know the Wacky Neighbor is gonna come barging through the door....
Amelia: Yeah, like that
Arthur thinks, Please save me Wacky Neighbor...
Arthur: I think Giant Mosquito would be a great Wacky Neighbor.
Amelia: *giggle* Except he wouldn't fall into the misunderstandings, he'd just grab us all by the scruff of the neck and shake until it all made sense.
Arthur: ::smirks::
Arthur: Yeah....
Arthur: Well...I gotta....
Arthur: ::makes running gesture::
Amelia: Oh, right, sorry
Arthur: Bye.
Amelia: Bye Arthur.
Arthur: See ya.
Amelia: Okay.
Arthur: Yeah, bye.

***

Evening, on the Phone

Greg: "Hey, Ammy, it's Greg. I saw your note about the family emergency, and I hope everyone's okay."

Ammy: "Hi Greg. Thanks for calling, gosh, so sorry about having to run out of town like that ... my grandfather, my mom's father, had a stroke. Not a big one, they say it was just minor, and they didn't even keep him overnight in the hospital. But most of the family had to drop everything and descend like locusts or something. Ooh that's not a very nice thing to say. Sorry. It was kind of a rough weekend with all of them there, I mean, even at the best of times they're ... nevermind. Argh."

Ammy: "So we're back in town now, me and Dad at least because Mom stayed in Boston for a while longer with the relatives."

Greg: "Oh, wow. Sorry to hear about your grandfather; I hope he comes through everything okay."

Ammy: "Anyways, I got your card and it was great, gave me a real minute of 'huh?' before I got it and then I laughed my head off, thank you so much!"

Greg: "You're welcome. Um, listen, I know it's kinda last-minute, but since I didn't get the chance to take you on the riverboat dinner cruise for Valentine's Day, I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner with me sometime this week, or maybe to a movie. And ... I hope we're still on for the opera after they're done with the setup for Turandot."

Ammy: "Sure ... dinner or a movie or something would be wonderful, or maybe even another trip to that club since this time I swear I wouldn't be AS freaked out so maybe we could just have fun without me practically pulling your arm off."

Greg: "Well, I was thinking dinner on maybe Thursday or Friday night, if that works for you. And Bella Morte's playing at the club, and I think you'll like 'em. And, hey, if you wanna hang on my arm, I'm certainly not going to argue."

Ammy: "Friday night would be great! My parents get funny sometimes about what's a fitting activity for a school night and what isn't, so, you know, the opera, that's one thing ... but going out to a club, that's something else, and since they already relaxed that one to let me go with you and TD&S on a Sunday last time ..."

Greg: "Word of warning, though, you might want to leave the overcoat at home, or at least check it at the door. The last time Bella Morte played, the place was so packed the air conditioning was straining."

Ammy: *nervous giggle*

Ammy: "I probably will still bring the coat but thanks for the warning, and if it does get too warm in there, well, if it's as mostly dark as last time then I guess it wouldn't matter how much of that outfit there isn't -- *muttered aside* oh jeez Ammy!"

Greg: *laugh*

Greg: "Ammy, you're beautiful no matter what you wear, so don't worry about it, really. Besides, if anybody looks at you cross-wise, it's 'cause the women are jealous of you, and the guys are jealous that I'm with someone that looks as good as you."

Ammy: "Anyways, sure, Friday, if that's okay."

Greg: "Great! I'll make reservations for dinner beforehand, and then we can dance the night away. Well, 'til curfew, anyway."

Ammy: "Um ... so ... yeah ... Friday! See you then, if not before, hope it's before, bye!"

Greg: "Um ... and, y'know, if I see you before then, I'd ... I'd really like that, too. Virtual hugs! Bye!"

***

Ammy Update!

2009-02-16T21:09:27Z

Weblog Date: 2-15-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

Happy Valentine’s Day a day late from Boston!

Sudden trip all unplanned. Emergency thing. Grandfather Lakeland had a stroke on Friday. A minor one, he’s pretty much okay they say. But a stroke’s no joke I mean gosh it’s something going wrong inside your BRAIN and so there’s nothing all that minor about it. They only kept him in the hospital for the one night and let him come home this morning.

Anyways, so Grandmother called Mom on Friday evening. She called everyone and told them it was only to keep them informed, a minor thing, not to worry, certainly not that we should all drop everything and scramble to their place.

So, well, you know it Diary, we all dropped everything and scrambled to their place bright and early yesterday morning. All those of the family who could, at least, and you can bet those who were too far away – like, in California and Europe and William was on a plane to New Zealand – were on the phone every ten minutes seemed like.

Us kids were only allowed to peek in and say hi for just a minute; it was the grownups who went in taking turns sitting with him.

Grandfather looked awful. Ancient, practically grey, his hair looked white and wispy all cobwebby, you could see the dark liverspotty marks on his scalp. His skin was sort of loose and saggy. But he didn’t have the half-face paralysis like you hear about, and he didn’t have one eye staring off at a fixed angle and his speech wasn’t slurred (well except that because they had him leave his teeth out, which meant he talked a little mushy and made slurpy noises).

The rest of the time it was usual Lakeland family drama only with a weight and edge this time. Grandfather was in a REAL MOOD. Snappish and grumpy and he seriously did not like having anybody see him like that, laying there in bed in his robe having this hired nurse fussing in and out all the time. You could tell he didn’t want a crowd or an audience. But everyone still HAD to go in and pay their respects.

Srsly Diary it was one of those no-win sitches. One of those Catch-22 things all, you bet. Damned if you do / damned if you don’t kind of. Because, see, all the ones who showed up were greedy vultures hovering at his bedside waiting for him to die so they could start fighting over inheritance stuff, but those who couldn’t make it were uncaring ingrates who wouldn’t be bothered until it was time for the funeral and reading of the will.

Mom said as much on the drive up, and also said that it was better to err on the side where the bread was buttered, which made me feel kind of low and awful. I couldn’t help thinking about how the Royals were when Victor was in the hospital, they were there being genuinely concerned and caring and supportive for each other. People who weren’t even related were there, real friends who really knew that all that mattered was Victor being okay.

Deeeee-pressing, Diary.

Well anyway with Grandfather in a real mood so was Grandmother, though in her case it was probably (I hope, it has to be!) lots more that she was scared and worried – I wouldn’t ever in a million years dare say so to her because she hates weakness and she’d never ever admit she was scared about anything.

All that and we’re still trying to throw together an impromptu family gathering so the maids were flying around getting rooms ready and the cooks were going nuts … here they’d thought dinner for a few and BAM it’s dinner for thirty, it’s meals for thirty all weekend …

Crazy crazy crazy.

Not exactly how I wanted to spend Valentine’s Day but what can you do? At least I got enough warning that we were coming to Boston that I could rush out with the balloons and cookies for everyone Friday night, though I didn’t have time to organize getting anything delivered personally so I called Blaze and he helped me take it all over to the Wrong Place, where it’s bound to get around to where it’s supposed to eventually.

And it’s not as if I had big plans, I mean, maybe some of us would have got together for something but it’s sort of a lot premature to be making big plans for Valentine’s Day when you’ve only gone out on a real date-type date that really counts with someone once.

Still, it would’ve been nice.

The date was wonderful, too, Diary. E.N. is just the sweetest, he brought me a purple chrysanthemum (I saved it pressed between a couple encyclopedias and will keep it in the program book thing he gave me once it’s all dried out). His godfather arranged for there to be cider and goodies in the box at the opera house and the music was just so amazing and we had a great time and … and he really does seem to LIKE-ME like-me, though we both know one date is way too soon to be sure of much of anything. Which we talked about some later after Reign came by and I had to tell him how she and my mom have exactly one thing in the whole universe in common but it’s that if I so much as mention anybody of the guy-type persuasion they’re both already planning the reception and choosing baby names, eek.

That was later though, a few days after the date. Still from Thursday, he walked me home, most of the way anyways since I hadn’t exactly told Mom and Dad what my plans were because they would have had a bazillion questions none of which I would have been very good at answering … but on the way home E.N. sang for me, he used to want to become a singer before whatever happened to him happened and left him with his powers and his voice kind of rough and shivery the way it is, though I told him how I don’t mind it at all, I like it, and I hope I didn’t cram my foot in my mouth TOO bad.

So yeah, Diary, he sang, and it was incredible, people stopped on the street to listen and clap, and he was really good, his voice made it even better, and he poured his whole heart and soul into the singing you could really tell.

And he kissed my hands, the back like a gentleman when we first met before the opera, but then later after he sang he had my hands and kissed the palms and omigosh I get goosebumps rushing up both arms just remembering. I THINK maybe he wanted to ask for a real kiss, a goodnight kiss, on the lips and everything … but when I guess we’re both so shy … well, I did manage to be brave enough to kiss him on the cheek anyways, so … who knows?

I do feel weird about not having told my parents; I’m going to have to soon if E.N. meant it about asking me out again some time, because there’s not telling them and then there’s keeping a deception thing going, and I’m fine with keeping secrets if there’s a good reason, but I’m still just the worst liar.

I felt weird to start with and then we came here and … should have known, Ammy, should have expected this one … Mom starts in telling everybody, in this oh-casual-by-the-way kind of way, about those “other” dates. The museum thing and the concert thing and the dinner party thing; here’s Mom all “yes, well, and you’ll never guess but Amelia’s been spending quite a lot of time with …” so now the whole family thinks that I’m dating HIM …

Oh-em-gee awkward. Especially because Grandmother … yeesh, Diary, I can hardly make myself even type it out … it was about the first time EVER that Grandmother really looked at me with something that was all like actual interest and approval, and at brunch in front of everyone she says to Mom, “Well done, Helen; there may be some hope for your youngest after all.”

Could have just DIED. What am I going to do what am I supposed to say? If I told them how it isn’t like that, we’re friends, good friends but JUST friends it’s innocent and platonic and everything, they either won’t believe me or they’ll get mad. So I have to smile and nod like a ditz and say the kind of little-noncommittal-nothings you say when that happens and then they think you’re being modest or … oh jeez Diary I don’t know.

But EVERYONE had to talk about it. Giving me advice (some scary!), asking me questions (most nosy!), congratulating me on what a good “catch” he is, and some of them were jealous as heck, not over him in particular but because Margot’s husband’s sister Nadine is “only” dating a Kennedy and stuff like that, which made Mom just SO omigosh smug …

They are gonna absolutely lose it when they find out how it isn’t like that. I hate lying to them, not that I am exactly lying outright but knowing something and letting them go on believing it when I know it’s not true is still sort of lying, it’s false pretenses or lying by omission or whatever and it feels kind of slimy … but at the same time he really IS just about my best friend … it’s all majorly, majorly a big confusing mess.

If that wasn’t enough then of course even my own unconscious has to go and get in on the act and so last night I had this dream about him that we went to the prom together. How dorky is that? The PROM? Jeez, Ammy! Like, the in-the-school-gym with crepe paper streamers, the kind of prom I don’t think our school has had in thirty years anyway; it’s all at some rented hotel ballroom nowadays. But no, there we were in my dream dancing at the prom. Just dancing. Not being named Prom King and Queen or anything dumb like that. Nothing inappropriate either, not a kiss, not parking at lover’s lane, that kind of thing, but I still woke up just all blushy and fluttery which I absolutely should NOT be doing because it isn’t LIKE that!

This is that normal social life I keep hearing so much about? Somehow I don’t think so exactly.

Well anyways Diary it’s Sunday and almost time for Sunday brunch. Not sure how long we’re staying here in Boston. With no school tomorrow or Tuesday anyway for midwinter break it’s not like I have a good excuse for going back early. There’s already talk of shopping and golf trips for tomorrow, don’t know which would be more boring.

So, more later!

S.A.

***

Weblog Date: 2-16-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

Okay gosh I hope I can sit still and settle down long enough to write this; it may have to wait until later or even tomorrow. Breathe, Ammy. Breathe, reflect, consider.

But … EEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!! With a !1ELEVENTY thrown in!

She is so pretty. I can’t even believe it. I’m looking at her right now and she’s just, she’s … me … sort of … she looks like me but she’s also … beautiful! If I looked even half that good IRL …

Start at the start, Ammy, you goof!

Okay.

So we got home from Boston this morning, Dad and I because Dad said that holiday or no holiday he had things to do for work, but Mom stayed on for another couple of days to be there until Grandfather’s back on his feet.

There was a card waiting for me in the mail, a Valentine’s card, on the front it was this photo of roses, this thick gorgeous field of roses like a carpet of rubies, and inside was this which I’m copying here:

[i]Alba Semiplena, contrary to poetry, is white,
While Viola odorata does reflect light in the 380–450 nm range.
Specific white crystalline solid disaccharides leave a pleasant flavor in the mouth,
And pheromones are not the sole progenitor of emotional attachment.

Thinking of you this Valentine's Day. A lot. [/i]

Signed from Greg, E.N. of course. And it took me a second to figure it out but then I LOL’d so much I was glad that Dad was already in his study because he would have wanted to know what I was laughing about and then he’d want to know who the card was from and THEN he’d want to know who Greg was and …

Yeah, so, good thing he was in his study already. But isn’t that just the cutest cleverest thing? He is SUCH a sweetie OMG!!!

And then … well … I came up to my room and I was unpacking and Mrs. Sheldon the housekeeper tapped on my door. She’s super nice, but Mom was always kind of stern about not getting too friendly so I don’t know her as well as I’d maybe like.

Anyways, she brought up this box and told me it arrived on Saturday and she held it aside for me rather than leave it with the rest of the mail because she thought how if it was a Valentine’s gift, that I’d want to receive it in private and not have my parents looming over me the whole time.

Gosh, I may not know her that well but she sure does know me and how things go around here, huh?

Well, I said thanks, and she smiled and said sure, and then she left and it was just me and Jupiter and this box. It was from CustomToys.com … there was a note from A. saying “Know you’re a fan of this lady. Thought you would like it.”

And inside, all official-like packaged and everything, was an actual omigosh Star Amethyst Barbie! The purple and white costume, the ponytail, everything.

He had them make me a Star Amethyst Barbie. Just because.

I cried, Diary. Happy-crying but still … and I’m starting up again now … just a sec …

Okay. Better.

So now I have Star Amethyst Barbie on my shelf with Justice Woman Barbie and it’s even better than meeting Statesman in person for real!

I have the best friends EVER.

S.A.

***

Ammy Update!

2009-02-09T07:31:22Z

(( a collaborative project between incineratrix and doc_northwood ))

Ewige stood outside the opera house holding a deep purple chrysanthemum, twirling it between his fingers. He looked up at the skyline, watching the sun move toward the horizon, and inhaled deeply.

You can do this, Greg. It's just a date. Sure, she's gorgeous, and intelligent, and probably shouldn't give you the time of day, but it's just a date.

He absently shifted his shoulders under the lightweight jacket. "Just a date" or not, he wouldn't dream of attending the opera in jeans. Khakis and a dress shirt: casual enough not to threaten, dressy enough to avoid sneers.

He looked at his watch, then turned back to watch the sky, his outward calm belying the nerves he'd shown earlier.

God, I made an ass of myself at ICON today. I think Carson was glad to be rid of me, even if I did wind up with four new outfits. I'll have to go back and apologize tomorrow. Three showers today, double workout in the gym, I've shaved twice, and I almost forgot to eat lunch. Oh, yeah. Smooth, Greg. Real smooth.

He smiled, some of his tension easing when he remembered her saying yes, looking almost as nervous as he felt.

Well, and who knows? Maybe she is. Whatever, she's a friend, and she's my date, and I'm really, really looking forward to tonight.

Something in the air -- her perfume, her attire, or just her nature -- alerted him to her presence. Turning, he smiled at her, holding out the flower.

"Hello, Ammy. Gosh, but it's good to see you tonight."

Ammy had paused at the corner, bit her lip, winced, got out her compact, fixed her lipstick, smoothed her hair, missed the familiar comfort of her ponytail, almost bit her lip again, caught herself in time.

She had serious butterflies. Told herself they were because of the dress. She always got the butterflies when she set foot outside her own room wearing this dress, the one Bashera had picked out for her, the shiny shimmery purple one with the demure high neck and long full sleeves but omigosh it was tight and omigosh the skirt was short ... "Where's the rest of it?" her father had asked, scowling around the stem of his pipe.

But the butterflies weren't just because of the dress. The butterflies were because of the date. She'd been progressively more anxious about it as the day went on, and the sitch hadn't been helped by her going and mentioning it to Magpie Nine ... who had, by way of helpful advice, suggested she make sure to bring her comm so she could fake an emergency call if things went bad ... which she'd then said wouldn't exactly work in this case ... which then led Magpie to the conclusion it must be because she was going out with someone from the group, and he speculated that going by age it must be either Blaze or E.N. ... and Ammy had instantly blurted out how that OMG eew Blaze was like an obnoxious little brother ... which pretty much answered the question, didn't it? And then KSG had come in on the middle of that so KSG knew, which meant Robbie would probably hear, which, knowing Robbie, meant Robbie taking E.N. aside for a 'friendly' little talk about not trying any funny business ...

Never mind, Ammy.

She’d checked her hair one last time, and clickie-clicked down the sidewalk toward the opera house. There he was, waiting for her ... regular clothes rather than the gothy stuff ... looking nice, and cute, and shy, and almost as nervous as she felt.

He turned, smiled, held out a flower. A beautiful deep-purple chrysanthemum, and she just about melted.

"Hello, Ammy," he said. "Gosh, but it's good to see you tonight."

"Hi, Greg." Aware she was starting to go pink, she took the flower and breathed its scent, using it to try and shield the blush.

He looked at her, really looked, and was struck dumb.

The dress was demure, yet alluring: it hinted, but never revealed. But that skirt: her legs went on for-freakin'-ever, accentuated by her heels. Her face, once he focused on it, was dew-fresh, with bee-stung lips and rose-blush cheeks, and ... and ... and he realized that no simile would ever do her justice. She was beautful, and that's all there was to it.

He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling in the evening sun.

"You know, I was worried about how I looked tonight, but you -- you're gorgeous. Nobody'll even notice me."

He lifted one of her hands and gently pressed a kiss to its back, then looked back up at her.

"I know I'm supposed to be gothy and dark and gloomy, all woe and despair, but I can't tell you how much I've looked forward to tonight." Moving a half-step closer to her, he softened his voice. "Ammy, I know it's bad of me, but I left my comm at home. Goethe will get me if anything really bad happens, but I wanted to enjoy my night with you, and only with you. I hope you don't mind."

Still holding her hand, he began to walk slowly along the street, breathing in the evening air, and feeling some -- not all, by any stretch of the imagination, but some -- of his tension dissipate. He began talking: inconsequential things at first, then expounding upon his love of music, and how much he was enjoying the idea of sharing it with her.

His stomach growled mid-way through his comments about the opera house redesign, and how he was looking forward to the improved acoustics. Blushing, he apologized for the borborygmi.

"So, um ... I've been chattering, and I've probably talked your ear off, and ... and you can probably tell that I'm nervous. Sorry. But, hey, any ideas of what you'd like for supper?" His lips twitched into a wicked grin as he murmured to her, "I mean, I would've suggested calamari or lobster, but I didn't want to make Farshine nervous."

She giggled and patted his arm with her free hand, the one he wasn't holding. "Um, let's see ... well, for one, they aren't really squids and lobsters, Kheldians, so I don't think it's a problem, and actually I really like shrimp, and seafood, especially seafood fettuccine. For two, gosh, it's great not having it be just me who talks all the time ... but I do when I'm nervous too especially, so ... I totally understand. For three --"

Here she giggled again. "-- I did bring mine just in case, my comm I mean, but gosh if you didn't bring yours then I could have done what Magpie Nine suggested if things go bad but I'm hoping they won't, I'm hoping I don't goof up or anything, and now look I'm babbling ..."

He laughed and she joined in with relief, tipping her head briefly to press her forehead against his shoulder.

"See?" Ammy said. "Told you I talk a lot."

Greg smiled down at her, his eyes glittering.

"Yeah, you did. But s'okay. I think we both have a lot to say."

He looked into the distance for a moment, then back at Ammy.

"Y'know, it's funny, really. You're worried about goofing up, I'm worried about goofing up, we're both worried about something going wrong ... I don't know about you, but if we stop fretting and start having a good time, I'm gonna get worried about forgetting what we should be worrying about."

He shrugged, then grinned again, saying, "But hey, I'm just gonna enjoy whatever time you deign to spend with me."

He tucked her hand under his arm, then gestured expansively at the restaurants lining the street.

"So ... you like seafood, and I assume you like dessert, and I'm kinda partial to sushi. What say we find a Japanese place that sounds good, eat ourselves stupid, go enjoy the opera, and ... and ... and ... and who knows? Maybe coffee or something after, and then ... I mean, if you want me to ..." the blush began creeping up his cheeks again, "maybeIcanwalkyouhome."

"You gotta stop with the whole 'time you deign to spend' thing," she chided, voice light but still flustered. "I like spending time with you, silly, so ... gosh ... it's not like a chore or anything. I'm having fun. And it'd be great if you walked me home. At least, most of the way home." She looked at her feet, cleared her throat. "I kinda didn't exactly tell my parents exactly what I was doing tonight or else they'd have given me the total third degree and make me drag you in for interrogation and ... that'd all be too much stress, don'tcha think?"

They found a promising-looking place, not too dim and smoky, not too bright and garish, but managing to be both cheerful and cozy.

"This looks like a good bet," Greg said. "Shall we give it a try?"

The smells were divine, the waitresses wore real silk kimonos, and as soon as they stepped in they saw everything was cooked and served teppanyaki style, the chefs putting on a show of flipping knives and spatulas, juggling eggs, and dazzling the appreciative diners with their tricks.

"Definitely," she said, grinning at him.

"I like spending time with you, too, Ammy, so I think we're even."

Greg blanched slightly at the thought of parental grilling, nodding rapidly when Ammy mentioned avoiding that particular can of worms.

During dinner, they wound up laughing over some of the antics the chefs performed, and enjoying the incredible flavors of the meal. Greg found himself relaxing more and more, his nerves fading as dessert approached.

After they had -- indeed -- eaten themselves stupid, Greg offered his arm as they strolled toward the opera house.

"I initially thought about calling a cab, but I need to walk some of that food off, or I'll fall asleep during before Libiamo ne'lieti calici is sung."

Entering the opera house, Greg felt the last of his nerves fade. Here ... here was where he felt at home. Here was where he could relax, and truly be himself.

Turning to one of the ushers, he presented his card and pass.

"Very good, Mr. Covington. Follow me, please."

They were led through hallways filled with chattering opera goers, thousand-dollar furs draped casually across shoulders, and carats of diamonds glittering on each hand. Greg ignored them, smiling slightly when their sneers turned to astonishment as the usher led them toward one of the four permanent boxes.

Greg leaned over to whisper into Ammy's ear. "My dad bought this seat years ago, and it came to me in his will. Michael pays for its yearly upkeep as a birthday gift." His face gave away a flicker of sadness for a moment. "He said ... he said it was the closest he could manage to giving me back my voice."

The usher cleared his throat, and gestured toward the corner, saying, "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Covington, but your godfather provided two bottles of sparkling cider on ice, and he took the liberty of ordering a tray of assorted mignardises and petit fours."

Looking at the ice bucket and champagne flutes, Greg shook off his dark thoughts, bringing the accumulated culture of three generations (and an undying Englishman) to the fore. "Hunh. Well ... um, cool. Wow."

Greg thanked the usher as he withdrew, shutting the door behind him.

Picking up an embossed copy of the libretto, Greg handed it to Ammy, saying, "God-pop may have bought the food for the box, but this ... um ... I hope you don't think I'm too forward, but I bought this for you." He grinned, holding up a leather folio. "I, uh, kinda have my own already, and I thought you might like one, too."

"Oh, gosh," she said, accepting it. She opened it, and found a handwritten note tucked into the flyleaf.

"Un migliaio di canzoni può essere scritto, con un migliaio di voci canto loro, ma nessuno può toccare la musica della tua risata.

Thank you for sharing this evening with me.

Greg"

"Thank you, that's so nice ... and your godfather too ... it's all so fancy ... the goodies will have to wait though because I am omigosh stuffed dinner was too good ... but sparkling cider's one of my faves, you know how I like fizzy stuff ..."

Babbling again, Ammy.

"And, so, um," she said, fidgeting a little in the seat, trying without much luck to tug the hem of her skirt a bit further down her legs. "What, um, what you were saying just then, about your voice?"

"Yeah?" he asked, with a flicker of apprehension that told her she was doing it again, bad idea, but too late now, some people just never would learn and she sure was one of them ...

"Well, jeez, I always do stuff like this I always bungle it, when I talk to other people who've merged with Kheldians or someone like Kiefer, you know, people who ... I'm all but isn't this the neatest, being able to have these powers, being able to be a part of this world? and they're all maybe for you but I hate it it cost me everything I can never have a normal life why do you have to keep bringing it up salt in the wound much? ... I've got a real knack for it, saying exactly the wrong thing and here I go again, but ..."

"Ammy you should maybe take a breath before you pass out," he said. Still apprehensive but also looking kinda amused.

She paused, inhaled. Nodded. "What I mean is, I don't mean to be bringing up painful stuff all the time, but if you're worried about your voice, about what I might think of it, well, gosh, I feel just awful that those things had to happen to you and I'm sure you'd rather they hadn't but ... for whatever it's worth ... your voice doesn't freak me out or anything ... I ... I actually ... it's neat, it's different ... it's ... shivery, you know, and not in a bad way ... well, okay, when you're talking to the Circle mages, it can be scary, but I know it's at them, and they deserve it ... but I ... I hope you don't ... feel self-conscious about it or anything around me because I ... I like it, it's part of who you are now, and I'm so sorry you had to go through those things, but, well, what matters is what's now, right, and making the best of stuff ... so ... you know?"

He couldn't help it. He tried to hold it in, but he couldn't. His lips twitched once, twice, and then he burst out laughing, leaning out of his chair to hug her.

"Oh, gosh, Ammy," he wheezed when he finally settled down to sporadic giggles, "please don't ever change."

Wiping his eyes, he settled back in his seat.

"I'm actually kind of used to how my voice sounds now," he said, reaching out to take her hand again, "and I guess I'm kinda proud of it, now, if you think it's neat." He grinned impishly. "And it's nice to know it's the good kind of shivery."

He bit down softly on his lower lip for a moment, then shrugged and said, "I guess I've embarrassed myself enough tonight, so you may as well know the rest." Turning to face her more fully, he said, "I used to dream about being an opera singer. I had voice lessons from the time I was seven until about a year ago, and I actually got to sing on-stage a couple of times. I was going to audition for this year's season when ... y'know ... it happened."

He gestured vaguely to the throng below. "This is the first time I've been back since ... well, since my voice went neat." He smiled, squeezing her hand gently. "I didn't realize it'd hit me like this, but I'm not really that upset. Just ..." he looked surprised for a moment, "just ... upset that I wasn't more upset, if that makes any sense."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said a bit wistfully, "if anything, I'm kinda sorry my dad's not here with us. I think you'd have liked him. Some of the stuff he knew about opera was just amazing."

He smiled at her again. "But hey, we're here, and that's what's important."

His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he nodded decisively. "In fact, if you'd like, I'll see how I sound after we see the performance. I probably don't have the range I used to, but if you want me to sing for you, I'll give it a shot."

"Aww," she said, and touched his arm. "You don't have to, but if you want to, sure, you bet I'd be glad to listen. And, you know, maybe it's something you still could do. So you might not have a ... what, conventional? conventional voice like everyone else ... but that's what makes it more special and interesting."

She'd thought for a second there he was going to downspiral into gloom and doom on her, was glad to see that he didn't. When he'd been talking about his dad, his voice went wistful, but not depressed. And the way he'd laughed before, not at her for being a silly dunce who couldn't shut up, just a sort of genuine happy-laugh, she knew he really meant it about hoping she didn't ever change.

"When I was little," she went on, smiling kind of abashed, "I wanted to be an astronaut. Or a superhero. I didn't figure either one was ever really going to happen. Thought I'd end up becoming an astronomer instead or a reporter ... that would be the closest, right? But then ... well ... stuff's possible even when you think it isn't."

The house lights dimmed, and the room filled with the shushing-rustling-bustle of people getting ready for the performance.

"La vita è nel tripudio."

The soprano's voice soared into the rafters, wringing emotion from each note.

"Quando non s'ami ancora."

The tenor, although not as rich as some, kept up with her beautifully.

"Nol dite a chi l'ignora,"

Greg glanced at Ammy, a smile lingering on his lips.

"E'il mio destin così ..."

He was remarkably content to be here. To be with her. Sharing something ... magical.

"Godiamo, la tazza, la tazza e il cantico,"

Let tomorrow come as it would, and let yesterday fade into the past.

"la notte abbella e il riso;"

She liked his voice. She liked spending time with him. She ... liked him.

"in questo, in questo paradiso ne scopra il nuovo dì."

He felt, for the first time in a very long time, complete.

It swept her away, just as music and theater, sometimes movies, sometimes even books, often did. The lavish sets and costumes made it so real, the soaring notes and voices resonating all through her.

Watch the eyes, Ammy, watch the eyeglow.

She had the feeling though that if E.N. -- Greg -- had been merged with a Kheldian rather than suffused by dark magics, he would have been eyeglowing like crazy right about then. Maybe even flying, just couldn't help it, just wouldn't be able to stay in his seat.

Gosh it was always so great when something like this happened, something that made her feel like not such a weirdo for getting the way she did, just ... just going to, going with, letting the wonder carry you away, reveling in the whole joy and delight of it. So that right then for that moment nothing else mattered, nothing else even had to exist.

With a happy little sigh, she curled both her arms around the one of his closest to her, and sort of snuggled in, resting her head on his shoulder and just letting the opera surround and wash over her.

He closed his eyes at the end, one hand resting over Ammy's as her arms wrapped around his, and let the ache of Ah, Violetta sweep through him. As the opera swept to its close, Violetta dying in Alfredo’s arms, Greg sighed softly, opening his eyes only when the lights came up for the curtain call.

"God, this is what life is all about. Music, and laughter, and hugs, and ... and someone special to share it with."

He stood to applaud, trying surreptitiously to wipe the tear tracks off his face, then walked over to the bucket containing the cider. Returning with two flutes of sparkling cider, he handed one to Ammy, then leaned against the railing, smiling at her, his eyes curiously vulnerable.

"It means a lot to me to have you here, Ammy ... Amelia. I honestly can't remember when I've had such a good time with someone."

Looking over his shoulder at the throng below, he said, "I hope you don't mind waiting about twenty minutes for the lobby to clear out. I'd really rather not have to fight my way out of here." He looked at her, his grin turning a bit wicked again. "Then again, I suppose we could fly ..."

"Oh-em-gee not in this dress!" she blurted, then blushed, then blushed more as he glanced at the skirt, helpless guy instinct probably.

"Um ... I mean ..." Ammy fished in her little purse for her compact and made a big deal of checking to see that she hadn't made too huge and raccoony a mess of her makeup there at the beautiful tragic ending. The damage wasn't horrid, she had teared up and leaked some but she hadn't gone absolute waterworks, thank god.

"We'll wait," he said.

So, wait they did, leaning at the box's rail, drinking cider and nibbling the delicious delicate little treats, watching the audience disperse, elegant ladies in furs and jewels, debonair men in suits and tuxes.

"Did you like it?" Greg asked.

"Oh gosh it was fantastic," she said, and they discussed the performance until the last few stragglers had vanished up the aisles.

A few did still linger in the lobby, the small conversational knots with which Ammy was plenty familiar from the parties and events her parents took her to, but this time no one paid much attention to a couple of teenagers slipping past.

Then they were out. Mutual agreement was that they were too stuffed again to stop anyplace for coffee, so they started for her house.

As they walked along the darkened streets, Greg ran through the songs he still knew well enough to sing. Now that his offer had been made, he realized that he was looking forward to the attempt.

After all, even if I screw up, at least I'll have tried. And heck, maybe it won't be too bad. Just ... breathe, Greg. Just breathe.

When Ammy told him they were close enough to her house that she should continue on alone, he smiled, saying, "Okay, but first ... I ... I do want to try singing. Somehow it's not as scary thinking about doing it with you around. I just didn't want to try it when I was alone, y'know? And ... I trust you."

Stepping back a pace, he said, "Tonight just seems like a Verdi night, so ... how's Ingemisco from his Requiem sound to you?"

He inhaled, then began. "Ingemisco ..."

At the first few notes, Greg winced, then stopped. Clearing his throat, he swallowed heavily, then said, "Let's try this again, shall we? And this time, I'll prepare." He chuckled ruefully. "Maestro Karajan would've kicked my butt if I'd tried that cold around him."

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the band out of his hair, shaking it around loose around his face. He closed his eyes, drawing the feeling of the Mass around him, and hearing the swelling notes ringing in his memory. He then knelt, hands clasped in supplication. Although hesitant at first, he quickly felt himself swept up in the music, his voice soaring into the heavens.

"Ingemisco tanquam reus;
culpa rubet vultus meus;
supplicanti, supplicanti parce, Deus.
Qui Mariam absolvisti,
et latronem exaudisti,
mihi quoque spem dedisti."

His eyes opened as he looked up Ammy, his voice gentling.

"Preces meae non sunt dignae,
sed tu, bonus, fac benigne,
ne perenni cremer igne.
Inter oves locum praesta,
et ab haedis me sequestra,
statuens in parte dextra."

Bowing his head, his hair falling to cover his face, he sang once more, softly,

"Inter oves locum praesta,
et ab haedis me sequestra,
statuens in parte dextra."

(( Guilty now I pour my moaning,
All my shame with anguish owning;
Spare, o God, Thy suppliant groaning.
Through the sinful woman shriven,
Through the dying thief forgiven,
thou to me a hope hast given.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing,
Yet, good Lord, in grace complying,
Rescue me from fires undying.
With Thy favoured sheep o place me,
Not among the goats abase me,
But to Thy right hand upraise me. ))

Ammy just stood, stunned to speechlessness, as the last notes faded away. The rough-shivery-tormented quality of his voice, and the intensity and emotion he poured into the song, combined to make it something even more breathtaking than the opera they'd just attended.

That had seemed real.

This was.

It finally dawned on her that they weren't alone in the night ... a man in his robe had shuffled down from the house in front of which they stood to fetch the mail, and was stock-still on his lawn with the night dew soaking into his slippers and his hands full of bills and catalogs ... an elderly couple walking their elderly Pomeranian up the other side of the street had stopped and held onto each other, the tears on their cheeks sparkling under the streetlight ... a woman in bike shorts and sports bra was jogging in place in dreamy slo-mo with her earbuds dangling forgotten around her neck.

Greg exhaled heavily, and lifted his head to look again at Ammy. His eyes were so deep, all question and vulnerability. Her whole heart ached from it.

"That was ..." Gosh, she couldn't do more than whisper. "Greg, that was incredible!"

"Really?"

"Really!" She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, then hurled herself against him and hugged him so tight-tight-tight he staggered back a step. Laughing, his arms went around her for balance as much as anything else, or they might have both gone sprawling onto the dewy lawn of the bathrobe man.

"Thank you, Ammy," he murmured into her ear.

"Thank you!" she insisted.

She felt him tense as he noticed their small audience. He cleared his throat, disengaged, chewed his lip a little self-consciously. The elderly couple, eyes shining with tears, patted their frail old hands together at him in polite but fervent applause. The jogging lady gave Greg an admiring nod, Ammy a wink and a you-go-girl thumb's up, then proceeded on down the street. The man in his slippers swallowed thickly, smiled at them, hoisted his handful of catalogs in a sort of salute, and returned to his house.

"Jeez," Greg muttered. "How long were they there?"

"Don't know," Ammy said. "But I think you totally made their night. Mine too!"

When the little crowd had dispersed, he looked at Ammy again, reaching out to take her hand.

"I really had a wonderful time tonight, Ammy. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Stepping closer to her, he gently brushed her bangs away from her face with his other hand, murmuring, "And, um, I'll wait for your answer, but ... I'd really like to take you to the opera again sometime, and ... y'know, maybe dancing or something."

He studied her for a moment, staring into her eyes, then said, "I know you need to get home, and I know it's selfish of me, but I really wish tonight didn't have to end."

Come on, Greg, just ask her. She's here, there's moonlight, you know you want to, just ask. One kiss. One goodnight kiss. Just ask ...

Capturing her other hand, he sang softly,

"Donna non vidi mai, simile a questa!
A dirle: io t'amo,
a nuova vita l'alma mia si desta.
'Manon Lescaut mi chiamo!'
Come queste parole profumate,
mi vagan nello spirto
e ascose fibre vanno a carezzare.
O sussurro gentil,
deh! non cessare!"

(( I have never seen a woman, such as this one!
To tell her: " I love you",
my soul awakens to a new life.
'Manon Lescaut is my name.'
How these fragrant words
wander around in my mind.
And come to caress my innermost fibers.
Oh! sweet thoughts,
Ah, do not cease! ))

Lifting her hands to his lips, he gently kissed each palm, then pressed her hands together.

"Goodnight, Ammy. Sleep well."

If his voice was shivery, and his singing was even more shivery, having him lift her palms to his lips and give them soft kisses like that was ...

Oh swoon.

"I had a wonderful time too," she said. "Again sometime, sure, I'd like that a lot."

He smiled. And then, mostly because she just couldn't help it and partly because of what she'd seen in his eyes, she leaned in and brushed a quick, light kiss on his cheek. Blushing like crazy as she did it, could hardly meet his gaze after except in the most skittish shy glances, but she was glad she'd found the nerve anyway. Gladder when his smile both warmed and brightened.

"I, um ..." She made vague motions in the direction of her house. "... really do ..."

Greg nodded, still smiling.

"See you Sunday if not before?" Ammy said. "And ... call me ... if you want?"

"I will."

She walked backwards for a couple of steps, not wanting to go but knowing if she was even two minutes later than she'd said she'd be, her parents would make the Spanish Inquisition look like cocktail party small talk. But walking backwards in the heels was a bad idea and she realized she better just turn around before she finished the evening tripping and falling flat on her behind or something. Which would be a major bad idea in this dress.

"Goodnight, Greg," she said, and waved, and turned to head for home.

***

A Royals story

2009-02-05T15:36:02Z

Knave of Swords.

It wasn’t the best name, never something he’d choose to go by in Paragon City, but for here, for now, for this particular errand, it would do.

Would it fool Victor and Anna, if they made good on their threats to follow him to the Rogue Isles?

He doubted it. They each had connections here, contacts, informants. They’d track him down sooner or later.

If they did follow.

Anna might come to her senses and leave well enough alone.

Victor?

Not so much.

Reg knew he would have just one shot at this. It’d have to be quick, concise, and decisive.

They’d be banking on the arrogant, indolent habits of a lifetime, so, when their initial search turned up a reservation in his usual alias at the Double Sixes Hotel and Casino in scenic St. Martial, they wouldn’t bat an eye. They’d be disgusted at his apparent lack of discretion and subtlety, maybe, but that was fine. Let them be disgusted. Nothing new to him. And well worthwhile if it led Victor to go looking for him on the wrong island.

***

He had never seen her, the hell-bronze plate having already been welded over his eyes before she’d intervened.

But that was all right. He didn’t have to know what she looked like. He knew her voice, like smoke, throaty and amused. He knew her scent, cinnamon underlain with burnt matches and musk.

He knew the heat of her grasp, the inhuman feel of her skin, from when she’d taken his chin in hand and turned his face side to side, as if inspecting livestock. He knew her laugh.

And now, he also knew a little more.

Nyx Phobos.

Thank you, Anna. Her remarks meant to warn him off his purpose had provided him the name, as well as the names of her organization, and several of her associates.

That two of these Lords of the Abyss were his former Olympic teammate Francesca and wayward cousin Myles … that made for slight complications. He didn’t want to end up in a situation where he’d have to hurt either of them.

If they came after him, bent on revenge or Rogue Isles justice or whatever they wanted to call it, fair enough.

***

So … there she was … that was her … the demoness, the she-devil, the hell-bitch herself.

He was still old-Reggie enough to think that Victor’s objections might make a little more sense now. If you ignored the smoldering wings, the horns, the tail, the scarlet skin …

Not that those features were easy, or even possible, to ignore. Shapely or not, admirably filling out those snug grey leather pants or not, she was evil, and she had to be destroyed.

This, though, wasn’t the place. Or the time. Too open. Too public. Too many villains who might be apt to interfere.

Didn’t help matters any that she was currently standing with, and chatting to, someone that even Reg recognized by reputation. Tyrant Nadir himself, the one who’d just about killed Robbie and that chirpy blonde from the Liberty Alliance.

The conversation, such as it was, seemed fairly one-sided and was over soon enough. Nadir departed with a sweep of dark feathers. But then two others joined the she-devil. One was Francesca, dressed not in sleek fencing attire but some sort of barbarian-babe getup. The other was a tall lanky freak in a bug costume.

The trio set out, and Reg followed. Patient. Waiting. Biding his time.

***

He followed them through blocks of peaked-roof buildings, skirting Goldbrickers in their retro jumpsuits and jetpacks … avoiding rustic-clad men with crossbows and protest signs … steering clear of Wyvern and Arachnos agents alike.

At the edge of the town proper, the trio paused and exchanged a few words. Reg was too far away to catch more than a few – quartermaster, Nerva, Longbow. The bug-man tipped a jaunty salute, said, “Seeya boss!” then he and Francesca headed off, leaving Nyx Phobos on her own.

Perfect.

She continued on, up into the rough, craggy hills. Rock bluffs and rearing boulders, steep grassy slopes, wind-stunted trees, an immense pipeline snaking across it. The landscape rose toward the two skyscraper-high curving spires of stone, the horns of the devil, dominating Cap au Diable.

The entire region seemed to buzz and pulse with hellish power. He was sure that if he were to look at it through unshielded eyes, he’d be able to see it, that energy, coming up from the earth like red steam.

Clearly, the wizards of the Circle of Thorns could feel it, could tap into that power. Small groups of robed figures, spectral demons and hordelings worked their rituals on their hapless victims.

Reg supposed he should have known. It almost had to be here, here in the shadow of those great horns, that Nyx Phobos would make her lair.

He began stealthily closing in.

***

With a resigned sigh, Victor Royal hefted his shield. “Here we go.”

“I can web him, he is in range,” Anna said.

She had stopped by one of her secret caches as soon as they’d arrived and was fully geared-up, armed to the teeth. Annarchy Regal, back in the Isles. No one had mentioned it outright, but the few people who’d seen her

“Not yet. Let me talk to him. Let me try.” He clambered down from the rocks.

“You have already tried.”

“One more time. I have to do this.”

“You are as bad as he is.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And if he attacks you?”

“If he does, and he beats me … shoot him in the leg? Politely?”

She snorted. “I could gas grenade both of you, tie you up and return you to Paragon City forcibly.”

“That would work too. For a while. Until next time. Stay here, keep an eye out in case Little Bugman comes back or any of the other Lords show up.”

“What about Phobos?”

“I’ll deal with her. If she stabs me in the back you have my permission to... shoot her in the leg. Politely.”

She gave him a that’s-how-you-get-into-these-messes look, but said nothing more.

***

The hell-bitch gave him a break by going out of her way to take down a pair of Agony Mages.

The poor bastards weren’t even doing anything in particular, only strolling around. She waded into them, didn’t bother to sneak up. Caught them by surprise. There was a brief cloud of dark-wreathed punches, and that was that.

Cross off two wizards.

As she crouched to see if they had anything of interest or value, Reg moved in for the kill.

He got two paces before she tensed. He’d made no sound, the wind hadn’t shifted, but she tensed, alert. Her head came up, then she rose and turned in a supple movement. She faced him. Saw him. Knew him. One eyebrow arched, as if to ask, oh, really?

Reg whipped out both swords, steel singing as the blades came free of the scabbards. They gleamed with preternatural light, with holy righteousness, with the blessings that Monsignor Vernon had bestowed on them.

The demoness flinched, and that sneering oh, really? look was replaced by something more apprehensive. Now she understood that he could harm her.

Smoky shadows seethed into being around her body, made her diffuse, hard to see.

He advanced. Nothing separated them but a grassy swath, bordered to one side by a lightly-wooded hillslope and to the other by a tumble of boulders.

Then Victor jumped down from one of those boulders, shield at the ready, and stood blocking his path. “Reginald, stop.”

***

“Step aside, cuz.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And you know I can’t let you get in my way.”

“Neither of us has a choice,” Victor said. His gaze was steady, his eyes were resolute, and his tone was regretful.

“I don’t want to fight you, Victor.” Reg kept half his attention on the she-devil, whose expression had gone from apprehension to astonishment. He saw her hands, which had been drawn up into darkness-gloved fists, relax somewhat, and lower.

“You think that’s what I want? Put down the swords, Reg. Let’s talk about this.”

“We have talked about it. Enough to know there’s no way we can change each other’s minds.”

“Compromise,” Victor said. “There has to be something.”

“Her heart, immersed in holy water.”

Victor shook his head, his gaze holding firm. “I need you to trust me on this one.”

“You’ve been corrupted.”

“Story of my life,” he said. “But this is different, and what you’re doing here is wrong. We both know it. You’re not a murderer.”

“On that much,” Reg said, “at least we can agree.”

“Then put down the swords.”

“Step aside.”

“No,” Victor said. “Sorry, Reg, but no. I won’t.”

***

The temptation to gas-bomb them all and sort it out later was next to overwhelming, but Anna managed to resist … thus far, at least.

Men. Bull-headed pea-brained egomaniacs to a one. Regal, Royal, or other, that single factor could be counted on as a universal.

Reginald shifted to a combat stance. Smooth and lithe, poised. The rapier and main-gauche glinting with a clean, unearthly white light. But even from here, Anna could see that his heart wasn’t in it.

Victor raised his shield and braced into it, weight balanced on the balls of his feet as Virgil and Robbie had been instructing him. His body language said that he knew what was coming and was trying to prepare himself for it, if anyone could adequately prepare themselves for pain, blood and defeat. Let alone someone as used to winning as was Victor Royal.

Nyx Phobos took a half-step toward them, mouth opening as if to protest. Anna chose that moment to move up alongside her. “This is between them,” she said in a low voice. “For now.”

“And you’re going along with that?” the demoness answered in kind.

Anna shook her head. “Men,” she said, with a grimace. “They have to have their pissing contests. When it goes too far, I will stop it.”

Phobos nodded, though the doubt etched on her inhuman features said that she wasn’t altogether convinced.

“No one dies here today,” Anna went on. “Unless it is absolutely unavoidable. Not even you.”

***

What Victor had been pretty sure of to start with was made inescapably clear in the first thirty seconds … he was hopelessly outmatched.

Never mind that he had several years on Reginald, not to mention more weight, more bulk, more muscle. A couple weeks of training, no matter how obsessive, grueling or diligent, could only go so far.

Whereas Reginald had been studying fencing since he was three. It was the only thing he’d ever taken seriously in his otherwise wastrel life. Even then, Victor knew, Reg had always fallen just short of what he could have become, if not distracted by his other hobbies and indulgences. He’d never had the full-blown competitive drive, the will to win, the refuse-to-lose mentality of …

Well, of Victor himself.

Until recently.

The Reginald he’d seen advancing on Nyx Phobos was driven. Determined. Unstoppable. With the added benefit of blessed weapons, he might have been able to do some real damage before she put her fist through his chest and pulled out his soul alive and screaming.

That Reginald, however, wasn’t the one facing him now as glowing blades flashed and steel rang. White sparks winked and flew when the rapier struck against Victor’s shield.

But Reg was holding back. Feinting, not because he was sizing up his opponent, not because he was toying with him, just feinting rather than attacking. Not pressing his advantage.

On at least three occasions already, Victor knew, his cousin could have landed a serious hit. Drawing blood. Maybe incapacitating. Maybe even fatal.

Victor hadn’t attacked either, which went against the grain. He had considered launching a kick or two at Reg’s arms, get the wrist or the elbow, try to knock the weapons from his hands. Instead, he kept his concentration on the shield, on anticipating the next blow.

He was aware of Anna watching. At any moment, she might decide they’d had just about enough of this tiresome male posturing, lob some stun or gas grenades, knock their heads together and call them both idiots.

He was also aware of Nyx Phobos watching, but was trying not to think about that because she represented a whole other batch of problems and complications he couldn’t focus on right now.

“Victor, please,” Reg said, “for the love of God, step aside! I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Put down the swords and we’ll find some other way to settle this.”

“There is no other way!” he shouted, voice breaking with despair.

And swung.

The rapier’s bright blade glanced off the rim of Victor’s shield, flicked up, and the tip slashed across his cheekbone with sudden stinging pain.

***

Victor recoiled, the eye on that side squeezed shut and watering, a thicker line of blood trickling down his cheek.

But even as he recoiled, his shield arm swept out with all of his powerful strength behind it … and connected. Hard.

The ancient metal embossed with the Royal family crest slammed into Reginald’s ribs, pitched him backward off his feet.

He landed on the grassy earth, grunting with the impact. The main-gauche clattered away against a rock. His dark-tinted glasses came off, bounced into the weeds, the blue-black lenses catching the sun.

Nyx Phobos started forward. Anna checked her motion with a curt, cursory gesture.

“Reg --” Victor began.

His eyes … something about them …

Quick as a leopard, Reg was up again. Strange eyes blazing, empty left hand raking his disheveled hair back from his forehead.

The rapier was still gripped in his right hand. He thrust out with blinding speed and unerring aim, over the shield Victor had unthinkingly lowered when he saw Reginald’s eyes.

The sword’s point went under Victor’s chin and stopped there, a hair’s breadth from piercing. The tip rested against his adam’s apple. He could feel it there, the steel cold and razor-sharp, indenting his skin. If he so much as swallowed …

***

He let his arm fall away, the already-lowered shield slipping its loops and dropping to the ground. His other arm went to his side. He eased his weight back to the soles of his feet and took a slow, careful breath.

His gaze held Reginald’s, the distance between them spanned by three feet of narrow, shining metal.

It only now occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Reg’s eyes since their respective hopsitalizations. They’d always been shielded by those blue-black lenses, and didn’t he remember hearing something about how it was to let his vision re-acclimate after the horrors he’d seen in Hell?

Having gotten just a glimpse of some of those horrors when Auntie Clarice showed him what she’d found on her telepathic journey, Victor could understand that. What he hadn’t realized was that the eyes themselves had been affected this way. Their normal color, a cool, reserved grey-blue, was striated now with darker lines that spread out from the pupils like cracks in glass.

Anna swore in a low mutter, but did not move. She’d know that a grenade, even a bullet, wouldn’t have been in time to keep that honed edge from slicing deep, the skin and tender flesh of Victor’s throat parting like water. A twitch, the reaction of reflex, was all it would take.

Nyx Phobos was …

Gone?

No. She wasn’t gone. He wasn’t sure how he knew, or if he just guessed, but she was not gone. Not at all. She was … close.

***

Inside, he might be quaking with pent-up emotions, but Reg knew that his hand, wrist and arm were steady as they had ever been.

Not so much as a tremor. The world’s most skilled surgeon could not have hoped for such flawless control.

His gaze was likewise steady, locked to Victor’s. Striated grey-blue to deep indigo.

He could see his cousin’s blood at the periphery of his sight. The cut on Victor’s cheek, a classic dueling scar, and the blood running down. Glimmering like neon and mercury, the brightest thing in a day that seemed to have gone overcast. Even the glow of his blade appeared dulled by comparison.

Hand steady, wrist steady, arm steady, gaze steady.

Then Victor spoke. “Do what you have to do, cuz.” His voice was quiet, calm.

A fast sideways cut or the merest lunge, and …

With a wrenching, anguished cry, Reg hurled his sword to the ground. He whirled from Victor and punched the nearest boulder as hard as he could. Fist met unyielding granite in a hideous crunch both loud and brittle.

Reg fell to his knees, shoulders slumped and head down, hair hanging in his face. His breathing was harsh gasps through clenched teeth as he cradled his broken hand to his chest.

“I can’t,” he said, without looking up. “You bastard … you know that I can’t.”

***

Victor picked up his shield. He crossed the trampled-down grass and knelt, hooking his free arm around Reginald’s shoulders to draw him into a half-hug that was firm but mindful of sore ribs and other injuries.

“It’s all right, Reg,” he said, voice pitched low. “It’s all right.”

A hoarse, pained laugh tore from Reginald’s throat. “You win again, cuz. As usual.”

“No,” Victor said. He pressed the side of his head to the side of Reginald’s. “You did. You won against yourself. I just helped you get there.”

“If you insist.” He exhaled wearily. “Truth, cuz? At the moment, I don’t give much of a damn.”

“Me either. Not like we’re keeping score.”

“Heh. That’s a first.” Reginald leaned against him like a tired little kid at the end of a long and busy day. That driving obsession was gone, drained away, leaving emptiness and exhaustion.

Victor looked up. Of course he could see no one standing nearby, but he knew she was there, knew she was close. He could feel her watching them.

“It’s time for you to go,” he told the unseen presence. Quietly, but in a way that left no room for argument.

The air seemed to stir as something moved through it. That cinnamon-brimstone scent surrounded him. He felt a light touch on his face … soft, warm fingertips grazing his jawline. Victor suppressed a shudder but did not pull away. The pad of her thumb wiped blood from his cheek in a slow pass that smeared it like warpaint.

Then the touch withdrew, the scent dissipated, the feeling of her presence faded, and this time Nyx Phobos really was gone.

***

Ammy Update!

2009-02-02T12:00:33Z

Weblog Date: 2-01-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

OMIGOSH!!!

I can’t go in very much exactly chronological order this time because though there was lots of other stuff this week, something happened tonight that … wow … just sort of … jeez I don’t even know what I’m typing … but E.N. … he asked me out!

On a date.

A real, DATE-date kind of date.

Not a “want to hang out some time” kind of date. Not a “just friends doing stuff” kind of date.

A real, actual, as in, he LIKES me, kind of date.

I know I said last time “what if …?” after the way he was at the club and saying I was hot (blush!) and there was the way Blaze was teasing me with those text messages and everything, going on about me and my “goth boyfriend” and how Aspy was gonna be all jealous (as if!)

But now …

Gosh. E.N. really does like me. He said so.

He called me gorgeous, too, which is kinda crazy I mean come on he’s seen Bashera and Rebecca Faith and them, you know, real KAPOW-gorgeous girls like that, and I’m pretty-ish cute maybe at the most but gorgeous? Me? Eep. And he said I was smart and fun and …

Well, Diary, of course I got all stunned and was babbling how the guys at school they just thought I was a brain, Straight-A’s Amelia, but the guys in the college classes I take just think I’m a kid, but E.N. was sure I MUST have a boyfriend so he hadn’t figured there was any point in asking me before but then he talked to Rebecca Faith and she told him I wasn’t seeing anyone, and …

And so we’re going on a date. Dinner out someplace, and then the opera.

Thursday night. THIS THURSDAY omigosh omigosh panic attack, I have a date a real date with someone who likes me in not just a for-friends-platonic kind of way …

Here I was sure he’d be all offended and embarrassed by that thing in the “Gossip League” column (I saw it at lunch on Friday, Diary, and I just about DIED in the cafeteria … if that wasn’t enough then when we got to the base last night after saving inPsyte – chronological order would really be helpful here but tough noogies it’s all gonna be a jumble because right now I’m all in a jumble – that page from the magazine was torn out and pinned to the bulletin board, Reign saw it and stuck it up there with a Post-It note all “aww”- and I just about DIED then too and went to pull it down from the board but was too late he’d seen it already and then he told me that his godfather even saw it …)

Anyways I forgot what I was saying.

He asked me out. On a date. A real date. He held my hand! He asked if he could give me a hug and I said sure and he did and it was nice and omigosh Diary what do I do if he asks if he can give me a goodnight kiss or something on Thursday … a REAL kiss?

Calm down Ammy. Breathe. Reflect. Consider.

Okay.

Okay.

So, um.

Right.

There’s a bunch more things I was meaning to write about, like hanging out in the Wrong Place with E.N. and Rebecca Faith last week until Meridian called us in to help against Black Swan and her nasty cold shadow monsters, and Blaze with his new powersuit to help control his fireworks and how he’s back okay in the head again now (though still being a BRAT with the text messages and teasing me!), and how I’ve been thinking lots about a proper battle cry for the group, I kind of like “Alliance Away!” because it’s sort of close to “Paragons Go” but maybe it’s too close and they wouldn’t go for it, the YPs I mean. And Tyrant – not Tyrant Nadir, but Tyrant-the-anti-Statesman – capturing inPsyte and us going to rescue her, or fighting Shadowhunter and what seemed like a thousand of his wolves with some bad Kheldians and shadow cyst crystals thrown in.

But I can’t concentrate even a little bit on any of that right now, Diary.

What am I gonna tell my parents? Normal social life, right. A date. And they’ll be all “with whom?” and what do I say then? They’d mega-lose-it if I told them the truth … and if I made like E.N. was an ordinary person they might insist on meeting him and even if he was dressed normal they’d kinda have to notice his voice, which I think is neat-sounding all low and husky like that it gives me the shivers sometimes but in a good-shivers way, but it’s not an ordinary person’s voice and they might think … I don’t know what they might think … but they’d have to meet him sooner or later anyways … if we did start dating for reals, but this is one date, jeez Ammy, don’t be all like Blaze who goes out with Luna like three times and starts calling her his girlfriend, this is ONE date so GET A GRIP already.

Right now is when I really wish there was somebody I could talk to about this stuff, but if I called Reign she’d just be “aww” again and Meridian, gosh, I can’t ask Meridian’s advice about BOYS eek, imagine, and Bashera would just want to have a refresher on The Talk and what I should do if he tried to make a pass or something (which he WOULDN’T because he’s shy and sweet, but I still remember what she told me in Japan about how if some guy got fresh I should grab his index finger and yank it backward to his wrist and then kick him you-know-where), and I am absolutely a hundred and twelve percent NOT asking Eros, and somehow it’d feel extra weird to call Aspy about this even though it shouldn’t but it would …

Gosh.

Sorry, Diary. Can’t think.

S.A.

***

The February issue hits the stands!

2009-02-02T11:56:06Z

Excerpted from the “Gossip League!” column in the February 2009 issue of SuperTeen Magazine:

– with Daniel (“James Bond”) Craig to bring the caped crusader of Haven to life on the big screen! But what Gossip League really wants to know is, which dreamy teen heartthrob should they cast as the Squire? Go to superteen.com or text 888-555-GSPL with your suggestions!

Starry, Starry Night?
Paragon City’s dark and mysterious mystic bad-boy, Ewige Nacht, received more than a top-ranking Security Clearance and a handshake from Statesman at a recent Atlas Park awards ceremony! As he left the stage, he was just about knocked off his feet by a gleeful embrace from that perky purple-clad darling of the Liberty Alliance, Star Amethyst! Could there be romance in the air?

Let’s Go Crey-Z!
Have you got what it takes, SuperTeens? Rumor has it that Crey Industries will be conducting a nation-wide talent search this summer, looking for a spokesperson aged 13-17 to represent Crey-Z, their new line of extreme energy drinks!

Too Cool For School?
After becoming overnight sensations on the ski slopes of Pocket D’s winter chalet, the super-duo of Arctic Fox and Miss Snowbunny have reportedly announced that they are dropping out of Elementalist Academy to pursue –

And more Ammy Update!

2009-01-27T14:54:10Z

Weblog Date: 1-27-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

So, gosh, you know, it seems a little weird in retrospect that after two weeks of fighting demons, ghosts, evil wizards and zombies that I’d just go out to a goth club …

But anyways, I forgot yesterday in my summaries to tell you the other stupid-embarrassing thing I did. That’s kinda pathetic huh when I do so many stupid and embarrassing things I can hardly even keep track of them.

It wasn’t on purpose, but that’s not saying much because really most of the time it isn’t! All I can say is that it was Cortex’s fault. As if the pain-eidolons weren’t bad enough (though, srsly, Epidural? Ulcer? Who NAMES these guys? Worse than that time I ran into a Skull who called himself Clavicle. I mean sheesh, what next, some Vahzilok named Coldsore? Scabies? Post-Nasal Drip?)

Where was I?

Oh yeah. Trying to get around admitting that I squidblasted Kiefer.

Oops.

Only once though! And it was one of my littler squidblasts. AND Kiefer’s pretty tough.

AND it was Cortex’s fault. A psi-eidolon (psidolon?), and he zapped me with some kind of confusion beam so I didn’t know what was what or who was who and before I realized what I was doing, vwoomp, I blasted Kiefer.

“You SHOT me!!!” he goes.

I was TRYING to blast Cortex, but that darn confusion beam …

Probably he’ll remind me of THAT forever too, that and the sewers. Just can’t win with that guy. Oh well though, could’ve been worse … could’ve been Adriana. At least Kiefer was willing to agree that it was an accident.

Oh and also, speaking of people who think I’m a ninny, guess who ELSE is back in town? Studious and Growwhl. I’m just glad Adriana mentioned it ahead of time because I wouldn’t have wanted to just run into them without warning. Which still doesn’t mean I’ll know what to say. Do I apologize for calling him a jerk? He WAS being one but I shouldn’t have called him that. I don’t know. Blah. And is Growwhl mad at me for making him get drunk like he did? I could ask Eros, he and Growwhl are friends, but …

Anyways.

Bridge, cross when you get there, etc.

Moving on!

We got some looks on the train, me and TD&S and E.N., all of us in black with the pale makeup and the dark eyeliner. TD&S, she didn’t care, she just gave them this cold look back. Like she’s daring them to say anything, just go on and try it, or better yet shut up and stay braindead-happy in your network sitcom conformist world.

And E.N. hardly seemed to notice; he and I talked about this note and amulet his godfather sent me, and about the security clearance ceremony since he just got notification that he gets to go, I promised to be there and cheer for him, since I remember what it was like being up there on the stage getting the certificate and shaking hands with Statesman and everything, all those people watching, it helps to have a friend or two in the crowd!

So, the club. La Bete Noir. My parents would have had simultaneous heart attacks the second they stepped through the door.

Diary, I had no idea there even WERE that many goths in Paragon City … and this was just one club! It was packed. Line outside to get in and everything. And I’d been worried about being dressed too skimpy, OMG, I did not need to worry about that because compared to some of the people we saw? I might as well have been wearing my full uniform! I think some of them only had on bodypaint and glitter, not that I was gonna get close enough to tell!

There were vampire types with silver jewelry and press-on fangs … there were girls leading guys around on LEASHES … there was a guy with a six-foot albino PYTHON he wore around his neck … there were some all done up Matrix-y with the slicked-back hair and long buttoned trenchcoats … and some done up all Victorian/Edwardian with the velvet and the lace … girls in the scariest push-up-overflow corsets you’ve ever seen … boots and spikes and buckles and leather … so many piercings … tattoos … hair that made my purple-and-black dye job look normal …

Inside the club itself was all black, matte black so there’s not a lot of reflection or glare, with these pewtery pillars and pewtery accents for trim and edging, and the spotlights were this multitude of tiny pale white and deep yellow specks that traveled slowly around the room, and the dance floor was this opaque flat dark marble with more of the pewtery stuff sort of inlaid into it, and the tabletops were also that dark marble, the booths and chair cushions were this rich dark-grey color, and there weren’t candles but these small electric flames in smoked crystal spheres.

And it was loud in a weird quiet way, where it SEEMED hushed but you KNEW it was loud … a hundred conversations going on all around you and weaving through it or running under it all this kind of low river of music … well, until the concert started, and then it was just plain LOUD, but that was later …

In this one cordoned-off section that E.N. said they carded you to get in and even then was by invitation only, there were these dark green stained glass windows and this drop-dead gorgeous hostess woman dressed up with fairy wings and about the lowest-cut skin-tightest dress I have ever seen and jet-black hair that went all the way to the floor, and E.N. said that was the Green Fairy Lounge, where they had absinthe parties now that it was legal again.

I tried not to be hideously obvious with the gawking and goggling, and I tried not to recoil too much, and I think I only said, “Eew!” a couple times out loud. Mostly I just stayed glued to E.N., I mean, I had his arm with BOTH hands because I thought if I let go even for a minute I’d end up lost in there someplace … and also because even with all those girls there in the scary corsets or glittery bodypaint, some of the guys were looking at ME, and it was really creepy the way they’d stare and heavy-breathe, and this one vampire guy made sure I saw him looking at me and then he licked his tongue across his lips and his tongue was SPLIT LIKE A SNAKE’S … yeah, so, I wasn’t going to let go of E.N. and I only hope I didn’t bruise handprints into his arm; I said he should tell me if I squeezed too tight and he just laughed and told me he didn’t mind.

We got a booth finally and sat and had sodas, and TD&S ditched us to hang out with some guy that I think was a drummer in a band, not the band we were there to see though, a garage band or whatever, he was this tight-t-shirt-and-eyeliner guy with spiky sticky-uppy platinum-and-black hair.

So it was me and E.N. and we people-watched and there were some girls who were people-watching E.N., including this one ghost-pale blonde in a ghost-gauzy white dress and gosh she kept giving me such a death-glare that I was afraid if I went to the ladies’ room she would follow me and tell me to stay the heck away from her boyfriend if I knew what was good for me, except I asked E.N. if he knew her (thinking she was maybe his ex or something?) and he said no, but she sure did seem like she wanted to get to know him, and I feel kinda guilty for, you know, being in the way cramping his style, but … he didn’t seem to mind that either, so … or at least he maybe thought it’d be rude to abandon me in the middle of this strange place with that forked-tongue vampire guy still slinking around out there someplace.

Then the concert started, we could see pretty well from the booth so we didn’t try and get closer which is good because the dance floor was crammed so full I don’t know how anybody could move let alone dance. These purple-red floodlights came up, from below and in front of the stage so the instruments cast big weird distorted shadows, and the music was really neat, not what I was expecting though I don’t really know what I WAS expecting, spooky-screechy-suicidal Halloween organ music or something, but this was … yeah … really neat!

After, I bought two CDs, and TD&S got a poster signed by all three of the Thou Shalt Not guys, but by then it was getting way late and I’d told my parents I would be home by twelve-thirty so we left … and since Mom and Dad went to bed already I was able to get in without them seeing me.

So, yeah, it was bizarre, and it was freaky, and it was very not the sort of thing I would ever have thought of doing on my own … but I had a good time anyways … and I was with friends so that’s what makes it all so great!

Oh, and the hair dye?

Well … it DOES wash out … mostly … after maybe five shampoos … but omigosh what a mess! The shower was just all streaked and splattered, it took me forever to get it all cleaned up. I hid my goth-outfit way in the very back of my closet too. But I’d do that again, sure! It was fun!

Okay, Diary, I think that catches up for now. Whew!

S.A.

***

Ammy Update!

2009-01-26T13:50:37Z

Weblog Date: 1-26-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

OMG. Two weeks ago I didn’t even finish my entry because we got that priority call about Victor Royal. And so much happened with that I don’t even think I could write it all out without my brain overloading. Snap-sizzle and the big mental bluescreen.

So, and hang on Diary because this is a severely rare thing for me, quick summaries!

Victor thing: met up with everyone, hugged E.N. for the Barbie, went underground into Oranbega, fought loads of demons, fought Diabolique, fought Infernal, found Victor, Aggressos got loose, two mega-demons fighting THROUGH you in lightform is just about the most awfulest experience EVER, saw something weird, demons escaped into Atlas Park, big showdown, really gruesome stuff after that I don’t even want to think about, got Victor his soul-bits back, realized that Ambrosia was kinda-halfway dead or at least her spirit was apart from her body, started to talk to E.N. about the something-weird I saw, annoyed Adriana again, tried to go home, had a meltdown.

Meltdown thing: freaked out over the demon stuff (Robbie and the poison, E.N. and the knife, and we’re NOT thinking about this again Ammy!) and the way only I seemed to freak out about it, maybe Studious had been right and I was too much a wuss for this; had to talk to someone, didn’t want to bother but HAD to, so I called A. and he met me and helped and let me get it all out of my system and as long as we’re NOT thinking about stuff we are NOT thinking about how it felt to have him hugging me like that so safe and nice like everything was going to be okay no matter what.

Adriana thing: she wanted to meet with me, eek, but I did, and we kind of had it out a little, I got kind of mad at her, didn’t call her a jerk but I didn’t do such a great job holding onto my temper; she was still on my case about the barging-in which I only did ONCE EVER and she makes like I do it all the darn time; but anyways I think we came out of it okay, even if we’re probably never going to exactly be pals, we can work together and hopefully put up with each other well enough the rest of the time that it doesn’t make everyone else all uncomfortable.

Ambrosia thing: so then we had to find Ambrosia’s body so her spirit could be reunited with it, more demons and ghosts, more Oranbega, more Infernal even because gosh some villains just WON’T quit but neither will we. Then E.N. and Subtle Radiance were able to lead some ritual but it needed lots of energy, big major cosmic-type energy, so Forge’s Flame was there and he’s the son of a god I think, and I was there with Farshine, and between us we could provide enough energy for the ritual and then Ambrosia was okay again, or as okay as you can be after something like that.

Blaze thing: well, after THAT some of us went back to the Wrong Place and I made floats and Blaze was being a real nut, he has been acting weird ever since the big explosion. At first all paranoid that the mind-readers were out to get him (except probably it’s that he thinks Sarah will read his mind about Luna and tell Milton and well gosh if he’s got secrets that are, you know, dirty, about Luna, then he’s right to be worried Milton will go berserk but I don’t want to think about that too much either!) and then he got ALL smartypants with me while I was trying to have a kind of important discussion with E.N. about the crystal thing.

Crystal thing: well finally I got around to asking E.N. about those crystals, the ones you see in Oranbega and the Hollows and places, the blue and green ones, and the hurty ones, and he told me how the Circle trap peoples’ souls in them and use them like batteries to give off pain and healy power and energy, which is just horrible, and he asked why, and so I told him about the one I saw that other time, the one I thought looked like it had an actual person inside, and he got ALL pale, I mean even not counting the makeup, and next thing I knew he had his shadowguy Goethe scoot off to talk to his godfather (E.N.’s, not Goethe’s) and then E.N. and I went to Pocket D to meet him, just when I’m thinking whew good no more demons and evil wizards for a while oh hey hi this is the avatar of a goddess of death, and he also summons zombies. Except he turned out to be a lot nicer and less scary than you’d think, Diary. I still don’t know a whole lot about all this magic stuff and how it works but I guess sometimes the Circle doesn’t just trap souls, they trap whole people, like a bug in amber or something, only alive and feeling it, imagine how bad that must be, trapped INSIDE one of those things, when most people can hardly stand to even be near them! I guess it was important and so now I wish I had gone ahead and said something earlier, instead of getting intimidated by Adriana. But E.N. and his godfather said they’d investigate and then yesterday I got a nice letter from E.N.’s godfather thanking me for my help and he sent me this really neat ancient amulet.

Kiefer thing: remember how I told you Kiefer Royal just suddenly quit and left? Weeks ago, right before what happened with Victor in the first place? Well, he’s back. Except I didn’t even know. I heard that Positron needed some help, I show up, he tells me oh good here I’ve assigned you a partner and it was Kiefer. He’d just got back, he said he didn’t remember anything after his fight with Victor until he woke up in Talos, and he was shocked when I told him what day it was; he’d been gone for weeks and all his memories were gone, like GONE-gone, stolen-gone, not just amnesia-gone or blocked-gone, and there were some residual chrono-particles so maybe it was time travel, or something, I don’t know, he doesn’t know for sure, all he knows is that he isn’t worried about his memories and he thinks maybe it’s because of an implanted suggestion, which sure does seem like something a person should be worried about, but he’s not, because he’s been made not to be. He’s so hard to talk to, Diary … though probably it’s just me … seems like anything I say is the wrong thing and he gets all mopey and depressed and says he doesn’t want to talk about it, but if I try and respect that and not talk about stuff then he thinks I’m mad at him and accuses me of being difficult. Well but anyways! We did all this hero work for Positron – dopey me I just HAD to go and say how fighting zombies was bad enough but at least we weren’t fighting them in the sewers, so of COURSE then the trail led us into the sewers to fight zombies and Kiefer says he is never gonna let me forget it, and I believe him. But after all that we did okay, I think, I didn’t make him go all Eeyore again (first time for everything!) and then, this was REALLY neat, we went to Firebase Zulu and he showed me around!

Firebase thing: omigosh, Diary! SO COOL!!! Really freaky, yeah, but so cool! Gravity geysers and floating islands of rock in this always-sunrise-colored sky, like Pocket D only ginormous and amazing, it was almost like what I imagine being in space must be like, so unearthly and awesome! Well, okay, maybe the rivers of is-that-blood? aren’t exactly awesome … eew … and the eyeball monsters are creepy … but it was just this amazing place, this amazing experience, and Kiefer took me to this place called the Chantry and he introduced me to an actual alien-god-guy-thing! Faathim the Kind, he’s called, and it was this big Wizard-of-Oz kind of scene and he’s floating there all … alien-god-guy-like … and he actually IS “kind” like in the name, and he had some ideas for approaches I could try taking with my parents about Farshine, since I don’t know what’s going to happen with the hypnosis stuff and Juris is right I really do need to do something about it myself before Mom and Dad do.

Other thing: um well this is … gosh … so … the other day, Mist was humming this Cupidian-sounding song, and Hawk (who is back from Hartsbrook now, so glad he’s better!) said it was a love song, a … how did he put it? A song for when you’re alone TOGETHER? And Mist sure didn’t learn it from him, he said, so that doesn’t leave many other Cupidians and you know how those arboreal types are, which must I guess mean she and Eros … OMG! Well then later Meridian told me that he knew, and Reign knew, and even Illyana knew (!!!) And eek let’s talk about THAT with Meridian, who’s kind of like my dad, well, not like MY dad but like A dad, the way a dad ought to be? But I mean it isn’t any of my business; I knew she liked him, you know, special-liked-him liked-him, and if they’re all okay with it then, well, yay for them … but … gosh!

Goth thing: TD&S and E.N. invited me to go with them to this club, La Bete Noir, to hear a band called Thou Shalt Not … how gothy can you get, right? I wasn’t too sure, but they are my friends and after all that stuff with the demons and his godfather it’d be kind of silly to tell E.N. no thanks that sounds too spooky for me. But then TD&S is all “only you have GOT to get some better clothes” and she dragged me out shopping and she dyed my hair purple and black, and then I went to the meeting last night that way because the concert was right after and there wouldn’t have been time, and with everything else going on it wasn’t likely that very many people would make it … well then surprise surprise Ammy, Meridian was back, first time I’ve seen him in weeks and I’m there all gothed out … and … E.N. told me I was hot, only he said HOT, like wow, stunned (the other week I thought Blaze was just being crazy teasing me like that but what if …?), and he applauded at TD&S for doing a great job and said I was going to make all the girls at the club all jealous. Then Aspy showed up and he was so shocked he dropped his soda and the bottle broke and glass and root beer went everyplace, it was weird I mean you hardly ever see him drop stuff or trip or anything, it’d be like Reign burning what she was making for dinner, but this is the second time I’ve seen something like that happen and I sure hope he’s okay. In the middle of all that we got an alert and had to rush off and there wasn’t time to change so I was fighting bad guys while wearing that outfit, that itsy little skirt that kept trying to flip up, and fishnets …

Flying thing: oh but Diary the best part of the whole night was when we were getting ready for the police to give us the go-ahead, waiting around behind this warehouse in Peregrine Island, and I asked if they wanted to see something neat and they all said sure so I did that thing where I extend out my energy and everyone around me can fly … they get eyeglow and fly … they FEEL it like I do … that whole wonderful uplifty joy better than anything else ever … and okay TD&S didn’t like it because she’s got a warshade and they don’t always get along with peacebringers … and Duo couldn’t really get the full experience … and Meridian had this fatherly indulgent proud-of-me thing … but E.N. thought it was great (“indescribable” he said), and Aspy was SO thrilled because he was flying, really flying no jetpack … and being able to do that with them, my friends, share that with them, people I care about so much and I could really show them something of what I get to feel all the time with Farshine? It was the best. Just the absolute best thing EVER.

Club thing: okay Diary that one’s gonna deserve an entry all its very own, partly because I can’t just do a summary and mostly because I have got to get ready for school!

S.A.

***

For chatlogs and collaborative ficbits bringing more of the story, visit:
http://forums.lastbastion.org/

Ammy update!

2009-01-12T17:11:05Z

Weblog Date: 1-11-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

So, last week remember I was at the meeting and I somehow got telling everyone about Grandmother and the Santa and all that? Ammy’s Therapy Hour? Well, there I was the next day, late the next day, I’d just FINALLY finished going through this big secret lab where Malta was encoding some stolen files they’d gotten from who-knows-where but it would have been bad news for sure if they’d been able to incorporate into their tech … anyways, I stopped them, I got the files and the prototype and turned them over.

No weird being-followed/being-watched feelings either. Must’ve maybe been a one time thing or a mistake or a stranger new hero or something. Still was bizarre, but hey, like everyone says, this is Paragon City, bizarre is just another way of life.

I went to the Liberty Alliance base to do my report and GUESS WHAT??? There was a big present waiting, it was addressed to me, there was a nice letter from Ewige Nacht – I TOLD you he was a total sweetie despite all that black gothy routine – and inside? Omigosh! It was, and I can still hardly believe it, JUSTICE WOMAN BARBIE!!! With the Justice Jet, and even the Justice Stealth Skywing!

Justice Woman Barbie! Still in the box even! And I know, bad Ammy, it would just about make the collector-types have kittens but I took her out of the box. I tell myself it’s okay because gosh I would have done the same as a kid, who wants a doll that just sits in the box and you can only look at it? Except as a kid, I would have done all sorts of even more terrible things, like … PLAY with her and take her OUTSIDE and stuff.

And yeah, I squee’d so loud it almost set off the base’s sonic-alarms … lucky nobody else was there and I had remembered to turn off my comm so I didn’t accidentally explode everybody’s eardrums and make them think I was being murdered by Lord Recluse or something.

I haven’t seen him yet to thank him though, will probably go bonzo when I do just because … well … SQUEEEE!!! What a nice thing to do and he didn’t have to, I mean gosh … but I’ll probably do something goofy and embarrassing like hug him are you even allowed to hug a gothy person? I can just hear TD&S saying how maybe that’s the way we do things in my happy rainbow sparkle conformist world but gawd they need their personal space to be alone with the pain that consumes them … or whatever.

Speaking of which, of TD&S, I don’t know about her sometimes, but she was telling me about some band that’s giving a concert at this club next weekend and she and EN are going and would I want to go along? Maybe she thought I’d say no and chicken out? Like, eew, I got goth on me!

But I said I would, why not, right? I like music, and some of the bands I listen to are maybe sometimes kinda classified as emo by some people and that’s practically the same, isn’t it? Besides, “normal social life,” remember? What’s more “normal social life” than going out clubbing with a couple friends?

Except then she told me there was absolutely NO WAY they would let me in dressed the way I usually dress, and so on Friday we met up after we both got out of school and she took me shopping and … eek … I don’t know, Diary … about the only thing I can think is it’s always real dark in those clubs, so it’s not like anybody would actually SEE me, certainly not anybody I knew, and even if they did, they wouldn’t recognize me … but boy, that stuff she got to put in my hair? She promised it washes out and she better be right because I don’t even want to THINK about what my parents would say.

I also hung out with Aspy a while, helped him fight Battle Maiden and a bunch of her Champions. Oh and remember how I said when I go lightform I can zip right through people? But how after that first time I try not to just go and zip through them without warning because it might freak them out or mess with their circuits if they’ve got armor or cyborg parts and stuff? Well, this time when I did, after the fight but before it crashed? He zipped right through me and laughed about how it was all tingly. So I guess it doesn’t freak him out either, which is good, and I was able to help in the fight even when there was that one guy with the Quantum gun … but Aspy was there to watch my back, just like he said, hee!

Quit it Ammy. Anyways, after that we were going to hang out but then there were zombies, gosh, I wish they’d figure out what causes that because it’s still just the creepiest nastiest thing when BLARGH up they jump out of the ground especially those awful Frankenstein-monster stitched together skin-golem guys, yuck, they’re even worse than the Nightmares.

Well and then a couple days later I was helping out this bunch of other heroes I didn’t know but Sister Psyche had some problem with bunches of Freaks – and ZOMG bunches! Makes the other day with Mimi look like hardly any! – which took hours and in the middle of it I was flying across Talos and guess who I saw kicking around some Warriors? So I flew up behind him and said “Guess who?” only I didn’t try putting my hands over his eyes ‘cause he might have combat-reacted and judo-thrown me into a car or something just like out of reflex, except when I told him that, teasing, he said he would’ve known it was me … though when I went guess-who in the first place he goes, “Sister Psyche?” which was weird because how did HE know that’s what we were doing?

After that – hang on –

Omigosh! Alert call top priority! They maybe found Victor Royal!

Gotta go, Diary! More later!

S.A.

***

Ammy Update!

2009-01-06T08:52:52Z

Weblog Date: 1-05-09
Entered by: Star Amethyst

Dear Diary,

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

First post of 2009, whee! And things are going good, off to such a good start that I kinda almost wonder if I should maybe be worried that there’s going to be some kind of big ugly backlash and it all turns to crud. But that’s more negative-thought and we’re all done with that, right?

So!

Well the first thing I would really want to tell you about, Diary, is more of that cross-my-heart-won’t-ever-tell stuff so I can’t but … gosh … remember I was hoping that I’d be able to get through that dinner party without embarrassing myself TOO bad?

Almost. Eek. And I thought his dad thought … no, you know what? Let’s just skip it, huh?

MOVING ON!!!

Hee. Anyways.

Everything’s good so far with the Liberty Alliance. I helped out one of the new guys, Ater Solis, with some stuff involving the Lost, and while we were in Perez Park we saw the Kraken – saw and fought the Kraken – and it’s this big mulchy green blob monster, like those little mulchy blob monsters they have in the swamps there, only the size of a Winter Lord.

I’ve also spent a bunch of time at the chalet when not crimefighting. Enjoying it while I can before they closed for the season. Still can’t get the hang of the skiing. I love it, but whoosh over the side I go, pretty much every time. And gosh Snaptooth he sure never gives up! I collected oodles of candycanes and presents though, so many presents that I had a special bin installed in the LA base to store them all. Need to remember to tell people they’re there so they can help themselves.

Well and so then I met up with Mimi, Mimi Royal, who is always way fun. We had this Nice Girl and Naughty Girl team-up thing going for a while. I was Nice Girl obviously. In my white holiday outfit with my shiny halo, and her all in red and black with her fiery halo. We fought a LOT of Freakshow. I mean gosh. Hundreds, it seemed like. Wasn’t really that many but the way most of them aren’t smart enough to stay down you have to fight them twice, and then more and more of them kept rushing in at us out of nowhere. Whew.

Then after, oops … see, it was time for the Sunday Young Paragons meeting, and Xeno Royal got on the coalition comm band asking if they minded if he dropped in, and Mimi’s all “heh, oh just go, that’s what I always do,” and I said “well that’s because you’re YOU,” meaning gee she’s MIMI, she’s a ROYAL for gosh sakes, she’s got that clout all the time already anyways so it’s not like she has to prove anything to anybody.

And Condensate’s all “wow Star Amethyst you’re the one that beat Nadir,” which was … um … strange … because I mean for one thing it wasn’t just me, it was me and Robbie, and it was Robbie who found him, and we didn’t exactly beat him we collapsed a cave on him so we could escape before he ZOMGkilled us and then he got away from Longbow after … so, you know, I don’t think it exactly counts or anything.

And then Adriana’s all “we don’t MIND if you drop in we just wish you people would ASK first,” and then when we were done with the Freaks Mimi asks me if I’m planning to go and I tell her that um gosh she should go ahead but I maybe better not and she says that she thinks they don’t like her much anyway, only she says it over the coalition band again, so everybody heard …

Oh sigh.

But really, like I was going to go? To a YP meeting? After what happened last time? I haven’t even set foot in their base once since then. And Mimi’s thinking they don’t like HER much? She wasn’t responsible for two of their leaders up and quitting. If anybody’s not welcome around there … sheesh.

Well but it’s not ALL of them that don’t like me. Eros and Illyana, for instance, and you know what they gave me for Christmas? A wisp! This little blue Croatoa fae will-o-wisp thing, Eros said he found it stuck in the branches of a treetop and thought maybe I’d like to have one as a pet! And there’s CG and Zack and Jet Scout and them. So not ALL of them. Heck most might not even care. Just some that don’t like me, but the some that they are are the some that can make it WAY not-welcome-not-comfortable.

Then there’s Aspy of course … we’re actual FRIENDS now, real friends, which is a little weird (what with the silly fangirl autograph stuff) and even weirder when I think that he might even be the closest thing I could have to a BEST friend, how bizarre is that? But it’s like he really understands me and I feel like I could tell him just about anything and he doesn’t mind that I talk so much. He even said he likes it that I talk so much, that he used to sidekick with this hero who was the whole stern-and-brooding type that hardly ever said more than two or three words at a time, so it’s nice. Distracting though, him being just so goshdarn cute and everything … but …

Oh! Speaking of the stern-and-brooding type, the other night I was out in PI fighting Maltas and this Gunslinger was teleporting around the way they do and I was afraid I’d lose him he’d get away? Well suddenly there was this big thump and there the Gunslinger was on the pavement behind me, someone knocked him out and dropped him off a roof or something so I looked up and there’s this guy standing there … a hero, the grim-silent-sentinel-kind, but I couldn’t get a good look it was so quick and he was all against the moon backlit … he seemed kinda familiar but at the same time not … and there was this couple seconds where it felt like he was staring at me, not exactly threatening but not exactly, you know, friendly … and then he was gone.

I don’t know WHAT that was all about but it sure … gosh … gave me a shiver. I even wondered later if this was one of those Time Traveler From A Dark Future thing, some someone-I-knew-years-older or something come back to … warn me or … watch me … or …

I don’t know. But, brr.

Anyways.

Well and then we had our usual LA meeting, only when I got there you know who was there? Rebecca Faith! I hardly ever see her for real in person. But she’s way nice and invited me to sit with her … and later, when we got up, this threw me for a serious loop but … I’m taller than her. How is THAT?

I mean gosh this is BEX, this is Rebecca Faith, THE Rebecca Faith, the Aspirant’s girlfriend, a Young Paragon, someone infused with the powers of a GODDESS … I always had this idea she was tall. Like, TALL-tall. Like Bashera-tall. Supermodel Amazon tall with nine miles of leg. Not … not like half a head shorter than ME. I guess it doesn’t really matter because even not-tall she’s got all this presence and poise and she’s gorgeous and perfect and everything.

Still threw me for a loop though. But it was neat to have her there and I was able to point her out to Flamenette like “there, see, I told you so!”

Oh and she did get my message, Flamenette I mean, and we’re gonna start fresh and I don’t know if we’ll get along exactly great but we can try, right?

And Duo … Duo was I don’t know why but dressed up like one of the catgirl warriors from that episode of Epsilon Force: Nebula Adventures, when they go to Felinius Nine? It was FREAKY, I mean especially Duo of all people, with these swords that had eyeballs on them that would LOOK at you? Eep! Though it was pretty funny when she sneaked up behind Flamenette that way and scared the bewillies out of her.

So and then Blaze blew himself up. How many times have we warned him to not flick his lighter when he’s got pockets full of fireworks? But does he listen? NO. And BOOM. Like, scorch marks on the carpet, and the smoke alarm went off kind of boom. The explosion threw him all the way over the bar and we had to spray him with extinguishers again – just after, I swear, I asked him kind of snippy if we were going to HAVE to spray him with extinguishers – and Aspy zapped him with a medi-healer thingie and I zapped him with my fizzy green healy power and then I smacked him in the face … as a friend, for his own good, but also because he HAS to quit doing stuff like that and now I feel guilty about smacking him and will have to apologize but GOSH!!!

If I hadn’t’ve, I think Bashera might have strangled him for the damage to her jacket. Ooh was she mad! And Mr. Wrong, he has loads of insurance, thank goodness for that, and Blaze is probably right it’ll come out of his check … still, though. Who’s going to have to explain to Luna if her boyfriend ends up in the hospital and not because the villains put him there but because he was goofing around with his fireworks AGAIN and was smart enough and fast enough to SET HIMSELF ON FIRE???

Well he left after that. Maybe some day we’ll have a Liberty Alliance meeting without some kind of minor-moderate-major disaster …

Then Juris Arcanus came in and HE is having a problem with Professor Thidwick, Mr. Earth-For-Humans and the head of Dad’s department AND Milton and Luna’s uncle. I guess Prof. Th. is after Juris now for him being involved with us, and having powers, and stuff like that. They’re even scheduled to take their debate on a talk-radio program. I would absolutely vouch for Juris but somehow I think that’d be a bad idea in all kinds of ways, like, me being Kheldian, and me being someone he might recognize, and the trouble it’d stir up with my parents.

Somehow I ended up telling everybody about that Christmas with Grandmother and the Santa and how mad she got when I asked for Justice Woman Barbie and the Justice Jet. It’s been sloshing around in my head though since the holidays and you know me, Diary.

Things have been actually mostly okay with Mom and Dad though. At least, they haven’t said anything more about wanting me to quit heroing or get un-merged with Farshine, not that I know of. It’s a LITTLE bit awkward how they seem more okay to leave me alone now that they think I’m … kinda sorta … dating … even though I’m not … but …

Anyways.

We were joking at the meeting how it must be Goth night but the rest of us never got the memo, since Ewige Nacht was there and so was Totally Dark ‘n Stuff, the new girl. Almsman has this black-and-white uniform, too, but said he was too old to be into that, he was in his thirties or something, but I thought he looked real impressive. I wonder sometimes about the stuff he says though, the angels and cherubs and everything. Way theological-metaphysical, right?

I’m not sure how really gothity-goth EN and TD&S actually are … TD&S maybe, those big clunky boots and the way she does this LOOK that says “why baw-ther, you’re all going to DIE anyway” … but EN, for a guy who dresses like he’s in a Tim Burton movie and whose name translates as Eternal Night and who’s got this kind of raspy-gravelly voice and these darkness powers and was raised by a villain … turns out to be a real sweetie when you get to know him!

I mean yeah so okay he looks like he should be depressed and gloomy all the time going on about how life is empty meaningless pain and cuts himself with razors or something … but he laughs a lot, and he makes fun even of himself with the eyeliner … and we went out and fought a bunch of Arachnoses and Council and Carnies together and it was pretty neat, he’s got a wisp like mine and this shadow-servant-thing he can summon, and he was all impressed with my Kheldian stuff.

We talked a lot, in between fights. I told him about Farshine, and he told me about his godfather and the Circle of Thorns and what they did to him, and I think we got along really well. He even said how beautiful the lightform was, though he told me not to take it the wrong way, which … c’mon, how wrong could I take it? The lightform thing IS beautiful and amazing and wonderful! Like I was going to be insulted? Gosh!

Okay, Diary, I think that catches up mostly, and it’s late, so bye for now!

S.A.

***

Chatlog links for the curious :)

More Ammy!

2009-01-02T00:24:49Z

(by SkyStreak, player of The Aspirant; posted with permission)

It was supposed to have been simple. A mission that was less than 300 yards from his apartment. They could go over, defeat the bad guys, and get back, and no one would be the wiser. Now, he had to answer to Mid-Knight.

And then there was also…

Whipped cream? He thought as he headed to the dining room following Amelia. Whipped cream!?! Where the heck did that come from?

Sure, he had been enjoying the time that he and Amelia had been spending together, but it was totally platonic. Perfectly innocent. He had a girlfriend. A drop dead gorgeous girlfriend. A drop dead gorgeous girlfriend with whom he had innumerable things in common with. Who was madly in love with him. Who he was in love with.

Sure, it’s not like they could actually go out on dates. But that wasn’t a big deal at all really…

But, he had to admit it was nice being able to go out and do some almost normal things with a person his age…

And that the person he was doing those things with was very pretty…

…and smart….

…and did that thing with her fingers on the back of his neck while they were dancing at the museum that he was 99.9% sure she had no idea she was doing even though it made it really hard to focus on much of anything while she was doing it…

…and then there was the whole “Taking things to the next level” thing with Bex that was stressing the two of them out…

…That, based on the box of condoms Magpie Nine had given to him at Wrong Place the other night, she was, obviously, talking about to other members of the Young Paragons about….

But still….

Whipped cream!?!

He sighed, shaking his head, as he took his seat at the table for dessert, strategically avoiding the accusing glare of his father and mentor.

Totally platonic. he thought. Perfectly innocent.

Moving on. He thought, resolute.

He was unfocused on the conversations around him as he helped himself to a slice of the flourless chocolate cake that was one of the few violations of his rigid diet he allowed himself.

Suddenly, he realized Amelia was trying to get his attention from the seat directly across the table.

“Hmm?” he asked trying to remove himself from his thoughts which he had yet to successfully ‘move on’ from.

“You want some of this?” she asked.

He stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to figure out what she was asking him. He tilted his head, like a confused puppy, as if asking a question.

“This.” She said, pointing.

He looked around, alarmed.

Was she pointing at herself!?!

In front of all these people!?!

She can’tbe… He told himself.

“Some of what?” he asked, hesitant.

She looked at him oddly, and it was then that he realized she was pointing at the bowl sitting right in front of her.

“The whipped cream.” She replied.

Did she just say “Whipped cream”!?! His mind raced in a panic.

“For what!?!” He said, his voice cracking loudly. Loud enough that most of the people at the table turned to look at him.

“For your dessert?” She asked, clearly confused.

He looked at the bowl, at her, then at the cake, and realized what she was talking about.

He exhaled in relief and nodded rapidly in the affirmative as he quickly reached for the bowl, knocking over a glass of dessert wine, and in failed effort to keep it from spilling, proceeded to knock over not only, that glass, but also a cup of coffee and a crystal dessert dish, spilling the contents of all three.

As he attempted to clean up the mess and avoid the looks of the people at the table, Amelia in particular, his mother gracefully stepped in.

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s not usually this clumsy.” She said.

“No.” His father continued, analyzing Arthur with his gaze. “He’s never clumsy.”

**

(by Christine)

She leaped straight up and came down with all her white-purple Kheldian force channeled into both fists, the feeling one of terrific and scary abandon, and BOOM the Hercules-Class Titan tiddlywinked off its big metal feet to land with a resounding crash on the pavement.

An electric-blue Sapper bolt missed her by inches and she went for him next, since the Gunslinger had done that sneaky teleport-away thing they did. Tactical Operatives fired at her, ping-ping-ping into her shimmering lavender energy shield.

“Get Star Amethyst!” Another wave, gosh, they were mad.

Flare, stomp, eyebeam, dodge, punchy-punchy, stomp, flare, eyebeam, ow, Gunslinger was back, brr ice ray, lobster, STOMP-wham, Gunslinger gone again darn it, revert, flare, seeker-bursts, eyebeam.

Then a moment’s reprieve, panting for breath. Quick count. Still no Gunslinger, where did he go, she couldn’t just leave with one of them unaccounted for –

Thump.

Ammy whirled and there the Gunslinger was, crumpled and out cold.

Huh. That was weird.

She looked around. Saw no one. Had that oh-so-cliché feeling of being watched, though. Crey sharpshooter? Glowing like she was, she knew she presented a pretty good target.

Looked up.

There above her, a shape on the rooftop, silhouetted against the rising moon. Dark and dramatic. Caped and cowled. A grim crusader, a silent avenger of the night.

“Um … hi?” Ammy said.

No answer, only intense scrutiny from unseen eyes.

A siren wailed down the street. She glanced that way, only for a split second, but when she looked up again, he was gone.

***

Infernum, Part 3

2008-12-30T13:19:10Z

Nyx Phobos: Infernum

Chains of flame.

And in each blazing link, a null-ward. Spells interwoven to burn away the netherdark as fast as she could summon it.

Red-robed mages with blazing eyes. Behemoths and their Overlords. Bonfires. Braziers. Torches. Blood-ruby crystals jutting up in jagged spires from excrescences of dark basalt. Lavafalls coursing slow through crevices in the rock, flowing into calderas where imps capered and damned souls cooked.

The air a heavy orange heat, rippling, shimmering.

They hurled her, powerless and bound, onto the steps at the foot of a great dais.

She struggled upright as far as her knees. Then white-hot iron spearheads jabbed their points at her shoulders so that she could rise no further.

Nyx Phobos lifted her head.

The dais was edged in gas-jets that hissed and ignited. Pyreads, demoness-elementals with curvaceous bodies of magma and billowing sheets of fiery hair, lounged sleek and insolent. A smoked-glass sphere filled with fuming light rested on a stand of gold in the shape of coiled salamanders.

And central to all was a gilded dragonbone throne studded with jewels, upon which sat an immense, armored figure.

***

“I am Baron Immolatio,” the figure said, in a Voice that echoed from within the full helm like the roar of a crematorium during plague-times. “Vizier of the Pyromancius Infernii, Commander-General of the Behemoth Legions, Magus Ars Vulcanis, Dragonlord, and high in service to the cherished son of Her Most Exaltedness, Lady Lilitu.”

The armor he wore was so close a replica as to be a copy, though in crimson chased with gold. The weapon resting across his lap was not an axe but a sword, a long unsheathed greatsword with a blade forged to resemble a stylized flame. Real flames danced along the metal, curled around the hilt, flickered over the gemstone jacintus set into the pommel.

“In other words,” Nyx said, “you’re Infernal’s chief lapdog and babysitter.”

Though she could see nothing of his face, the helm’s eyeslits flared and she felt the increased intensity of heat as he glowered. “For one who is my lord’s prisoner, you’d do well to mind your manners, Nyx Phobos.”

“You cannot hold me.”

“Oh I can and I shall, until Prince Infernal decrees what’s to be done with you for your temerity in daring to scry and spy into his affairs.”

***

“Prince?” Nyx curled her upper lip back from her fangs. “He calls himself a prince now? That half-breed mama’s boy? That glorified Broodren?”

Immolatio was off the throne in a flash, moving with amazing speed despite the armor. His gauntlet swung in a hard backhand blow.

Nyx was able to turn with it, saving her jaw from being shattered, but she was pitched sideways onto the steps with a bone-jarring impact. Once again she tried to summon the netherdarkness, and once again the null-wards woven into the chains of flame prevented her.

The guards dragged her to her knees again at Immolatio’s command.

“That,” he said, towering over her, “was a warning.”

“Consider me warned.”

“Prince Infernal sees and hears and knows as I do, so what you say to me, you say also to him.”

Nyx nodded. “Understood.”

“He is magnanimous, willing to overlook your earlier Earth-side actions against him and even against his exalted mother. Such clashes do happen, all part of the business.”

Again, she nodded.

“But this,” Immolatio continued, and gave a slow tsk-tsk shake of the great horned helmet. “That one such as you should side with one such as Aggressos against one such as Prince Infernal is--”

“An erroneous assumption,” Nyx said. “Gaze into your embers again, o pyromancer. I don’t give a leper’s toe for Aggressos. I have not cast my lot with him.”

“Then explain your intrusion.”

“Intrusion? You brought me here.” She shifted within the confining chains of flame, which bound her arms to her chest with wrists crossed at the collarbones, and pinned her wings to her back, and wrapped her legs and tail.

“You scryed and spied upon the dealings of my lord.”

“Yes, well … I do that.”

“If not on behalf of Aggressos, then explain yourself! On whose behalf do you meddle in the affairs of Prince Infernal?”

She swept his armored faceplate with a scornful look. “My own.”

“Who sent you, then? Who hired you, mercenary witch?”

“No one.”

“So you are here as a barterer in secrets, to sell to the highest bidder?”

“Haven’t ruled it out as an option.”

“Do not toy with me,” Immolatio said, and a sheet of fire ran seething along the bare sword’s blade. “I run short of patience for your games.”

“I said I don’t give a leper’s toe for Aggressos,” Nyx said. “Nor do I give a leper’s toe for your master, his plans or his ambitions … excepting where they run contrary to my dealings. I’m owed a debt by Victor Royal, and I can’t very well collect when Infernal goes about nearly destroying him, now, can I?”

***

“Ah.” He sat back upon the throne, and laid the sword again across his lap. “You go to much trouble for a mere mortal’s debt.”

Nyx shrugged, as best she could. “Perhaps.”

“There are other ways to settle such a grievance. You might have brought the matter to Prince Infernal, and requested compensation.”

“Difficult without a contract.”

“Without a contract? Fool!”

“I know, I know.”

“You of all beings?”

“No need to rub it in.”

All the while, seeking to be both as thorough and as surreptitious as she could, Nyx had been scrutinizing her surroundings. The vast lavafall cavern with its caldera and pillars of volcanic stone … demons and imps, the tormented damned consumed in eternal suffering … this, she knew, fit the traditional image of Hell.

Nowhere did she see anything that might have given her a clue as to the whereabouts of the dark gem with which Infernal had used Aggressos’ true Name to rip his subcarnated essence from Victor Royal. Not that she was expecting it to be sitting out handy and visible, a glowing reliquary on an altar-block ringed with candles, or anything of the sort. But some hint would have been nice.

Instead, she saw only the red-robed mages at their ceremonies, burnt offerings and omens read in the rising tendrils of smoke … she saw the pyreads sleek and insolent, ignoring her as one who was not worth their notice … she saw the blood-ruby crystals humming with their promise of pain … she saw a large rune-inscribed vertical stone ring of a transitioning portal amidst ordered ranks of Behemoths awaiting Infernal’s summoning through.

Immolatio, who had been motionless in the manner of one carrying on a silent conversation, now stirred and regarded Nyx again. “Prince Infernal is satisfied with your explanation,” he said.

“Lucky me.”

“And is,” he went on, a slight edge of irritation in his tone at her interruption, “inclined to be lenient.”

“Then remove these chains, unbind me.”

“Be not so hasty, Nyx Phobos. You’ve yet to hear his terms.”

“Terms,” she echoed.

“As you said, you have cast your lot with no one, been hired by no one. Ally yourself with us, then. Side with my lord, serve him, and you will reap considerable reward.”

“Go on,” Nyx said.

“He will place you high among his lieutenants,” Immolatio said. “Rank and profit and power will be yours. Aid his cause, help him to achieve his goals. Be overlord, warlord. Join him, and be as a queen of Hell.”

***

“Sounds promising,” Nyx said. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“There’s always a catch. The large print giveth and the fine print taketh away. What does he want from me in return?”

“Prince Infernal offers you an opportunity to --”

“Choke on ashes, Immolatio, you said yourself I’d yet to hear his terms. So, let’s hear his terms.”

“You’d have to relinquish any claims or dealings with the mortal, Victor Royal, for one. It might represent a conflict of interest.”

“It might, yes.”

“But you would be compensated for your troubles and losses in that matter. Handsomely compensated, even in the absence of any official documentation.”

“Reasonable and generous,” Nyx said. “What else?”

“Only your oath.”

“My oath?”

“Your pledged blood-bond, your fealty, your service and allegience.”

She waited, looking at him, at the impassive helm with its furnace-blaze eyeslits.

“Of course,” Immolatio said, in a casual offhand manner, “it would have to be sworn by your Name.”

***

“Hmm,” Nyx said. “Let me think about it.”

“What is there to think on? You will accept.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Baron.”

“I am. You will accept.”

“The stakes are rather high.”

“Regardless. To defy Lord Infernal for the sake of --”

“For the sake of myself?”

“You would gain much in allying with us,” he said. “Reward and profit and power. Wealth, treasures, souls. A dominion of your own to rule.”

“As a slave.”

“As a queen of Hell.”

“A slave-queen.”

“A queen just the same.”

“Hmm,” she said again. “You know, as tempting an offer as it is, I prefer to go my own way, as thrall to none.”

“You misunderstand me, Nyx Phobos,” Immolatio said. “It is not a matter of whether you wish to ally with Prince Infernal or not. That conclusion is foregone. How cooperative you are determines only how much you stand to gain.”

“Submit, surrender, bend my neck and bow my head, give my pledge and oath and blood-bond, offer up my Name willingly, and be well-placed in Infernal’s hierarchy, with the wealth and rewards of which you speak?”

The helm dipped in a nod. “Or resist, to no avail. You will serve him. Your power will augment his. He will have your Name. One way or another. You may as well make the most of it, see the most benefit.”

“You do have a point,” she admitted.

“Why force us to wrest it from you when the end result will be the same? Why anger him further? If you are to be in the prince’s service, and I speak from my own experience here, it is far preferable to be at the top of the heap.”

***

“So,” Immolatio said. “We are agreed?”

Whereupon all her fun would stop … all her freedom would stop. No more delicious risks and uncertainties. She knew what the rest of eternity would be for her if she accepted this offer.

But if she refused it …

Then she’d be made to accept. And either way, farewell to fun and freedom.

“Just like that?” She needed time, damn and bless, she needed more time.

If not for the chains of flame she could have rushed for the stone ring portal and flung herself through. An unprepared transitioning to she didn’t know where, never pleasant, but odds were that it led to the Earthly plane.

Likely even to wherever Infernal was currently hanging his cape … where he might hold the dark stone … she didn’t know, couldn’t know, what would happen then. A blind plunge into the unknown was better than this alternative.

“Prince Infernal does not care to dawdle.”

If not for the null-wards, she could have spun a cloaking darkness over Immolatio’s perceptions, possibly long enough to strike him, certainly long enough to evade the guards.

“Yet he doesn’t do me the courtesy of dealing with me face-to-face?” Nyx asked. “Delegating to his lapdog … just lazy, or afraid?”

He leaned forward, his posture tensing, his corselet seeming to swell like a boiler on the verge of overheating. “You do not want to deal with him face-to-face.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. He’s demanding a lot of me, expecting me to give up quite a bit. It’s the least he could do.”

Immolatio scoffed, smoke issuing from every vent of his helm. “And what, in truth, would you be giving up? Playing whore to a mortal?”

“That is not,” Nyx said, with a wry grin, “the service for which Victor Royal owes me. But even if it were …”

“Beware,” he said, rising from the throne again, not in a flash this time but with a slow and momentous grandeur, “what words you next choose to utter.”

***

The guards flanking Nyx stepped back, their white-hot iron spearheads digging into the spots where her wing-struts met her shoulderblades. She was aware of the mages and pyreads watching with malevolent anticipation.

Her gaze didn’t waver, the wry grin didn’t change, as she said, “Sooner his whore than your master’s queen.”

Immolatio’s gauntleted fists closed around her horns. He pulled her from her knees to her feet and still towered over her by a yard or more.

“Those were not the words I would have advised.”

He applied a slight but relentless inexorable outward pressure. Nyx hissed through clenched teeth as she felt the creak and grind of bone. She could hear it as well. A sudden hard twisting wrench and her horns would crack off at the roots … a steady pull and her skull might split down the center like a walnut.

“One last chance,” Immolatio growled down at her. “Remembering that Prince Infernal hears through me, so what you say now, you say to him.”

“Then he’ll hear when I say he made a mistake when he chose to meddle in my affairs,” she said. “And he’ll hear when I say that he’ll lament the day his bitch-sow of a mother ever squeezed him from that well-traveled chasm betwixt her thighs!”

His enraged roar was a dragon’s breath that ignited the very air in a hellstorm all around. The Behemoth guards were in an instant reduced to cinders, their spears to wood-ash and blobs of molten iron. Sinners quaked. Imps and mages cowered. Pyreads fled.

The brunt of the blast struck Nyx with such force that she was pitched back despite his grip on her, a grip he lost in a twofold shivering screech of metal on horn. She hit the rocky floor far from the dais, rolling through jagged shards of volcanic glass and searing embers.

Well, she had been trying to make him mad. That much, at least, worked like a charm.

But had she made him mad enough? That was the question.

***

Immolatio advanced on her with a cresting wave of flames rising above him. His armor glowed now as if fresh from the forge. Smoke jetted from not just the vents but each seam. The eyeslits of his helm blazed. The greatsword swept an arc like the leading edge of a wildfire.

She couldn’t believe what she was about to do … what she was about to stoop to … or rise to as the case may be.

The suspicion that the one who’d unknowingly given her the weapons she readied herself to use would probably approve … that just made matters worse.

How embarrassing.

Oh, well.

Maybe he’d never find out.

“You shall be obliterated!” thundered Immolatio. His footfalls left scorched craters in the rock.

Nyx, still powerless and bound, curled on her side in the jagged burning scree of coals and shards, closed her eyes to the oncoming furious Baron. She strengthened her will against an unbearable tide … so true, so genuine … it hurt a thousand times more than any injury she’d thus far endured.

Opening her eyes again, she looked at him, and whatever he saw in her face brought him to an unsure halt.

“Contrition,” Nyx said, with the memory full in her mind of an old man named for a cardinal virtue. “Forgiveness. Absolution.”

She said the words, spoke them, invoked them with all her Voice.

And as their terrible power was unleashed upon him, Immolatio exploded.

***

A tremor, a small one but a tremor nonetheless, shook to the very foundations of Hell.

Shuddering as well, Nyx Phobos laid her head upon the hot and broken stones. She would not sob, she would not weep.

She would not.

But she felt so hideously cleansed.

Her chest hitched and she nearly gagged.

That she should resort to such a desperate move!

No one would have to know. No one would ever have to know. She had met Wisdom Royal but the once. He had refused her blood-bond. The forgiveness he’d bestowed on her, he had done so freely and unasked, not in the granting of a boon.

If there was any link between them at all, it could be of only the most hair-fine and tenuous sort. It would take a mortal of uncommon keenness and sensitivity to …

Oh.

Well … he might not notice. Or not understand if he did notice. Or not pursue if he understood.

And there was nothing she could do about it anyway, was there?

The deed was done.

Fine motes of soot and ash sifted down from a cloud of charred gritty chaff where Immolatio had been. All else that remained of him was the sword, its fire extinguished, its blade blackened, the gem in its hilt fractured and dark.

Still, despite everything else, she was mercenary enough to wonder how much Nadir would shell out to have the likes of that for his collection.

***

“You destroyed him.”

Nyx raised her head from the stony ground and looked up at the ring of robed figures surrounding her.

Fire Thorn Casters and Agony Mages, for the most part. Mortals who’d made their pacts and sold their souls, who were damned but rewarded, not hellborn or demonic to have been as affected by the colossal impact of Immolatio’s final fate.

Those who were demonic in nature, the Behemoths and Overlords, the pyreads and imps … they had fled, or taken refuge, or still reeled in stunned astonishment from what had just happened before their very eyes.

For a wild, absurd moment, she thought this would be when the mages bowed to her, hailed her as their new Vizier.

Had she not toppled their tyrant? Was she not now to claim Immolatio’s rank and place and power? They would dispel the chains of flame with which they’d bound her, release her from the null-wards …

But of course they did no such thing.

She even recognized a few of them as ones she’d struck down herself. Always awkward. Mesanis, from whom she’d obtained the Staff of Isis … Faculus, who’d been fool enough to call her out and paid for his temerity with his life …

“Prince Infernal is most displeased,” the mage who’d first spoken went on. His robes were rich with gold embroidery and garnets, his tall hat elaborate, his collar and shoulderpads even more so.

“Then let him face me himself, if he’s so displeased,” Nyx said.

“Oh, he shall,” the mage said. “It is for him to decide what’s to be done with you, rebellious Miriam.”

He swept both his hands in upward semicircles. Invisible bands of force lifted Nyx, held her suspended and immobile. The very air seeming to constrict in a vise enwrapping her entire body.

“You are to be confined,” he said. “Confined, and transited from Hell to our city, there to suffer as you await Infernal’s wrath.”

***

They brought her to an Agonis.

Blood-ruby … torture-crystal. Emanating its hurt-song in vibrations that pierced any defense, any armor.

She could not move, could not speak, could not struggle. Bound, powerless, helpless.

Their circle formed. Their ritual commenced.

No. No, not this, not like this.

Not held. Not confined.

But she could not struggle, could not speak, could not move.

They brought her to an Agonis, and they put her into it. Flesh insubstantial phasing through crystalline lattices of excruciation until she was immersed.

Alone in a redness of existence, a hell within Hell, where there was only fire and pain.

***

Caught!

2008-12-28T14:07:00Z

Caught!

“Omigosh, I can’t believe we really just did that,” Ammy said, with a nervous little giggle as she fumbled to get her blouse re-buttoned.

“Me either,” replied Aspy from the next room, still sounding breathless. “Hey, did you see where my other shoe ended up?”

“You kicked one behind the couch I think.” The darn buttons felt all misaligned but she didn’t have time to fix it, someone might walk in any second, so she grabbed for her sweater and tangled her arms into the sleeves.

“Behind the … oh, right, here it is.”

“Do you think anybody noticed?” she asked, muffled in the soft spangly cashmere, fighting with the garment. “I mean gosh … with our parents in the house even!”

“Far as they know, we were in here the whole evening watching movies, that’s all.”

She got the sweater over her head finally and then touched her hair, and yelped. “Eek my hair is all messed up! I hope my brush is in my purse!”

“I can get you one of my mom’s if not, but c’mon, hurry up! I think I hear my dad!”

“Okay!” She fast-smoothed her hair with both hands, got one shoe on, and hopped into the rec room twist-wiggling her foot into the other. Sodas and snacks on the table. Footsteps in the hall, approaching the door. Television – oops! “Un-pause the movie!”

“Oh jeez!” He dove for the remote, clicked, and shot her a ‘close one!’ grin over his shoulder … which turned into a gape of dismay. “Amelia, your sweater!”

“What?” Frantic, she looked down, and saw that she had managed to put it on both backwards and inside-out, so that the tag that should have been at the back of her collar stuck out at the front of her throat like a little white tab.

Cursory rap, Mr. Pearce’s voice: “Arthur?” And then he opened the door.

Ammy clutched the sweater-tag in her fist to conceal it, and did her best to look innocent. With one shoe still on crooked … with, she realized in sinking horror, her blouse partly untucked so that a tail of silk hung out below the sweater’s spangly purple hem.

Aspy’s dad stood in the doorway, looking back and forth between them. Saying nothing. His expression unreadable. His eyes were like intense scanner-beams, taking in every detail. His son with both shoes on but untied … hair rumpled all down over his forehead … face flushed.

Mr. Pearce stepped into the room and, quietly but decisively, shut the door behind him. There was a long drawn-out moment in which it seemed as if all the air had been removed from the room, but at the same time somehow, the atmospheric pressure had tripled.

“Arthur,” he said at last. “Is this what it looks like?”

Aspy squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and said, “Yes, sir.”

Ammy’s vision blurred. She felt like she’d inhaled a whole balloon’s worth of helium. Her cheeks, she was positive, were glowing bright red.

He … he … oh no, he …

“I see.” Mr. Pearce’s voice and manner had undergone a stern change from earlier in the evening, when the Montgomerys had arrived and he’d been the urbane host. This was him going into total lecture-mode.

“Sir, I can explain –” Aspy began, but his father waved him to silence.

Awash in mortification and guilt, Ammy squirmed. She was sure her emotions were as obvious as if they had been written across her forehead in big neon letters. A thin panic-sound issued from her locked-up-tight vocal cords as Mr. Pearce shifted his forbidding attention to her.

“And you, Amelia? Do your mother and father know what you’ve been up to?”

Quick little headshake, and she squeaked, “Please don’t tell them omigosh they’d have a fit!”

“I can assure you they won’t learn of it from me.” He turned back to Aspy. “We have rules for a reason.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

Undeterred by that agreement, he went on. It was the as long as you live under my roof! kind of speech Ammy'd heard a million times before. With some of the I expect better from you and haven’t we discussed this? and mentions of behavior and reputation and precautions thrown in. Ammy cringed under it even though it wasn’t mainly directed at her, horrified beyond words, wanting to speak up in their defense but not daring to.

“—to go around with some girl you barely know, just cavalierly –” Mr. Pearce was saying.

“It wasn’t like that, sir,” Aspy interrupted. Then appeared surprised at himself for doing so, almost as surprised as his father looked, but he steeled his nerve. “For one thing, I do know her, I’ve known her for a long time, way before the museum thing. For another, I didn’t tell her. She recognized me, figured it out. We have the same ... extracurricular activities.”

Ammy felt like there was some kind of crumbling sliding avalanche going on in her head just then. Oh …

“I see,” Mr. Pearce said after the kind of pause that people on trial for their life probably got from the judge deciding their sentence. He swept Ammy with the scanner-beam gaze again, then glanced at his son. “You and I will continue this later. For now, make yourselves presentable, your mother’s about to serve dessert.”

And then he left, once again closing the door behind him.

“Oh-em-gee,” Ammy said, and tottered to the couch where she flung herself flat on her back with both hands over her face. “He …that was … he knows we were …”

“Jeez, Amelia, I’m sorry,” Aspy said, all hangdog and remorseful. “I had to tell him that much. He would have investigated you anyway after this, and once he gets his mind set on something, he’s like a Rottweiler.”

She let one arm flop out to the side and kept the other on her forehead. “That’s okay Arthur really I don’t care if he knows who I am, but oh-em-gee I thought he thought we were … making out in here or something!”

A short harsh laugh came from Aspy. “Trust me, he wouldn’t have been nearly that mad.” He dropped to one knee and began tying his shoes with vicious tugs on the laces.

“Well, gosh, too bad we weren’t, then,” Ammy’s mouth said before her brain could intervene.

Still tugging at the shoelaces, grumbling, Aspy said, “He could have walked in here and found us rolling around naked with a can of whipped cream and not --”

His words broke off all at once and he made a noise like someone with a piece of popcorn stuck in his throat. His head snapped up and his shocked blue eyes stared at Ammy, who had almost fallen off the couch as she twisted fast onto her side to stare back at him.

“What did you say?” he choked.

“What did you say?” she shot back.

“Nothing!”

“Me either!”

“Okay then!”

“Right!”

“Moving on!”

“Good!” Ammy scrambled to her feet, scooped up her purse, scurried for the door. “I’m gonna go …” she made hair-brushy motions.

“End of the hall.” He wasn’t looking at her, had his head down again as if tying his shoes was more complicated and hazardous than defusing a bomb, but she could see that he was as red as she felt.

“Thanks!” She peeked out, saw no one, scurried from the room.

In the moment before the door swung shut, saw Aspy still kneeling on the rug but now thunking his fists against the sides of his head, and she heard him mutter, “whipped cream?!?” in a disbelieving, agonized groan.

***