Words In Stars

 Parking Ticket.

Par-King Tick-Et.

Parkingticket.

... Had he truly taken a vehicle out here? How interesting! How had he managed that? He couldn't even remember if he knew how to drive! How novel!

It didn't look familiar.

Mr. Perkins made a slow circle of the vehicle, PARkingTICKet between two fingers, flapping slowly back and forth. This was a 2015 Honda Civic. Front wheel drive, automatic, in line 4 cylinders, 16 valves, banana yellow.

He knew nothing about cars, what a waste of time. Mr. Perkins tucked the parKING tickET under the windshield wiper with a friendly pat pat.

"There you are!" He turned and faced the world and it spread out before him like the end of a rainbow.

Lets see, lets see... Rose Marie and the burglar on 5th and Main, well that's just around the corner!

He strolled right through traffic. He ignored the honking horns and waved slender fingers at the drivers as they passed. He stepped over a homeless man and dropped several steel buttons into his hat. No no, not steel. Copper? Perhaps tin. Whatever they were, they clinked merrily together, and the homeless man smiled and waved.

So many people up and about! It smelled like a buffet! A bouquet? A bucket. A slightly dingy bucket. Yes indeed. A bucket.

Thunder cracked around him and Perkins raised a hand to shade his eyes from the moon. He peered at the sky. Curious! Not a cloud in the sky! It smelled suddenly like blood, and clouds certainly didn't bleed! Well unless you count the rain. Rain could be sky blood, how gruesome!

He giggled as his hand snapped out and caught the throat of a man.

Mr. Perkins turned to regard him with delight.

"You shot poor Rose Marie in her living room!" Like an old friend, he squeezed until the man's hands came up to claw at Mr. Perkins's slender fingers.

"Oh that won't help! Perhaps if you said please? We are a world of manners, you see. They just crop up like weeds in the sidewalk, all manner of manners. See? Even words have manners. How courteous..."

A great whirling sound started echoing down the street. Oh dear, how long had he been standing there? Mr. Perkins looked back over at the man in his hand. He put him down in the street and straightened his collar. Wouldn't do to be buried a rumpled mess, hmm?

Rose Marie's apartment was quite spartan, but well furnished. The stairs were a quick sprint and the door was open with a dangling lock without a key. No looking through this keyhole, pshaw, modern locks were such trouble.

Mr. Perkins popped a squat next to Rose Marie's gasping body and tut tutted. "And it was such a lovely blouse, like a goldfinch. Or a goldfish. Or crackers, those little fishy ones that don't taste at all like fish."

"H-help me..." She gasped from the floor. "P-please?"

Mr. Perkins beamed down at her. "Such courtesy! Oh but of course! I shall be happy to help!"

He locked eyes with her.

See the truth and be well, dear Rose Marie!

Her eyes went wide and wild and her body went still as they flickered and fluttered and stared and stared. And while she gasped about how her life had been a lie, Mr. Perkins had lunch.

And when he had finished, he wrapped her in her nice Egyptian Cotton and slung her over his shoulder.

The banana civic was waiting patiently, and the paRKingtICKet waved a merry greeting, and together they somehow managed to drive away, with groceries in the back for home.

Or a body. Oh yes. Rose Marie! How very delightful!

Madness

Madison sat in the living room. The news had cut out yesterday, after a particularly disturbing broadcast about how to destroy the living dead.

She tried the channels anyway. Only thing she could find was some desperate preaching from the evangelicals. She turned it off. Hugging the collar of her green bathrobe, she looked out the front window, past the hole in the sheet she'd tacked up over them.

No one out walking today. The car across the street was still smoking, and the corpse was still sitting there, just outside of the open door. It's arms were still moving, despite the weight of the car's front wheel pinning it's torso in place. 

Madison wasn't sure how to feel about that. She looked away, then at the clock across the room. It was already 4:00. Jordan said he would be back with supplies half an hour ago. Not that he'd ever been great with time management before, but...

Madison looked down at her engagement ring. It was pretty, but not much of a comfort. She still felt empty and hollow and -

She got up and made coffee.

Ten minutes later the back door was unlocked and opened. "Mother fucking, fuck--"

Madness scurried to the back room, hovering in the doorway. "...Jordan?"

"Who the fuck else would it be? Christ." He spat back at her. He was a good looking guy, blonde hair, blue eyed, strong, an engineer... He'd never been very nice though. She'd known that from the beginning. Dated him anyway. Loved him anyway, best as she knew how. But who really knows what love is? Does it HAVE a definition?

"Are you... all right?" Madison looked him over, pulling her hands into the sleeves of her robe. Jordan hadn't let her leave the house. Been afraid she'd get hurt, or bit, and bring it back inside and get him too. He was afraid she would mess something up, make too much noise, hurt herself, etc...

"Take this, do something with it." Jordan snapped, handing Madison a bag of stuff.

She took it and hurried to the kitchen to put away the canned food items, the batteries and the other stuff Jordan managed to find. She noticed, with a tick of her eyebrow, that he'd neglected to find any canned vegetables. Only Chili and Chef Boyardee. He also hadn't found any TP. Damnit, she'd made a list. She would have said something - but he was cussing from the other room, and she didn't want to get into it with him right now.

"FUCK." Jordan kicked something. Madison heard a crash, and she winced. Slowly, she edged back into the door frame. He was holding his arm. His hair was wild, and he'd stripped off most of his rugby gear. Madison came into the room.

"Jordan? Let me see--" Madison reached out for his arm and Jordan slapped it away. The sting of it snaked up her arm and she winced, recoiling.

"If I want your help I'll fucking ask for it. Fuck." Jordan started peeling away his sleeve.

Madison felt the tick in her eye. When had he started acting like this? Had it been when the outbreak started? No... No she remembered it from before too. Little things. Insults. Condescending. Controlling. Had she just... put up with it? How? Why? Something sparked and lit in her belly, chasing away foggy thoughts. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What the hell Jordan, I'm just trying to help." She felt the burbling anger in her chest, coming up from beneath layers of floor boards she'd tried to bury it under. "TOUCH me like that again and I'll--"

Jordan peeled the sleeve away and exposed a nasty looking injury. A bite. A tear in his fine skin by human teeth. It oozed, dripping blood onto the floor as he glared at it.

"You'll what?" Jordan croaked.

Madison looked up at him. "Jordan you -"

He reached out, grabbing Madison by the wrist and pulling her close, hissing into her face.

Oh shit. Oh shit he's lost it. Madison felt panic churning right alongside her anger and she snarled back at him. "Get off Jordan."

Jordan shook her. "Touch you like that again and you'll WHAT, you useless bitch!?"

Madison yanked her hand away and growled into his face. "I'll fucking kill you!"

Jordan laughed in her face, spittle catching her cheek. Madison rubbed it away in disgust, about to say more, when the slap sent her spinning.

Right across the face, a burning hand print. Madison caught herself on the kitchen door frame, stunned. Jordan didn't say anything, but Madison wasn't listening. She held her cheek and padded quietly away.

"...Madison. Madison, I'm sorry." Jordan called after her.

He was always sorry. Always sorry they never had time to go out or do anything. Always sorry he never invited her out with his friends, or did anything for their anniversary, or their birthdays, or holidays. Always sorry when he couldn't pick her up from work. Always sorry that he was short on bills, or left his dishes around, or went out without telling her. Always sorry about his casual insults. Always sorry. Never sorry.

She made it to the hutch in the hallway and wrapped her hand around the nearest object.

"Madison?"

She turned. He was bitten, his look said it all. He stood at the other end of the hall. Madison gripped he screwdriver with white knuckled intensity. "...You don't even really love me, do you."

"...What?" He seemed surprised.

"...You just figure I'm good to have around and pay bills and clean house and stay in my fucking pajamas all day. So you can feel like some big strong man. 'Don't wear your makeup like that, hun, you'll get cat calls.' 'Don't get those boots, you'll never wear them.' 'Turn off that trash music,' 'smile more'--" Madison ran one hand through her hair, the only haircut she'd gotten that she liked and he hated it. Said it made her look... nevermind.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Jordan snapped.

"You're bit, Jordan." Madison lowered her hand, and brought up the screwdriver.

Jordan snorted. Sure. Probably thought he was immune. Idiot. Not even his egocentric ass was immune to this shit. He looked over her face as if he didn't recognize her, then his eyes filtered down to her hand. "...What are you doing?"

Madison felt the anger pounding in her ears, the panic screaming in her veins, fire, fire everywhere. She launched herself at him, screwdriver out. Show him how useless she is! Show him he's not right all the time!

Jordan caught her wrist. He was strong. Stronger then she was. He pushed her back to the floor with a growl. "You gonna kill me? Well you're fucking doing it wrong."

Madison hit the floor with a thud. She kicked out at him and he came down too, clawing to get the screwdriver out of her hand, pulling her close to disarm her. But she wasn't going to let him disarm her. Not again. Nope. Nope. Noperoo.

She bit his hand. Not hard. Hard enough. She brought her knee up viciously, catching him in the groin. Jordan rolled, stunned & gasping. She climbed up on top of him, and she was grinning, and she spat right in his face, and she drove the screwdriver down into his beautiful, surprised blue eye, and she felt the resistance until there was nothing else to go through, and she sat there panting for a whole minute before she shambled up to her feet and went to the bathroom.

Madison watched Jordan's corpse from the bathroom doorway. He didn't move. Guess the TV was right.

Gatta get them in the brain. Small enough target in this case. She must have good aim.

A laugh bubbled up from her chest. It felt inappropriate, but she was way past caring. Before long she was laughing and sobbing on the bathroom floor, watching the slowly extending circle of Jordan's blood creep towards her. Somewhere in the manic laughter and hysteria, she'd crawled back over to him and yanked the screwdriver out, wiping it spitefully on his stupid t-shirt. She was shouting and cussing and crying and laughing--

By the time she had calmed down she was sitting on the couch again. She turned the TV on. The evangelist was quiet, marked by a humming 'standby' screen. She turned the TV off again and peered out the window.

....Bout time someone took care of the zombie under that car.

A Civilian's Account

I was at a party.

I mostly know how I got there. (I'd been drinking.) I was new to town and desperate for friends, that much I remember. I'd taken a cab into town and climbed my dolled-up ass into the first bar I saw, and I struck up conversation like a pro. I met these three people hanging around the dart board, dressed really nicely too. They were all incredibly good looking, that's really clear.

There was a woman with two men, all raven haired, all dark eyed and all whimsically attractive.
I saw Whimsically because I can't seem to think of any better word. Remember, I was also drunk at the time.

The hour that followed the initial meeting of these people was a blur - I think I got names, though I can't remember any of them now. (We'll call them David, Percy and Glenda, for the story's sake.) I think we were laughing and having a good time.

This was the part of the night where the initial world-spinning happened, and the universe started to get fuzzy. Sort of like drunk twilight, how it's only partially clear, you know?

Anyway.

Glenda proposed that we all go to this fancy party down the street, at another club. I didn't think I was as fancy as they were, but Percy insisted that I looked great and even offered to cover the door for me. Weird, but generous. I was under the misguided presumption that I was incredibly charming, though, so I didn't question it.

I.e. Drunk.

The club was a spectacle. On the outside, no more then tinted glass doors, faintly back-lit purple, and starlight. Massive bouncers with cliche sunglasses-at-night flanked the door, and when we approached we were welcomed with no hesitation. Inside was all chic darkness, chrome backed bar chairs and neon lights flashing in rhythm.

We were all laughing. Glenda held my arm as if we'd been friends for ages. It was comforting, but cold, like a popular-girl control gesture rather then friendship. The trio waved politely at people I didn't know, and they brought me right up to the bar: shining black marble, so clean I could see the flawless reflection of the overhead lighting in it's surface.

"Go ahead, order yourself a drink." Glenda winked at me, and of course, I obliged.

Just before I got the drink in hand though, I remember the guy at the bar. Distinctly.

He had on this old fedora, sorta dusty. He was wearing flat gray and black, with suspenders. I remember the suspenders. I remember thinking, 'who the hell wears suspenders anymore?'

He glanced over at me, with a tilted sort of smile, white teeth flashing in a pale face. He had some sort of tattoo around his eye, gave me the creeps. I mean, he looked cute enough, but the face tattoos creeped me out.

I nodded at him with a brief smile. He raised a glass of something or other at me with a wink. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and drank my drink without bothering to ask what it was. I remember that it was delicious.

(Big mistake of the evening, I tell you that.)

There was dancing afterwards. Percy and David were relentless, awesome dancers, they moved like liquid fire, and I was drunk. Cranked. The world was tilting, and their movements were comforting and damn hot, I tell you.

Well. Anyway.

For whatever reason, I managed to dance myself away from the group I came in with. I was bouncing around, happily moving to the music, when I bumped into that guy again. He was super smooth about it. He took my hand and spun me around real close, and my nose was tucked into his neck, breathing him in, when he spoke into my ear.

I should have been afraid, I think. But I wasn't. Maybe it was the booze? Maybe it was how assuredly he moved? Pfft.

"I think you're in the wrong club, kiddo." He had a rough edged voice. Like he'd recently been screaming for hours.

"Who're you?" I asked, slightly slurred. Slightly.

"I'm Jack."

He smelled like cedar. Is that weird? He smelled like cedar and I think sandalwood. And ash. Smokey ash. It was actually really nice, and as I said, I was drunk, you know how it is.

"I'm Drunk." I'm a master of charm. I think I may have snorted when I giggled, though I sincerely hope I didn't. "Do you have a better club, then?"

Jack had one hand on the small of my back, and the other one clasped my hand in the air, as if we were going to break into a tango. I heard him take a breath and chuckle. I felt his laugh on my ear, it was cool. Literally, cool, like a brush with autumn air.

"I might suggest one where your friends don't plan to eat you, for one thing."

I laughed. Who says that sorta thing? Was that a dirty joke or something? When I pulled away from Jack he didn't stop me, but he kept hold on my hand. This close I would be able to get a good look at his face. I was morbidly curious about his tattoos.

Another blurry part of my memory here. I seem to remember feeling badly that I winced. See, Jack's face didn't have tattoos. His face was all cut up. As if his skin had cracked and broken open, in a perfect broken-glass sorta pattern around their eyes.

Their red eyes.

Why this didn't alarm me more, I dunno. Maybe because my 'friends' were all gothed out and I assumed they were contacts or something? Who the hell knows. I. Was. Drunk.

I was about to say something apologetic  when one of the guys I was with, Percy, grabbed Jack's shoulder. Like magic, we were suddenly in an open dance floor, the sea of patrons pulling away from us like the tide.

"Hands off, corpse." My 'friend' said.

Jack was holding my hand still. As if we were casually walking down the street. I remember how cold his hands were, and thinking it was funny that it wasn't MY hands that were cold for once. I scowled at my 'friend' for his rude comment.

"Hey don't be a dick -" Me, trying to be ballsy.

This is where more weird shit started happening.

First, I got slapped. Hard. In the face. I dropped Jack's hand and spun around with the force of it. Suddenly, Glenda and David were holding me up. They didn't seem friendly about it though, and when I tried to assure them I was fine, they did not release their grip on me.

"Oh, that wasn't the smartest thing you coulda done." Jack said. His eyebrows, vividly expressive, dipped in disappointment.

His voice was carrying - or maybe the music had shut off? It didn't matter. I could look around the room and watch as every single person there turned to regard the situation. Some were smiling. Some looked mildly offended, and I couldn't figure out why. All of them were beautiful.

All of them also had some very sharp teeth.

"Get out of our house." Glenda hissed at Jack.

"You all right, kiddo?" Jack addressed me, ignoring everyone else.

I reached up to feel my cheek. The sting was delayed but oh, I felt it. Or rather, I would in the morning. I smiled and nodded at him, currently thankful for the drunk numbness.

"If you don't leave right now, we'll tear you apart, Ghoul!" David said, jerking on my arm as to use me for emphasis. I winced. The guy had a real good grip, and long bony fingers.

Then something cool happened. (I THOUGHT it was cool in the moment, don't judge me.) Jack raised his hand. He raised it as if he was holding a glass of wine, his fingers making a bowl. Maybe it was the booze talking, or the lighting in the club, but then this funky, purple, bubbling fog came up out of his palm, and started to stream out between his fingertips. He locked eyes with the guy holding onto me, David, and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

Too Dashing. (I'm weird.)

 "What did you call me, leech?" Jack's grin got wider. His fingertips twitched, ever so slightly, and a splash of purple light flickered out like a tiny solar flare.

Suddenly I was released. David let out a strangled noise, and as I staggered to my knees, unbalanced by the sudden shift, I could see him clawing at his throat in desperation. Glenda ditched me and went to him as if she could help.

"How DARE -" Percy shook Jack's shoulder while he spoke started talking - and then stopped. Jack used his other hand to gently brush the guy's fingers off of his gray shirt like lint. His outstretched fingers were still roiling with purple clouds, lined with black, illuminated from somewhere in his palm.

Neat trick.

"I think you all have to have some words with mamma about bringing dinner home. You have a herd for a reason, don't you?" Jack raised his hand up above his head, and the purple smoke coiled down his arm and across his chest. He casually stuck his free hand into his pants pocket.

I was watching him now, as I heard the room churn itself into a panic. Someone behind me was hissing. But this guy, this Jack, turned in a slow circle to address the room like he was giving some satanic toast to the group.

"What are you?"
"WHO let YOU in!?"
"What is he doing!?"

Words shouted from the back of the room criss-crossed the space, and I put my hands up over my ears. I was getting dizzy and unwell, and I was freaking out a little bit from the whole dramatic scene. Eventually, I just shut my eyes.

When I smelled cedar and ash I slowly opened them again. I was moving, but I wasn't walking. I lifted my head up and there I was, in Jack's arms like some damsel in distress. He didn't seem all that strong, but evidently I was no effort at all.

He grinned over at me. "Ah. Sleepin' beauty wakes up. Don't worry, you're almost home."

I blinked around. I felt so tired now, and I clearly didn't care how this guy had found my address. I just kept hanging on to him, dozing in and out, until I was on my own bed.

"You're hurt?" I asked, as he pulled my arms away from his neck and started to tuck me in. I caught the brim of his hat in the process, and placed it on my own head with a grin.

Yes, I'm an idiot when I drink.

It made him laugh though, and he sat down. "Naw, I'm fine."

"But.... your face."

Jack shrugged, gently reclaiming his hat and affixing it where it properly belonged. He gave it  a knavish tilt. "Yeah. It happens."

"When does that happen!?" I remember how clearly astonished and also horrified I was. Obviously I thought it could happen to me at any moment.

Jack's grin returned, a broad, black line. He pulled the blankets up under my chin and kissed me on the forehead. "Don't worry about it. You just have to damn yourself to an eternity of Undeath. Now go to sleep."

"Like.... like a Vampire?"

Jack frowned. "Naw, those idiots in the club were vampires. I'm much worse." He winked.

I remember turning all sorts of red and covering my face with the blanket. Why did I think he was cute? He was a goth sorta punker twenties scarface guy, and his eyes were red, and he was bone cold and pale and said that there were vampires, and that he was undead or something...

But Cedar. Sandalwood and Ash. When I woke up he was gone of course. But that scent lingered for a day or two.

I didn't mind.

I also NEVER went to that bar again.

M3M0R135

T00th had done it.

She opened the door. Past curtains and chains of code and firewalls there it was everything The Borogov had ever been. All it had taken was holding hands and letting her look, and when the Borogov opened their eyes, they could see it too. Years of memories hidden in the dark.

Most of it.

Their name is Lyriwyn. Their people dancing around the fire pit, mead and merriment at a long table, fireflies glowing among the storytellers and the laughing people of the earth.

The Borogov tapped iron-tipped fingers along a length of their iron jaw. They remember what they looked like when all that they were was flesh and bone. They were shorter. They were physically weaker. They were certainly better looking, could speak without pain and dance without stumbling.
They remembered doing magic, once upon a time, but could not remember how it felt. They remembered a lot of emptiness now. A lot of sadness, and they couldn't connect it to a specific memory.

As if they didn't want to remember.

The Borogov was used to being afraid, but their comfort zone had been beneath the ground for so long that they were uneasy in the tall, swaying trees and gleaming, glowing loam. They hadn't ventured this far from the ruins and the rebel camps before.

The Borogov trudged onward anyway. It shouldn't be far now. They glanced back at their friends. Some had offered to go with them, others they had asked. Their presences gave The Borogov strength, and there were so many of them. Kind souls all, surprise friends found in dark places. The Borogov smiled back at them, growling roughly through jagged iron clamps,

"N0T F4R N0W."

And as if some greater power was listening, the forest opened and spilled into a clearing, overgrown with gleaming mushroom caps and silvery moss. At the center was the great, charred claw of the Tumtum tree gathering post. It pointed with accusation up at the sky, broken at the center with it's charred surface peeking through the glittering growth. The Borogov tore their eyes from it.

"Th3 F1r3 c1rcl3 w45 th3r3..." The Borogov pointed. A small bowl remained in the earth where the pit once was. Strange, red-capped fungus spilled out from the center of it like drooling flames. They crept outward from the sunken pit like veins, curling around fallen rocks and sapling trees.

Feylio would beg for stories to be told before feast time and elders would meet to discuss a hunt or a festival. We would talk of the other creatures in the wood and those strange humans beyond.

The Borogov turned away, walking slowly further into the clearing. There were more then a dozen lumps beneath the verdant mosses. So much smaller, shrunken upon themselves, shriveled like prunes. They pointed to the one second from the far right. "...Th4t w45 my h0m3..."

Sage bread cooling on the window. Glittering lightning glass, dangled from twine in the doorway to catch the light. My mother's amulet resting on the stone shelf by my pallet... 

Blue capped mushrooms with lengthy stalks, short, squat green ones with yellow spots, glowing pink and orange... It was certainly beautiful. They did not know what they had expected - a graveyard? A scene of destruction, after all this time? The earth was reclaiming the land. It was almost comforting.

Just past the first line of mounds, old homes of Borogoves they used to know and laugh with, they stopped. They gestured ahead, and shadows began to creep into their mind.

"4nd th4t 15 wh3r3 w3  w3r3 p0150n3d  4t3." Two sentences said together past clenched teeth, Iron burning their skin, unfamiliar anger bubbling to the surface to bring about ghostly images of things that happened ages ago.

How long? How long had it been? Since someone came into their life and everything changed? How long since Their Heart had betrayed them all?

The Borogov felt it all rush towards them like a mob of angry ghosts, bombarding them with the images of a losing battle, of imprisoned friends, and scientists. Scientists in white as if they were pure, treating Their people as if they were the unclean ones, in this place, this revered place, a place of spirits and ....

A dance in moonlight, unfamiliar steps and laughter, a blush. Stories about adventure in the wilds and crimson haired spirits. New faces and excitement at their strange ways and fascinated questions. Join us, join us for feat time, we would be honored if you stayed. How long? How long did they stay among the Borogoves, with their notebooks and questions and inquisitive eyes? An age? I don't know, but I know ... a heart beats differently in time with another, a dance, a blush in the moonlight...

There was a toxin in the food. No one had noticed until little Feylio fell over during the games. The little ones fell asleep first, then the elders... The scientists got up, and used strange devices, and then more came, more in white, more with iron chains and cages, and as I stood there, asking why, pleading why would they do this, you answered - 

You answered with an apology. I could feel the poison in my veins, leeching at my magic, turning to lead in my veins, even as I tried to fight them. But it wan't enough. They took everything. They took my friends, they took my father's circlet--

They took you. 

I had failed. I failed them all.

The Borogov shook their head. They looked down at themselves. Encased in iron, bound with wire and steel, leaving hollow footprints in the glowing plantlife. They were kneeling now, clawed hands planted in the wires in their hair. Slumping as if exhausted, The Borogov dropped their heavy iron limb into the moss and a chiming 'clink' answered the gesture.

The Borgov peered o the ground and gently parted the mosses and mushrooms, reaching for the item that had made the noise. Shining silver answered, and the Borogov withdrew -

The Circlet. Their father's circlet.

The Borogov clutched it to their chest, and every wire-ending and fastening joint and iron clamp burned in protest to the proximity. When they couldn't bear the pain anymore, the gently dropped the circlet back onto the ground before them. They gazed around them, lost in a place they once called home.

What am I now?

'Twas Mimsy

"The skies were perilous blue, and wavering high oft, plump clouds glyde free. A Brillig morn, had our hero ever seen one, I say, rife and flowing with the good fortune of adventure." They gesticulated out over the group of younglings, fingers dancing in the air. Their shining pendant bounced gently off of their white-marked collarbone, sending tiniest of lights into the captive audience.

The eager younglings had taken to their studies well this day, and so the story teller was awarding them with another chapter of an ever-ongoing tale, one they always told at the turning of day to night. A self-imposed tradition that had been going on for, goodness, years now.

"Now, for so they oft gyre about the landscape looking for a sturdy challenge, on this day one such challenge gimbled right to them!" They waggled their brow, the darkened markings dancing with expression. Their blue eyes flashed about the younglings with glee.

Little Allo was grasping their straw doll with excitement flashing at the ends of their tiny pointed teeth. Too-serious Beryun was sitting rigidly upright, their long ears twitching to betray their interest in an otherwise nonchalant pose. Quick-witted Feylio was practically bouncing in their seat, the very first of their white markers shimmering on their cheeks.

"Lo! A creature rode the wind! Laying upon a spring current as if reclined on the mosses of a fairy's glen, with streaming red hair billowing behind them like a living river! Shining garments, riddled with golden clasps and dusted with the crumbled remnants of shattered ruby, hung about them as a regal mantle. A wide smile, painted wildflower crimson split their face in two and they flew towards out hero with all the casual grace of a strolling tove."

The younglings let out a round of giggles as They pantomimed the floating crimson character. The wind assisted, picking up a stray leaf and pulling it between their fingers as they told their tale. They were warmed by the participation of the wind, and took it as encouragement to continue their tale. It was always wise to seek the approval of the spirits.

"Our hero halted atop the hill and watched, all Mimsy as the Scarlet creature approached. They delicately settled themselves upon the hill beside our Hero, easy as if it were a bird lighting on a branch. Easier! As if simply taking a step out of the air. Scarlet - for this is what our Hero has named this creature - turned to our Hero and --"

Someone called their name.

Their hands paused their movement as they glanced over to the source of the interruption. They saw a tiny prism of rainbow light chase their gaze as the dwindling sun caught on the shining silver of the circlet. It was their guardian's circlet. Sometimes they forgot they wore it. It was very light, and pretty. An heirloom of their people entrusted to the storyteller since their Outelian grew ill.

There was a small group around the Gathering post. This piece of the great Tumtum tree, bequeathed to the Borogoves in ages past, loomed over them in brightly decorated shine.

An unfamiliar face was among them.

A Human face?

They quickly looked back at the younglings. " --turned to our Hero and announced--"

" - Come greet out guests!" That same calling voice carried over the mossy earth and tickled the storyteller's ears. They nodded.

"--'My name is The Red Wind, and I have traveled far to seek your skills!' they bowed, and their hair continued waving about as if still flitting about the rolling hills, though the winds had ceased about the pair of speakers. Our hero smiled greatly and bowed in return, for one must always avoid frumious behavior." They winked at the younglings, warranting another round of giggles.

Footsteps approached. The storyteller knew their time was up for now, and came up with something quick to pause the current tale.

"Alas, the sun was setting on the hills, and the Hero knew that camp would need to be set. So, they entreated The Red Wind to assist, and together they settled in around a campfire to chat." They dropped their hands onto their knees. A scent drifted towards them in the hands of the wind, and they let it tickle their nose It was an unfamiliar scent. Cold, dense, oiled metals...

"And that is where I shall leave you, younglings."

"No fair! Nothing happened!" Feylio protested, bouncing to their feet.
"I wanna know about the Red Wind!" Allo piped up, hiding behind their straw doll.

They laughed as more protests rose from the group. They stood, holding out calming hands to gently push back their irritation. "Oh come now! I will tell you all about it soon enough, but the sun is going down, and you should all be getting ready for feast time, yes?"

The younglings grumbled, but Beryun marched them off in order. The storyteller turned to the group of his peers - and the stranger - now patiently awaiting their attentions.

"Forgive me. I had a tale to tell."

"I see you do more then tell stories?" The stranger said, gesturing at the panpipes hanging from the storyteller's silken belt. "I would love to hear you play."

The Storyteller glanced to their feet, always anxious in the presence of strangers. The Borogoves rarely traded with outside people. The Fae were self-sufficient, and generally reclusive in their nomadic behavior, so they had very little motivation to seek outside influence or aid.

Which meant of course, that this stranger had sought them out. The storyteller lifted their eyes to them with a smile.

"I would be happy to play for our guest."

"This is Outelian's childer, next of blood to the clan leader. They speak with the voice of us all, and can decide if you are welcome to stay for feast-time." The one who had spoken - Illynio - smiled at Outelian's Heir, the storyteller, and bobbed their head in a casual bow.

The Stranger and the Heir locked eyes. They found no harm in allowing this one outsider the chance to feast with them. Surely had there been any ill intention, such an act would already have been done. Besides, Illynio was an excellent judge of character.

"I say welcome to the Borogoves, stranger. 'Twould be beamish if you joined us for feast-time."

The stranger bowed, a strangely formal gesture compared to the movements of the half-feral Borogoves, and extended a hand. The storyteller looked at it, then at the stranger's face. Good-humor glittered in their eyes. "It is a gesture from my home. Put your hand in mind and I will demonstrate."

The storyteller, delighted by this new gesture, clasped the stranger's hand. With a smile the stranger slowly moved their hands up and down, in a simple handshake.

"It is nice to meet you, childer or Outelian of the Borogoves." Such strange formality! Such precise clothing, all right angles and well-fit. Sensible shoes upon their feet, intelligence in their eyes! Much changed from the humans of ages past, that was for certain.

The storyteller had a fluttering feeling in their chest, one they could not decipher from excitement or fear. But, they laughed, shaking their hand with friendly insistence. Distrust was not part of their nature, nor was it like them to question the intentions of a visitor.

"Please. You may call me Lyriwyn."

Its Snowing

The drive was deathly quiet.

Ouch, she winced from the passenger seat. Perhaps that isn't the best phrase to use, considering... but Grandpa probably would have laughed.

She had her hands in her lap, and was anxiously picking at a loose knit end of her finger-less rainbow gloves. Her matching hat was securely pulled down over her ears, and her black hair curled under her chin and into the collar of her big green sweater.

The scenery passed by in one long continuous blur of white and gray, and her hazel eyes could barely make out the street signs as they flitted by. Waves of snowflakes made it seem like they were flying through space if she looked out the front window, and it made her dizzy.

"I can't believe it," were the first words out of the driver's mouth.

Andrew. He was her brother.

Ever since they had met at the airport, he'd been quiet and withdrawn, brow knotted in thought. There had been no hug or 'how are you?' to greet her. There had been no warm, heart-felt family reunion. It had always been that way between them, ever since she'd been small and their mother left. Cold acceptance followed by benign indifference.

"Believe what?" She asked.

Her voice sounded alien to her. With the pillowing whiteness that enveloped them as they drove, and the eerie hum of the radio, her words were muffled and disembodied.

Andrew glanced over at her. She tried to smile at him, but he didn't return the gesture. He was older than her by four years, but looked twice that age. He had gray at his temples already, and his face was lean with too-thin skin stretched over thick bone.

She wondered if her brother took drugs. It was the 80's. She knew a lot of people who did drugs.

"I can't believe the old man is dead." Andrew scoffed.

She looks back out the window. The old man was Grandpa, on their mother's side. He'd been a sassy ex-naval officer with a penchant for storytelling, and he had always been kind to her when her own father had not.

"I'm surprised he had a will. I thought he'd live forever." Andrew muttered.

She smiled. She remembered his immortal energy, the fire in his speeches and the bounce in his step. But then she had moved to the city, and between holiday visits, something had changed. She had begun to notice the wrinkles, and the knotted hands and the stooped posture.

Silence stretched between them again. The engine hummed and the chatter from the radio was interspersed with the soothing rumble of white noise.

"...You both always got along though, didn't you?" Andrew asked.

She looked back at him with another small smile. "I think so."

Andrew held her gaze long enough for her to break first and look towards the road. It was snowing too much on these back roads for him not to pay attention.

"...Me too." Andrew said.

She looked back out her window. The snow made everything look so different. She didn't know where she was; the nursing home had been a lovely place, but she'd only been able to visit once in the summer before Grandpa's swift decline. It wasn't even in the same town as her grandfather's old house was.

"...I bet you got the house." Andrew murmured.

She shrugged. She didn't want to think of it. That house without his barrel-chested laughter in it was just a big empty building. She was almost hoping she didn't get the old place.

"He was loaded. You know that, right?"

"Shut up, Andrew." She groaned. She rubbed her eyes with her bare fingertips and shivered. She should put her coat back on, the heat in this mini-van sucked.

"Of course you know. It was obvious. Son-of-a-bitch wouldn't fork any of it over when mom as around, so we had to wait for him to die to get a handout, huh?"

She winced at the anger, the pure bitterness in her brother's words. She cast a sidelong look at him. There was a vein pulsing in his forehead, and a flush crept up his neck. What was he so angry about? If he hated their grandfather so much, he should be happy the man was dead.

"And I bet it's all going to you." He sneered. The words flew like spittle from his lips, and she leaned on the door as if that would put her far enough away from him.

Andrew hadn't always been like this. She had vague memories of playing with him as a little girl, splashing in a creek behind their Grandfather's house, making cookies. But after mom left them, he got edgier, started hanging out with a rough crowd. He'd never been angry at her, not really, but he'd never gone out of his way to be nice.

This was new though. This was directed anger, and she didn't like it. "Shut up, Andrew."

"No, YOU shut up! You've just been sitting there, doing whatever it is you do in the city, and you're barely even around anymore and the old man STILL liked you better then me. HATED Dad, you remember that, right? What, is it because you look like his little girl? Is it because you look like mom?"

"I don't know, Andrew." She grasped the door handle.

He was taking his turns a bit faster now.

"Slow down." She looked towards the road, past the shooting stars flowing past the windshield.

"Christ, he never cared about what our family needed." Andrew hissed.

"Andrew -"

"High and mighty mister veteran, judging everyone else like they were lesser creatures."

She felt bird wings violently slapping the inside of her chest as they drifted in the road. She slammed a hand on the dashboard. "Andrew!"

"What?" He shouted.

"Its SNOWING." She blurted.

Andrew blinked at the road, and his face twisted. Such a myriad of emotions blitzed across his face that she couldn't pick all of them out. And then, like a maniac, Andrew slammed on the brakes.

She oofed forward, bracing her hands on the dashboard as the seat belt went taught across her chest. Their bags shifted violently behind them, and then slammed into the backs of their seats before  scattering.

The Mini Van listed right and then left and then slid slowly before rocking to a halt in the middle of the snowy road.

She gasped, hands clutching at her rainbow striped hat fr comfort. She turned her head to look at Andrew.

He was a mess. What happened to him? Where had those wrinkles come from, those circles under his eyes? Where had all of this aggression come from? Should she have stayed in closer contact over the years?

"Fuck." Andrew punched the steering wheel, setting off the blaring horn. She eeped, clinging to her seat belt for dear life.

"...Andrew?" She whispered, very much disturbed.

Her brother cast her a wary glance and then barked a laugh. He fumbled with his seat belt and threw open the door, stumbling out into the snow.

She stared at the open door for a long moment. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched him pace back and forth, and then circle around to her door. Cleo tightened her hold on the seat belt just as Andrew yanked her door open. The dead-winter wind blasted her with a face full of icy flakes.

"Get out." Andrew snapped, a lopsided grin on his lips.

"What? No! Why?" She glared at him. Why was he smiling? Why was he acting so weird?

"Just get out of the car."

"No!"

Andrew ran a trembling hand through his hair and sucked in a breath. "Just - I need you to help me check the mini van. I think I fucked something up in the front when I stopped. I'm - I'm sorry."

She watched his face. Her brother stepped away from the door, holding it open for her.
When Andrew smiled like that, he looked so much more like himself - like the angsty teenager that had stood up for her once in grade school, and got himself a bloody nose. He looked like the kid who came home drunk one night and told her blonde jokes in return for her not telling Dad about it. He didn't look like the unhinged, malnourished man who had been driving the mini van moments before.

Besides, he HAD stopped pretty hard. She remembered his legendary temper. One day, a girl broke up with him in high school and he punched a hole in the wall. Didn't realize until the next day that he'd broken a finger in the process.

She clicked off her seat belt and pulled her sweater close around her before sliding out the door.

Her feet crunched in the snow. She shuffled towards the front of the mini van and Andrew shut the door behind her.

Dang it was cold! She pulled her hat down on her head and rubbed her hands together as she bent to look at the front of the car.

Suddenly, arms grabbed her around the middle. She yelped. "Hey!"

Andrew heaved her right off her feet - it wasn't hard, she was pretty small, especially compared to him - and started pulling her off the road.

"I can walk myself, thank you!" She laughed. She actually laughed. If he dropped her, she was going to amass a snowball the likes of which he had never seen, and she was going to pelt him in the face with it. They would laugh until they cried, he would apologize, and they would get back into the car and blast the heat. She laughed again with the thought of it.

Andrew heaved her up and to the side, depositing her into a righteous snow bank.
She sputtered with a face full of snowflakes, and hastily brushed them out of her face. "Not fair! You're bigger then me!"

She heard crunching footsteps as she bent to gather her snow ball, grin plastered onto her face. No doubt he was on his way to push her back into the snow, but he'd get a surprise this time!

Then a door closed.

She hefted the snowball, only to see Andrew in the driver's seat, putting the mini-van in reverse.

"Andrew?" She blinked, baffled.

The Mini van withdrew from the snow drift and then straightened. By the time She had clawed herself out of the powdery embankment, Andrew had the mini-van in drive and was plowing ahead down the road.

"ANDREW!?"

The snow swallowed the sound. Eddies whirled around her, tickling her nose, sending a frigid chill up her spine. The rear lights were fading quickly, and She couldn't move fast enough to keep up, but she tried. She stumbled down the road in Andrew's wake, even when she could no longer see the tire marks.

Her fingertips were blue. She could see crystals forming on her eyelashes as she trudged onward. Ice was starting to cling to the ends of her black hair.

Where were the road signs? Was she even on the road? How long had she been walking? There were an awful lot of trees around. Had there been this many trees when she went to visit in the summer? She didn't think so.

She stopped. No. No there hadn't been this many trees. The nursing home had been in a nice suburban neighborhood. Organized cul de sacs and neat street signs and small decorative hedges. There hadn't been tall, ominous pines, densely packed around like soldiers in a line...

Andrew had done this on purpose. Andrew. Her brother.

She looked up at the sky - nothing but more grey. She had no idea where she was, where Andrew had dropped her. The snow was still coming down, faster and faster, and the longer she looked up at the sky the dizzier she became. The next step she took sent her right into the snow face first.

She pushed herself up. Her fingertips burned, her toes burned, her cheeks and nose and chin all burned. Her sweater wasn't thick enough to keep her warm, and her shoes weren't made for tromping through snow.

She tromped on anyway. She didn't know how long she did. She only knew that when her hands went numb, she decided to take a break. And when that break turned into a nap, she didn't realize the danger of shutting her eyes and letting it all slip away into a dream.

It wasn't until she opened her eyes to see the Grim Reaper before her that she realized her mistake.

"Oh. No... no..." She sniffled, covering her face.

"Do not fear." The Grim Reaper said. Cool bone touched her hand and pulled her fingers away from her face. "No more harm will come to you."

She looked up into the deep, darkened hood to a pair of chilled blue eyes; a thin layer of frost over a blue lagoon. "...I'm dead. Aren't I."

The Grim Reaper nodded.

"...That sucks."

The Grim Reaper chuckled. "I suppose it does."

"What now?" She asked, looking around. It had stopped snowing. 

"I come offering you a choice." The Grim Reaper's voice was strangely soothing, like water in one of those bamboo fountains.

"A choice?"

"You may pass on - or you can help me with my work. Collect for me the souls of those passing and lead them to where they belong. For this work, you shall be rewarded. When you assist one thousand souls in passing, I shall grant you any one wish you desire."

She blinked. She understood as they spoke. It was a strange sensation, knowledge just appearing in her brain as if it had always been there. She chewed her lip, trying not to look in the direction the mini-van had gone off in hours ago. 

She realized she was afraid. Of dying. She looked up at The Grim Reaper and smiled, tugging her hat down on her head. 

"...When do I start?"

The Grim Reaper extended a long, bony hand. "Right now, Cleo Tanderfel. Right now."

The First Little Cracks

Jack was different. 

It wasn’t just the broken, flat flesh around his one blazing red eye. It wasn’t just the seemingly endless, slight trickles of blood that oozed from the cracks, either. It was Jack.

He knew that was what she was thinking. 

Jack leaned on the high cocktail table, fingers drumming idly on the surface. He had his shoulders rolled forward as he stood there, one leg crossed at the ankle and the toe of his shoe tapping on the floor. He was relaxed, naturally poised like a predator. 

She took a sip from her glass across from him. Her eyes drifted around the room. It had taken some convincing to get her to come out with him. 

She had been concerned. He could see it in her eyes, and he was torn in half. Part of him was touched, craved it, loved her all the more for her care, wanted to tell her it was all right.

The other part of him was angry, callous, amused, pitied her concern and wanted her to just stop looking. Stop feeling sorry for him and what happened, stop looking at the cracks in his facade, wondering if he was still him.

The honest answer was that he didn’t know. The serum had broken him in half, torn away whatever he had put there to protect himself, and this old, dark thing surged to the surface, snarling and wicked. Jack was not Jack anymore, not really. He had another name, something powerful enough that he didn’t say it out loud. Something evil, perhaps.

Trapped in his own head, two sides of him argued, noisy, constantly bickering semantics about good and evil… It was exhausting.

The music in the bar was deep. It had a lot of bass and a catchy trembling rhythm that tickled at the back of your knees, urging you to dance. Jack looked back at Her. 

He caught her eyes. He felt himself smile, that new half smile that tugged at he broken skin under his eye. 

She looked away. 

“Glad you came out tonight.” Jack leaned in closer to be heard. “It’s fun. Drinking, talking. You know.”

She looked back. He could see recognition in Her eyes. As her eyes lingered longer, Jack saw that She could sense both sides of him. 

“Sometimes it is nice to go out.” She ceded. She took another sip of her drink - it was green and fizzled a little bit, with a slice of lime twisted in it. 

Jack hadn’t touched his drink yet, but he was itching to down it. Blood and whiskey. Drop of rose liqueur and a twist of Lime. 

Jack’s smirk lingered and he tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing over at the dancers on the floor nearby. “Sometimes it’s nice to dance, too.”

He looked back at her, and she looked away. “Sometimes, sure.”

She didn’t want to be here with him. The thought irritated and terrified him. He grimaced down into his drink. Thoughts crashed around in his head.

You’re not a real person, Jack, I’m in charge, this is MY body. How DARE you soften this vessel with your naive, boyish nonsense? Ugh, what part of me was ever that much of a pu-

Shut up, shut up! I don’t care who you were, it doesn’t matter, I’m here now. I won’t let you spoil this.

Spoil this? Me? You coyly sit here like some juvenile lovesick puppy dog. All I want to do is make a move.

Don’t you touch her. 

Jack took the glass and downed it in one great swallow, grinning with his teeth as it slid down his throat.

But we want to. Why? What’s so special about her?

Don’t play dumb. You know. You see it too, you feel it, you can’t hide that from me.

The voices quieted, and Jack looked up. She was watching him. 

He chuckled, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She asked.

“It’s a bit noisy in here.” He smirked again, tapping his temple with two fingers. 

Her eyebrows came together. 

Dread rose in the pit of Jack’s stomach and he pushed back from the table. She was going to say something, and he didn’t want to hear it.

“Jack, I -” She started.

Jack took two steps around the small table, movements prowling and intense. He put one hand on the table again to wedge himself between it and Her, and leaned towards her with purpose. 

Jack held out his other hand and interrupted her. “Dance with me.”

She stopped. Whatever sad words, or consolations she was going to utter on his behalf were silenced. She looked down at his hand and then up at his face.

“And who would I be dancing with?” She asked cooly. 

Jack winced, his hazel eye cringing beneath his expressive eyebrow. But the red eye was unflinching. His lip turned up, like a grin and a snarl combined, confident and intensely focused. This eye blazed like the red hot end of a poker.

“You would be dancing with me.” He moved his hand a little closer, an inch, urging.

She looked around. She was uncertain. 

Jack knew now why his heart never pounded, why he couldn’t feel his blood rushing through his veins. He had no heart. It was hidden somewhere secret to keep him in a half-life state forever. But in the hollowness of his chest he felt other things, moving things, coils of colorful snakes writhing about in there when she looked at him. Both halves of him couldn’t deny the feeling. Neither one wanted to.

“Dance with me. What do you have to lose, here?” Jack insisted. He tilted his head forward, the sandy hair dropping just enough to cover one part of the gruesome crack in his cheekbone. 

“Jack, I don’t -” 

Jack took her hand. His other one reached up, and with strange delicateness of gesture, he took her chin and turned her face towards him.

“Please. Dance with me.” Jack asked. Unanimous desire, unconflicted, in his eyes, voice a playful growling rumble, but beneath that…

Beneath that...

She didn’t say anything. She paused, and then she reached out and accepted his hand.

Jack’s expression didn’t waver as he led her from their table to the dance floor. As the rhythm slowed and deepened like a nocturnal current around them, he moved his free hand to her waist. He kept her other hand close to his chest, turning them so her palm was pressed on his sternum, and his hand was holding it there.

Had he a heartbeat, she would have felt it thrumming under her palm.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Jack murmured, still locked onto her eyes. They were beautiful. Like the green of the world just before the autumn frost. He could feel the darkness in her now, not like before. It was like cool bed sheets on a hot summer night, silken and surrounding. 

She smiled at the comment. 

There was a moment of silence between them as the music progressed, thrumming up from the soles of their feet.

“Are you still… you, Jack?” She asked. 

Her expression hadn’t changed, but Jack pulled his eyes away from hers as he contemplated the question. 

“No.” The red eye answered, automatically. A moment later the hazel eye returned, coming back to Her gaze “... and yes.”

Jack moved his hand to the small of her back, as if to make sure she couldn’t escape. He leaned his head towards hers, eyes cast again to the side. “I’ve always been this. Inside. Like you.” 

She didn’t respond, so Jack tilted his face back towards hers. “Evil is relative. I was evil. Still am I suppose. But everyone is. I’m no different at all. If anything, I’m better now. I remember. I know things. I can feel things.”

“You are different. I see it.” She insisted. “Tell me that you’re alright, Jack.”

Jack laughed, his smile curling sharply, knifing up his face in a sudden manic gesture before settling in it’s new, casual grin. Then it faded, shifted sides, his hazel eye leveled at her. “Don’t I look alright?” 

His grin was tinted feral. His eyes roamed over her face. He could see the shadows just beneath her skin. They looked delicious.

“No.” She stated.

Jack winced, playfully scowling at her. “It’s the blood, isn’t it? Tsk, I’ve tried to clean it up, but honestly, some vessels these days -”

“Stop that.” She snapped. “Answer me, Jack.”

Jack felt his mood shifting again, twisting around on itself. “Please…”

“What?” She pleaded, her tone gently prying.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against gleaming, dagger like thoughts. “I’m fine. I did what I had to do, I did it…. I’m…. I need….”

“What can I do to help, Jack, what do you need?” She searched his face, he could feel her eyes on him. 

Jack pulled her in, her hand still pinned to his chest. Her voice was breaking him apart, and neither half of him understood why. So he pressed his lips against hers to stop the concern, stop the worried words and the pleading. He pressed his lips there so he couldn’t feel softened by her care, or wounded by her feelings.

But.

But he left them there as his eyes closed. There was a summer rain on her lips, and it revived him. A heart in a jar thousands of thousands of miles away trembled. Wherever his soul had gone, it shivered, surprised. Jack tasted her darkness, tempered by warm sunlight, like a grove whose morning-dew grass is suddenly touched by the mid-day sun. Inexplicable. Intoxicating. Irresistible, overwhelming emotions, turbulent desire and a crushing unfamiliar hope flooded him and his first kiss with feeling.

Jack broke the kiss. 

Her expression was stunned, when he dared open his eyes again. They had stopped dancing there, rooted to the spot like a pair of deer in the road.

She didn't say anything, but she was staring, staring hard at his face.

Not so bad. Could have been worse. But there's still time, she could still tear you in half. Oh, oh, or maybe she could start crying. THAT would be something, wouldn't it?

Shut up.

Jack dropped his hands quickly, stepping away from her. She made no move to stop him, and no words of protest. Her eyes were even, glued from his face. His face, his broken face, his bleeding, torn, stained face...

Beautiful face. We have a beautiful face. Have you ever seen such delicious dichotomy? Come on, Jack. Stop fighting me.

Shut up.

Jack swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I should go. Thanks for - That's for coming out..." He tossed the words around as he turned to leave, not waiting for a response or a call of his name. He wondered if she would call him back, standing there alone on the meager dance floor. Would she ask him to stay? Recite more sympathetic words? Tell him that his feelings weren't...

But Jack didn't stay. He would never know.