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PHOCT- FLEET SCOOP issue 2* Strolling through the holding area you run across a freshly printed stack of magazines. FLEET SCOOP, naturally. These FLEET folks seem to have their people everywhere. With a weary sigh (and who wouldn't in this situation?) you take it up and examine it.
Unlike the older issue, of which there are several (seriously, that Loki character? How pretentious can you get?) this one has no light-hearted side stories. Dominating the cover page is the dock you left yourself mere days ago. Devoid of any sign of life, the words "WHERE IS CHARON?" Are more noticeable than even the title of the mag. Opening it you flick past the terribly written fillers, diving into the main story.*
Things are starting to get complicated here in the Underworld. Charon, everyone's favorite grumpy ferryman, has been missing for over two days now. No souls have been brought in, and none can leave. For all intents and purposes, Hades is closed for business.
When I tried to gather information fro
Xionus-SurpriseThree months pass by, a quiet time. Brokha has been occupied with a new discovery, some primitive race of mammalian beings, not unlike hummanity a few centuries back. The only big event in my life (other than my occasional flights) was Lance's wedding.
Even as I drift through the sky lazily, I think back to that day fondly.
He requested to have a cermony based on human customs, and his mate humored him. For reasons I don't understand the Doc made me his best man. I was quite surprised. He had a cake commissioned, and went through with the whole thing.
Returning home I still remembered how he fumbled his lines.
Time seems to be slipping by lately, my adventurous romps through the unknown have slowed. The past several weeks Brokha has been diligently translating this races language, and I have been providing her with the only thing I can. Companionship.
I have decided to work with Lance on discovering the limit human psionics have. Unfortunately, the limit is still unknown, and many of t
PHOCT- FLEET SCOOP issue 1*In your hands is a strange magazine. The cover depicts a pale skinned man posing for the camera, he has slightly tilted his sun-glasses to reveal milky white irises with corrupted flesh surrounding both eyes. The title "FLEET SCOOP" is emblazoned across the top in bold letters.
The main draw is the subtitle beneath the man on the cover "Lunch with Loki, an interview with the Trickster extraordinaire."
Other interesting stories advertised are a list of edible plants and small critters for the newcomers, and a fairly attention grabbing feature labeled "Dating Gorgons. Get rid of the paper bag, give her some shades!"
Skimming through the advertisements for underworld attractions and pubs, you reach the cover story.*
There is a small tavern I have frequented since my death about two months ago. A little place carved into the very walls of the waiting room, The Dionysus Club. That is where I met up with the mischievous Loki.
As we sat down at the bar, he reminisced about the time he got hi
Arcadia-SolutionCold blue eyes pierce my soul. "Liar."
I take a few steps back, "Easy now Lana... You don't want to do anything stupid now do you?" I hope somebody inside hears me... I prepare to cripple my ears should she start singing.
Her arm snaps out faster than my eyes can register, jerking me to the roof with tremendous strength. "You came back to toy with me. Masquerading as an anti-human bigot you forgot one thing. You have the stomach to receive help from the two youths in human form. So why did you do it?"
She grabs my neck with her foot, surprisingly powerful for a bird foot. Of course, she is a bird of prey... Trying to pry myself free I continue. "I wasn't toying with you! And that's the truth. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay..."
Her grip loosens for a split second, then tightens to the point of constriction. "You're still harassing me! Why would you care if I was alive or dead?!"
Getting harder to breath. I trudge on anyway. "I don't like the thought of anyone getting hurt
PHOCT- Daniel Hedacher's DeathTonight marks the death of Daniel Hedacher. A man with strong morals, but an appetite for extreme punishment. Unbeknownst to him, a force beyond human comprehension compels him to enter the dilapidated, stinking apartment building by the construction site. it's a wonder the place hasn't been demolished.
The same entity guiding him also aids in his stealth. For such a large man to move without a sound perplexes even himself. Definitely not his normal operation.
His quarry tonight was none other than the Brooklyn Butcher. Authorities lost him in a high-speed chase, assuming he fled to Jersey. Instead he worked his way to Manhattan, setting up shop in this hellhole of a building.
The Butcher has exactly one thing in common with Daniel, a.k.a. The Malefactor. Both are serial killers with victims reaching into the double digits. But that's it. The Butcher kills any and all he feels he can get away with.
Daniel kills the real malefactors. Rapists. Murderers. Terrorists. His conviction justif
dead dog julyI.
the summer heat lays limp in the city’s lap,
breathing long oppressive breaths.
it does not even lift its lolling head
to bark out hoarse indignancy
when a strange man brings the mail.
there might be heavy rain today,
brought by some swollen, murmuring cloud.
the world will whirl and howl,
then settle down,
to die a little more.
o, quickly, love,
press your back against the wall in fear
as the universe spreads her arms and
shuts her eyes
and starts to summon the end of all things.
come with me
to the place of windows full of speechless afternoon
hot windy whispers of half-formed solutions and resolutions,
sweltering sunlit meadows we’ll wander and then forget.
o quickly, love,
let’s to the season of forgetting
and unwind all of our harshest memories
and fill the universe’s mouth
with mute cotton.
i’ll whisper these words to you some evening
with all my exigency in the hand i rest on your arm—
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