Arcadia-FloorAfter the fiasco of our return I was sent over to Charles' place. Apparently I am a distraction.Well, I did try to weasel my way out of the confrontation. I guess it was a success. Try to stop that group from fighting, end up with head trauma.
To break it down further, I am in the garage of the place. His car is out for repairs, so he just passes me another beer as we listen to the argument next door.
As I crack the top off, he makes a very astute observation. "You really kicked the hornet's nest this time. Wonder what they'll do to you when it's your turn?"
Taking a sip I respond a little nervously, "Knowing them... Can't be anything pleasant. Did you know that Vermina poisoned me when I called her a skank about a week ago? It was all in good fun, well no, she irritated me a little, anyway I wrote it down on a scrap of paper while I was a monkey. Long story there, but the point is simple. Punishment is doled out on an inhuman scale. To be frank, I may actually slip outta here before t
Arcadia-RatLana's screams pierce the air, and I have no inclination to stop the pack from killing her. But there is a nagging emotion... a human emotion, crying out to stop this.
My human nature reasserts itself as I leap onto her body protectively. The other wolves cease their relentless assault and back off. I look over the damage. Broken arm, severe lacerations across her legs and stomach, a few chunks of flesh shredded. She'll live, but she won't be flying for awhile. Small, terrified sounds escape her as I sniff her face. She's harmless.
The pack fades out, disappearing into the trees. Only the twins stop for a moment to make sure this is what I want. They leave as well.
Slowly crawling to a boulder nearby, she winces and cries out in pain ever foot she makes. Pressing her back to the larges stone she holds her good hand out in defense, "Stay away from me!"
Hopefully she learned a lesson today. I will not just let her, or anybody, threaten me in such a way. Never again.
PHOCT- FLEET SCOOP issue 3*Skipping through the dreary waiting room (seriously, needs more color) you happen across a newsstand set up in front of a restaurant (the drinks there do funny things to your head.) taking up a copy of Fleet Scoop you examine the cover. A rather jovial looking fellow dressed in a fantastic purple suit stares directly at you, propping himself up with both arms upon a well-crafted cane. His dark skin reminds you of an excellent batch of coffee you had hours before arrival. Only the skull painted upon his face confounds you. Where you're from, everything is glitter, sparkles, and good cheer! Why would he have such a macabre piece of art on his face? Only the unhappy would wear such a ghastly face.
Beneath him, almost as if the subtitle itself were pinned by his cane, reads the tagline "Mr. Saturday sheds light on his club!"
A few unimportant stories are in very small print, seeming to give him room. "The River Styx, and why you shouldn't drink her waters!" "Prometheus speaks his piece!"
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