Heroid

Mrs. Heller flipped the diary open and scanned its pages: The girl-girl love affair; the crime sprees in Paragon City which the girl thinly veiled as "shopping trips"; the mysterious nun; the disappearance and reappearance of this "Tristan"; all mixed with the trivial day-to-day things that teenagers tend to blow into life-altering events. Most of the journal was harmless.

Today I bought Lily a pre-commitment ring...

I wish Gina could get that mask removed. I bet she's really pretty without it...

I don't know what I would do if Tristan suddenly reappeared...

I can't quite figure out Aden and Sadie -- I mean they're together all the time, but you never see them hold hands or anything...

...and other entries about Emma and Jack and Sam and so on and so on...

All somewhat benign and banally dull to her. Except for one page near the end:

I really believe that, with a little encouragement, the Orphans could become a force for good in Etoile. We could organize and inspire our generation to rise up against the corruption that the Spiders represent. We could put Lord Recluse out of power. I believe there are enough of us, with enough powers, to do that. I believe that in a city full of villains, we could rise up -- every one of us -- and become heroes.

One page that, if certain people caught wind of it, could spell doom for the girl and her friends in the Orphans. Mrs. Heller flipped open her phone and dialed Arachnos' Informants' Hotline.

((And once again, socially conscious daughter outwits capitalist-pig father for the good of the People! Da! ))

((Nice, Shae! ))

Soccer practice had lasted well past dark. Mick's body ached in places no one's body should ever ache. He felt like it wanted to just curl up into a ball and die like a spider that's been stepped on.

His life had been busy the past few weeks. Spring vacation had ended and school had started back up in earnest, leaving him little free time. Jeanelle Barlor had confronted him in the hallway after biology the first Friday back and now it seemed he had a girlfriend. The blue girl's diary had remained under his mattress where he had hidden it, unopened since that day, his crush on the exotic blue girl overridden by the presence of a real flesh-and-blood girl.

Mick walked into his family's home and went straight to his room and collapsed on the bed. His mother would be upset if she saw him sprawled face-down on the clean bedspread in his filthy soccer uniform, but right now he didn't care. He closed his eyes and was almost asleep when --

His bedroom door opened and his mother said, "We need to talk."

Mick sat up and began to hurriedly explain that he was sorry he had gotten on his clean bed in his soiled clothes, but his mother shook her head.

"Not that," she said, "this."

She held up her hand. In it was a black-bound book, with gold-edged pages and a broken clasp.

"Oh." He sat up. "I found that."

"Well I didn't think you wrote it."

Max blushed and wondered how much of it she had seen. He hadn't the entire diary -- once he got to the parts that dealt with sex, he had mostly read those repeatedly. And while he had meant to come back and finish reading it, it seemed as if doing so would show an infidelity to Jeanelle.

"You don't know the girl who wrote this, do you?"

Max shook his head.

"Do you?"

Her tone made it clear that a head-shake was unacceptible. "No ma'am, I don't know her."

His mother regarded him with a strange expression on her face. He watched her watch him and tried to hide the uneasiness he suddenly felt. Was she upset because of the sensuality depicted in the diary? It definitely didn't qualify as porn and if it was made into a movie would barely get a mature rating. Maybe she was just disappointed that he would invade the girl's privacy by reading it.

"I'm sorry, mom." There. The universal disarmer.

Her expression softened and he knew he was going to be all right.

"It's all right, Mickey," she said, a gentle smile beginning to form on her lips. "I was just worried that this book would influence you in a subversive manner."

Subversive? He hadn't read anything remotely subversive so far.

"And if it got around that you had read what is written in here--" His mother tapped the diary's cover for emphasis. "Well, let's just say it could hurt your father's business. We might even have to take you out of private school and put you into the Arachnos academy."

Mick shuddered. What was in those pages that would cause her to make this kind of threat? He cursed his hormones that kept him from reading past the naughty parts.

"When your father gets home, I'm sure he will want to talk with you about this too. Now, get your filthy self off of those clean bed linens and take a shower."

She shut the door, taking the diary with her.

Stunned, Mick sat for a few moments, then got up and did as he was told.

((Man... I haven't checked this thread in a few days. Chrome, Morv, and of course, J... Great reads!))

Mar. 11, 2008

I know what happened to Tristan now and how I wish it really was a matter of him hating me -- that he couldn't stand me so much that he couldn't bear to be in the same country with me. But that is not the case. He is gone. Truly, utterly gone. And in a way that would be better if he had died.

My One True Love is lost to me forever. If it weren't for my friends, I don't think I could make it through another day.

I feel bad about avoiding them lately, but I have to deal with things. I guess it's good that everybody has been so busy. And it's not like it's one-sided. Gina has been avoiding me for some reason ever since before Tristan disappeared.

But Lily has been a really good friend to me. She's gone out of her way to be with me, and I really enjoy hanging around with her. She pulled me out of the deepest dark depression and we started doing things together. I think it was her outrageous personality that drew me to her. She is everything I'm not: Sassy, tough, streetwise, sensual. And her language! She says things I could never say! But it's like she says it for me sometimes.

I'm not a lesbian, but I think, in a way, I've fallen in love again.

I mean, it's not like I want to marry her or something. (Eww.) I guess you could call it a girl-crush. She makes jokes about... stuff... us... but I don't think she's serious.

The only thing she does that I really don't like is her drinking. She binges. She'll open a bottle and keep drinking until it's gone, and then she will open another one. She's more fun when she's sober. When she's drinking she gets maudlin and says things that make me uncomfortable.

The next time she tries to get drunk around me, I'm going show her. I'm going to drink half her liquor!


Mar. 12, 2008

Everything has changed.

My head hurts. She went on a binge last night and I was with her. I did just what I said I'd do.

But also I did something I'm ashamed of. Something really bad. Something that I never dreamed I would ever do to another person.

I seduced Lily.

It looks even worse in writing than it sounds when I say it.

I seduced Lily. I knew how she felt about me, even though I tried to brush it off and ignore it. She told me she loved me before, but I told myself it was like, "sisterly love" or something -- you know, just good friends. But deep down I knew what it was, and I used it to deal with my grief over Tristan. I used it to make myself feel desireable and wanted and not so alone.

She thinks I'm in love with her now. How can I tell her I just used her?

I'm so confused.

Everything has changed.

"That [censored]."

Mick stopped reading and looked around when he realized he'd said that out loud.

Whoever this "Tristan" was, Mick thought, he must really be some sort of loser, ditching this girl. If he ever ran into her (not likely, but still...) he would tell her so too. He would tell her... what? That he had read her diary which she had obviously meant to dispose of; which, it being a diary, by its intended purpose was not intended to be seen by unfamiliar eyes?

The sun was setting, if he didn't hurry home, then he would be caught out after dark -- not an good idea for a civilian in the "Rogue Isles".

Mick closed the diary. He would throw it back into the surf and forget about the blue ice-girl and her adventures. It was a life he would never live. She might as well live on the continent.

But he had time to read one more page. He opened the diary at random to somewhere in the middle, and there, in the middle of the page, these words jumped out at him:

I'm not a lesbian, but...

A hot flush came over him. He knew the right thing to do would be to throw it back, to give it back to the oblivious ocean. He slipped the book into his jacket and headed for home.

Mar. 3, 2008

Dear Diary,

The most awful thing happened a few days ago. The robot lady (She calls herself Elle! Can you believe that?) found out where Tabby and I were and in the middle of the night invaded the Orphans' home! She had her big bodyguard and a bunch of big robots with her.

They attacked us in our sleeping quarters while we slept, and if Emma and Ken hadn't had their own room set up, we might have all been killed -- or worse. But Emma and Ken heard the ambush and came to our rescue. They sent out a distress call over the comm and pretty soon Lily and some of the others who usually stayed out really late showed up.

We all worked together and to beat her and her robots. But I did something I'm not real proud of.

Her big bodyguard -- he had Tabby and was going to get away with her! I had to do something. I panicked. I meant to hit him with a blast of air cold enough to freeze his muscles to make him drop her but I did something wrong. The cold blast made a spear of ice that went right through him.

I killed him.

I've never killed anybody before. I don't like the feeling.

One of her robots did something to me. Attached some sort of robo-spider to my back and it took me over. They said that I started attacking them, but I don't remember. Strain stopped me by doing something to the thing on my back. Then she and Emma took me to some friends in Paragon City to get the thing removed. It had attached itself to my spine. I was afraid I might get turned in, but the girl who did the work (they called her Paw) was cool. She didn't rat me out. She did say I might have some scars though, but my spine was all right.

I just got back today and the others have done a good job of fixing everything that was broken and busted in the battle. The Orphans are the best friends I could ever have.

That's why I feel so bad about the attack.

All this happened because I was careless and invited a girl to come stay with us who was under the control of Elle. I didn't realize it at the time of course, but Elle can take people over. She's like a demon. The nun told me that. Lily seemed to sense something about the girl and warned me not to help her, but I did anyway because I just... did.

Thing is, I was careless because I miss Tristan. I don't know what I did to drive him away, but he hasn't come back for days and I'm so worried. If he's out there, I hope he hears when I speak to the moon at night. I hope he hears how much I want him back and how I hope he's all right and if he comes back I promise to make him want to never leave again.

Mick thumbed through the pages -- the closer he got to the middle, the less the ink was smeared -- and he wondered who this blue girl was.

He had only known one person with such a sunny disposition, a girl who had left Etoile after her mother died. He missed her. She was a cheerleader who the "French" kids called "Lupine", and the "English" kids called "Bunny". He fancied himself in love with her even though he had never dared tell her so. But he wasn't alone in that respect. Alot of boys at school had wanted to date her, but she had sworn to "save all her love for the One Special Boy". Mick thought it was just an excuse for her to not date "sons of spiders" as she had called them.

Mick always thought he might have an advantage over the other boys there, since his father was just a businessman, an exporter with Arachnos contracts, but he had lacked the courage to press that advantage, and now she was out of his reach, out of his life.

Mick sighed and opened the diary to...

Mar. 3, 2008

Dear Diary...

Jan. 12, 2008

Dear Diary,

I've met so many people!

I was worried when I got like this, with powers and stuff, that I would be alone. Like all by myself. But I'm not! It's almost like being in high school again!

There's this girl named Sadie who has a like a green thumb all over and has these cool plant powers like I've never seen before.

I met her the same day I met Aden. He does this thing where he disappears. He calls it "ducking sideways".

And there's Gina, who as soon as we met we started talking and it was like instant BFF! She has this mask that's like superglued on and she wishes she could take it off but it puts a restraint on her psi powers and she probably shouldn't take it off or she would turn the whole of Etoile into zombies or something.

There's Wintermind, who refuses to tell anybody his real name and gives a different name every time you see him. When I first met him, he said his name was "Steve McGarrett". The next time he was "Bill Shatner". He says he has mind powers. I think he's just mental.

There's a girl named Kitt. She can do all sorts of stuff. It's like she doesn't know there's such a thing as the laws of physics and stuff.

Jack is a rich kid who seems full of secrets. I don't know him well at all yet. He's got this darkness to him. Say no more.

Missy and Emma aren't from this universe. They're not from the same universe either though. Apparently there's lots of universes and it makes me wish I had paid better attention in physics.

Emma seems to have taken up with this guy, Ken. Ken's asian. He's an awesome figther who can focus his "she" power. (I don't even know what that means, but I'm pretty sure that's how Emma says he fights so powerfully.) I think him and Emma might have "done it" but I don't want to think about that, because it doesn't matter how old Emma says she is (she claims she's really older than I am!), she still looks like somebody's kid sister and I think she's too young. I just hope Ken's not using his "she" power on her.

But there's one special person I've met. His name is Tristan and swear to God he looks just like Johnny Depp in that old show, 21 Jump Street! He's so deep. He was in love once and the girl broke his heart and now he's got so much pain inside. You can see it in his eyes. I think I'm in love with him.

We all had one thing in common -- we didn't really have anybody else. We needed a name and somebody suggested Orphans. I think Sadie liked it alot. She started graffittiing it all over the place.

I have friends. I'm popular again. I'm in love. No trigonometry! It's better than high school!

Gosh, life is so good!

"Borrring."

Mick didn't read the rest of that day's entry. In fact, he started not to read any more at all. He thought about tossing the diary back into the surf.

What had he been expecting? An insider's look at Lord Recluse's power structure? Tips on getting super-powers so that he could become one of his Lordship's Elite?

Actually, he had hoped to find some juicy details on the blue girl's sex life, but it turns out she was pretty big on the whole abstinence thing. (That last detail came about from a paragraph where she wondered if her newfound ice powers would keep her from "going all the way".)

Mick looked around, but there was still no one on the beach except for some seagulls and himself, so he turned the page and began the next entry...

Jan. 12, 2008...

((I lolled! I was waiting for Bender to turn up! Great! ))

Jan. 8, 2008

Dear Diary,

So much has happened in the past two days, I don't know where to begin. I don't know exactly what has happened to me. I only know that I was going to the hospital to visit mom one minute and the next, I'm in some sort of hi-tech lab. This robot lady and her big boyfriend (he wasn't a robot -- sick), they

I don't want to talk about that. Forget that. I'll white it all out later. I'm starting here where things got better.

After Tabby and I got away from that lab, we ran all over Port Oakes, trying to make our way back to Cap, where I live (or used to live -- don't want to talk about that either). Port Oakes isn't as nice a place as Cap. Plus I didn't know my way around. Tabby did, but she's alot faster than me because she's a synthetic person and has uber powers. I can only make popcicles. So getting around without somebody trying to hit me or hit on me or do something else I'd rather not think about was hard.

We tried to get on the ferry, but they wanted money or tokens and I had neither. Tabby took me to a warehouse and told me to hide there and wait for her. Then she went off by herself. I didn't know it at the time, but she went out and found this guy she knew who could hook her up with a "job". (Yes, I know I used quote marks, but that's the kind of "job" it was. Like a bank "job" or a kidnapping "job".)

I was alone in that warehouse and decided to practice my powers. I shot icecicles at rats and after a while I got pretty good at hitting them. I wasn't killing them though. At first they ran away, but when I kept shooting icecicles at them, they got really mad. I guess there were about twenty or thirty of them. They started chasing me, so I ran.

It didn't take long for them to corner me between some crates. I don't know if rats are smart like that, or if these were some sort of mutant rats, but it seemed like they chased me right where they wanted me to be.

I started crying. (Yah, I know. Not the most noble thing to do in that situation, but you would cry too if you were about to be eaten by rats.) My hear heart was beating like a thousand beats a minute. And then the rats all sort of stopped moving. Most of them anyway. Some of them started moving really slow, crawling away. I hadn't realized it, but when I got trapped, my adrenaline shot up and my icecicle powers froze the whole room. There were ice crystals on the floor.

I thought that was all pretty cool until I started to walk away. Then I slipped on my own ice and busted my own [censored].

It took a while, but I limped back to the spot where Tabby had left me and waited for her. I was starting to get worried that she had ditched me when she showed up about two hours later. She had money. Yay!

We took Tabby's money down to the ferry, but before we got there, this spider stopped us. He told us we had to pay a toll to walk down the dock to board the boat. We asked, "how much?" and he asked, "how much you got."

Then he took all our money.

Tabby said something about killing him later, and I think she was kidding, but there was a new spider in his place on the dock a couple days later.

Anyway, we went back to that warehouse and found a spot for me to sleep while Tabby went downstairs where she said she had seen some abandoned equipment she could use.

The next morning (which is today!), we were still in Port Oakes and Tabby had built two cool big robots.

More later...

Mick Heller watched the blue girl throw the book out into the water. She had stood for a few moments looking at it -- not reading it, because it wasn't open -- then she flung it, frisbee style, out into the waves. He watched as she stood a bit longer until the book disappeared beneath the rolling green ocean, after which she waved her hands around and created some sort of ice-slide and skated away on it.

Mick wasn't somebody special. He didn't work for any of the factions that controlled Etoile. He didn't have any super powers. He was just a teenaged boy with a mild case of acne and little peach fuzz on his face. He was also on the swim team at his high school in Cap Au Diable.

As soon as he was sure the blue girl wasn't going to double back, he swam out to the spot where the book had sunk, and, after a while of diving and fighting the tide, he found it.

Mick panted as he trudged through the breakers and collapsed exhausted on the beach. When he had caught his breath, he looked at the prize he had fought the currents over.

The book was bound in black, fake leather with no title either on the cover or on the spine. It's pages were edged in gold, like his mother's Bible, but it wasn't as thick as that. The miniature padlock that held it shut told him what kind of book it was -- a diary. The blue ice-girl's diary.

Mike easily broke the small, flimsy clasp that was meant to secure the diary against prying eyes, then riffled through the damp pages. The ink was smearing, but if he was careful, he was sure it would still be readable.

He looked around once more, and, seeing no one, turned to the first page...

Jan. 8, 2008

Dear Diary...

((Morv... that was beautiful.))

((Funny! Actually, it was warm and funny. Sorta like if somebody figured out how to do a good sitcom...))

((And since I linked the prequel to the sequel, I should link the sequel to the prequel...
And I Will Make Thee Sepulchres of Roses ))

((It occurs to me that I never did link this with its sequel. So...
Dead Roses on My Grave ))

((And a good read too! Read it! ))

I looked Death in the face and she laughed at me.

In retrospect, I suppose it was a fool's errand; but then, anything we do for unrequited love would be. I’m hardly the first fool to dare to hope, only the latest. Just open that drawer in the cabinet and slide my file in with the others. But put it up front because it deserves a place of prominence, this quixotic, damnable quest of mine; my rush for fool’s gold; a comedy of tragedies never to be forgotten, to be pulled out and shown to other poor souls who would dare think to go down this same dark road.

I have not seen my love since I returned from the domain of Death and Dream. (That I still call her "my love" only confirms the tenacity of my wrong-headedness. Do not attempt this at home, gentle listener: such a colossal boondoggle should be attempted only by a professional.) I have avoided her, you see, for I cannot face her. The shame of my current station prevents me. I have been made low.

Death made a deal with me, you see. I found her in her shadow-realm, seated upon her throne with her pale, emaciated handmaids at her side. She was beautiful, dark and lithe with long straight hair spun from black widow's silk, and dressed in the sheerest of gossamer. So overwhelming was she that my strength of will threatened to leave me and I realized that her's was the face that so many men long for, give up the amenities and comforts of a normal existence, and pursue, through reckless living, to a premature end. Still, I did not give in to this unearthly vision. I stood firm and I made my demands (fool!) and she sat and looked down upon me with bemusement.

With the same smile she had smiled the first time I had encountered her upon my death (a smile without mirth, without warmth, offering not an ending, but a beginning, and not a beginning of something, but a beginning of nothing) she acquiesced and said, "I will at a time of my choosing, and at the convenience of the Powers that Be, offer your lady love, this 'Samantha Adair', one opportunity to return to the living world, to become human again."

I listened, knowing that each provision was full of loopholes and backdoors, but clinging to the hope that all her dark promises were just that -- promises.

“However,” the dark lady continued, “I require a service of you. Will you accept this, Smoke Ghost?"

"Whatever you would ask of me, I will do."

With a gesture, she arose and her handmaids scurried into the shadows only to return a moment later with two halves of a dressing screen which they held in place between myself and their mistress.

When they parted the screen and again disappeared into the dark mists, Death stood before me transformed. She was no longer the ravishing temptress, but rather was now a rather plain-looking young woman with a mop of short, curly black curls, and dressed in simple grey jeans and a white tee-shirt which bore a rather comical illustration of a teddy-bear dancing with a skeleton.

"Come with me, Smoke Ghost," she said, taking my hand (her hand was cold, and though it appeared to be fully fleshed, it felt as hard and unyielding as bone), "I shall show you what I require of you."

We who walk between the realms are used to the "shimmer" one experiences when passing fully from the Beyond into the land of the living. Yet, so smooth was this transition that I scarcely noticed the shimmer. It was as quick as the turning on of a light.

We stood in the center of the construction site of the long-delayed Connor Building in Skyway City. Nothing ever seemed to finish on time in Skyway City. Every project seemed never-ending with crews laboring months on end, seemingly without noticeable progress.

Near to where we now stood, a pickup truck pulled up, and out of it struggled a man with his right leg in a cast. He balanced himself as he pulled a pair of crutches out of the bed of the truck. His arrival halted the work of the builders and laborers on the job site, and they all came rushing over to greet him as if very glad to see him.

A large man in a hard hat and green coveralls approached with his hand stuck out. "Joe!" the man said, "Good to see you up and about. We thought we'd lost you for a while there."

Joe smiled at the big man and balanced on his crutches as he offered his own hand to shake. "Yeah," Joe said, "Close call. Way too damn close."

It was at this point that I noticed something I had missed before. Above Joe's head was an hourglass, its sands filling the bottom with not so much as a speck left in the top.

Death noticed that I noticed.

"Ah. I trust you understand the significance of the hourglass, Smoke Ghost."

I stood stone still, without reply.

I suppose Death took my silence as misapprehension, because she spoke the obvious:
"His time has run out. The accident that broke his body should have ended his life. These things happen, but still, when your time is up..."

I hung my head as I came to fully understand the "service" I would perform for her.

"There are many such as he around this city. Heroes. Villains. Normal people. I need an agent to claim them. The books must be balanced."

Then she left me to my work.

I watched as Joe and his co-workers laughed and smiled and discussed Joe's good fortune. Some of them noticed as I approached the group. Some of them looked to the sky to see if it had suddenly become overcast. Some of them noticed a vague cloud of dark smoke, which they probably figured had come from the tailpipe of Joe's still-running truck. None of them took much note of it either way, for even though they noticed my approach, they could not see the misty claws extend from my hands, nor could they see those claws rip through Joe's back, straight into his heart.

Joe's friends would administer CPR. They would pound his chest and breathe into his mouth. They would call an ambulance and the paramedics would do those same things and then some, all to revive Joe, the miraculous survivor of an industrial accident.

But Joe would die of a heart-attack.

I have found that there are many empty hourglasses above the heads of many people, not all of them at construction sites. A distasteful amount of them occur in hospital nurseries and elementary schools. I perform my tasks expeditiously. The books must be balanced.

I know that after the things I have done, I shall never be able to look upon my beloved Samantha again.

The curse of Death is that she will not let you go.

((Apologies to J for forgetting to add a title to this story and accidentally -- and misleadingly -- tying it to his story.))

Galaxy City...

"They growed alot in eight months."

"Mm-hmm."

Roy Kirby sat on the floor beside his wife Peggy and watched the twins asleep under the Christmas tree in a pile of stuffed animals and baby toys. A plushie Ascendant was clutched tightly in Ace's tiny arms. He took another sip of eggnog and put his arm around Peggy and pulled her close.

"Been a quiet year fer me, ya know?" Roy said, "Quietest one I kin r'member since I got ta Paragon."

"It's been almost normal," Peggy said, then added, "Except for the Rikti Invasion of '07."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Pop!" a young voice interjected into their reverie, "'Rock Star' ain't no fun solo."

Roy sighed and looked at Peggy, who smiled back and replied, "Go set it up, Ben, and you dad and I will be in there in a few minutes. I got dibs on drums!"

An "awww" sounded from Roy and his eldest son simultaneously. Ben ran back to his room to set the game up.

Roy lifted Ace, Peggy lifted Alice and they took the sleeping babies to their cribs. They kissed their babies and covered them snugly and turned on the nightlight.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, they tiptoed out of the room.

"Makes me think things're gonna be onna perty even keel from here on out."

"I hope so, Roy. I hope so."

"It will be if I got anything ta say about it."

-----------

In the Rogue Isles...

Elle the Demon sat in the floor of her cloning lab and watched the baby Kirby-clone crawl across the floor toward her waiting metal arms.

"Oh my, you're a strong one," Elle said. "I don't see a single flaw in you. Maybe -- just maybe -- you're the one."

She lifted the baby in her arms and carried it to machine she referred to as the "clone-ager". She kissed the baby and placed it inside, then she went to the control console and put the machine to work.

She smiled as she watched through the view-panel.

"Yes," she said, "You may be the one. And if you're not -- I'll kill you as I have the others."

---------------------

In the realm of the Lords of Chaos and Order...

"You must see our point -- we Lords of Chaos have lost an important avatar in the Yellow King. This after having agreed to allow this... this..."

The Chaos Lord speaking gestured to the green entity who currently held charge over the Wheel of Destruction.

"...this substitute Lord of Destruction. We must be allowed to either choose a new avatar, or claim the designated entity, the HEROyd Kirby to take his place among us."

The assembled Lords of Order considered the Chaos Lords' demands.

"It is decided," one of them said after a some discussion. "You may have either your avatar, or your True Lord of Destruction. But to maintain the balance we have achieved, you may not claim both."

"Fair enough," the Chaos Lords agreed. "Now, leave it to us to choose the potential avatar, and how we intend to choose between our... er... choice."

-----------------

Founders Falls...

"Girls! Are you two wrestling again in there?"

"It's your mom!" Cassi Nova said in a hushed voice.

"Um... yeah, mom! Sorry! Nothing got broken!" Betsy Kinsolving, aka Blitz, shouted through the closed bedroom door.

Both girls collapsed on Betsy's bed in a fit of giggles.

"Shhh!" Betsy said, then broke out in giggles again.

"Oh, Bets," Cassi said as she covered Betsy's mouth with her own, "You are sooo chaotic!"

Rose McAden set her suitcase on the hotel room bed and sat down beside it. Her blue eyes seemed to be looking through the apricot colored walls, and she smiled as if she were seeing something wonderful and beautiful. She had never dreamed that her life would take the turn it had. She felt giddy, giggly, childlike. But she would need to contain her ebullience -- tonight she needed to be a seductress, not a little girl. She sighed happily, then stood and unzipped her bag. She pulled a red, shear, lace teddy out of it then closed it and slid it under the bed. Unpacking could wait until tomorrow.

Nick was downstairs, speaking to the conciege about things like wine choices and meals to be delivered to the room, tickets for shows, and -- at least she hoped -- for a fashion consultant from Dolce and Gabbana to come and show her some clothes. On the plane ride to Vegas, she had hinted for that, but wasn't sure Nick had picked up on it. He had been somewhat distracted and if it had somehow slipped his mind, she could understand.

She hung the teddy on the rack beside the towels and stepped into the shower. There was plenty of time. (She had slipped the bellhop a very, very nice tip -- one large enough to share -- to make sure the concierge kept Nick tied up long enough for her to prepare herself for the evening.) She felt the warm water splash against her skin and let her mind recall the events of the past week...

It had begun with a fight. She had applied for a position with Longbow, and had done so knowing that Longbow and Maggie's Rock didn't exactly stand in good relations. All she had wanted was a chance to prove herself. A chance to play "in the big leagues". Sure she had worked with Amelia and Jericho on a few occasions, but she was sure they had only let her come along because they were good kids and didn't want to hurt her feelings. But after that last time in Oranbega, she hadn't been invited back along. The only time she was involved in anything more than stopping a mugger was when she was with Nick, and though he claimed that she "pulled his [censored] out of the fire more than once," she knew that she was little more than backup, an occasional distraction when needed.

The fighting had started when she told him her intentions, but that wasn't all they had fought about. There had also been disagreements about her budding friendship with Sister Grace, Prioress of the Order. Of course the tensions regarding the mature behavior of Nick's daughter, Lynn, and their extra-dimensional daughter Betsy. And the girls were highly resistant to Nick's vision of them all living together in their new place in Founder's Falls. (Rose's demand that no boyfriends sleep over likely had a lot to do with that.)

So Nick had had a rough week, but so had she! Hell, she had had a rough life, spending the first thirty-plus years of it as a vestigial twin living inside her sister until some ancient magic had separated them and given her her own life. Perhaps it was the lifetime of being a (usually ignored) small voice of reason that made her feel so insignificant. Maybe it was that she and her sister had believed herself/themselves to suffer from some multiple-personality disorder for so many years.

But she and Nick had settled their disputes as quickly as they had erupted, and now, here they were in the Paris Hotel, in Las Vegas. Not quite the real thing, but it was good enough for her. (Grace had offered a trip to the real thing as a wedding present, but Rose decided on Vegas instead.)

She closed her eyes to rinse the cleanser from her face, and saw -- as she had every time she closed her eyes now -- the sunrise over Scylla Island; a circle of family and friends -- Lynn, Paw, Strain, and Betsy (with her new constant companion Cassi); Roy Kirby and his wife, Peggy; Tessa and Loth; and her twin sister, Rosie giving her away -- with Grace standing before them and the dawning light framing her frocked and hooded figure as she said the words, "Nick Kinsolving, do you take this woman..."

Rose turned off the water, dried herself and slipped into the flimsy lingerie. He would be here soon. The wedding might have been short and sweet, but the honeymoon would long and sweeter.

((I received it well! ))

((An rp story about my ghostly avenger, the Smoke Ghost. For more background on him, look in the October Writing Challenge thread. Other than that, all you need to know is that he was a "fedora, mask, and trenchcoat" style crimefighter in the thirties and forties who became the star of a radio show about his adventures. After his untimely death, he haunted a radio that wound up in an antiques shop in KR. Someone found him there and freed him. Now he has a physical manifestation and has returned to crime-fighting. Samantha Adair is the character of another player who is also a ghost.))



I am a ghost, and I am in love.

The object of my affections is one Samantha Adair. She has been my ideal of beauty since I was a young man sitting in the front row of the local movie house watching Mr. Ziegfield’s latest spectacle. Samantha was the third chorus girl from the left during the “Try to Catch an Angel When She Falls” number. She danced in a white, gauzy tunic through which I could easily make out every detail of her perfect breasts. All of the young women in the chorus line wore this same skimpy costume. But I wasn’t aware of the others. For me, Samantha danced alone on the big screen, and she danced for me.

I followed her career as it blossomed and she became a minor Hollywood starlet. When she attended the graduation of my class at the Los Angeles Police Academy, it my dream come true. I would at last meet the girl of my dreams.

She shook all our hands, and when the cameras flashed, she would kiss the lucky rookie whose hand she was shaking. As she worked her way down the line toward me, I prayed for a photographer to shout, “Miss Adair,” so that I might be so lucky as to feel her lips on my cheek.

I would live the rest of my life with the memory of a handshake.

I never saw her in person again after that.

At least not until I rescued from haunting that old radio and given this corporeal form that allows me to once again be the Smoke Ghost. What are the odds that I would find my way back into synch with the world of the living at nearly the same time my beloved Samantha also would? Surely it was a sign from the Powers that we were destined for each other.

Samantha had just recently been brought back to this earthly realm to serve as the spirit guardian to a young lad whose talent with spell casting far outstrips his understanding of it. She and I hit if off so well to begin with. I began to feel hope that love eternal would bind us one to another and we would haunt happily together in the ever after.

But now my hopes are dashed. I saw her last night for the first time in days, perhaps weeks. The business of being a crim-fighter is a time-consuming business. You never run out of work. In fact, if you do not keep track of your time, you could possibly wind up confronting the violently unlawful perpetually before you realize that days have passed. This is especially true for us ghosts.

So how much time had passed between the last time I saw her and tonight, I cannot say. All I can say for sure is that the pitiful creature I encountered earlier this evening bore only a degree of resemblance to my love. Samantha had changed.

I pleaded with her to tell me why her beautiful shadow had become a haggard, hateful vision of terror. She would not tell me. I followed her around the small park at the base of Grimy Ridge as her banshee-like wails tore through the Circle of Thorns followers who gathered there to practice their demonic rituals. She paid no heed to the people she rescued from the cultists. It was as if the Circle’s potential victims mattered not to her. All that seemed to drive her was the release of her boundless fury.

She did not speak kindly to me. Her every word was full of vitriol and spite. She told me she did not care for me, had no desire for my company. Though it broke my heart, still I would not give her up to whatever blow fate had dealt her.

Finally, I watched as she leapt from the top of a high wall, dashing herself against the rocks at its base. The curse of Death is that she will not let you go. I listened to my love’s woeful moans, to the cries of her grief that she could not bring an end to herself.

I knew then that something must be done for her.

“I used to be able to win the heart of any man I chose....I used to be so beautiful...” she said.

“You are still beautiful,” I tried to reassure her.

“I am spurned because of what I am,” she said.

“I have not spurned you,” I tried to reassure her.

“I am not talking about you,” she said.

And my spectral heart was broken.

“He made me look the fool before casting me aside,” she said, “But I cannot blame him. He is mortal now.”

There were a few of us -- ghosts, phantasms, specters, and former haunts – operating as heroes (and villains) in Paragon City. I suspect now that I know of whom she speaks; a common acquaintance whose advice I did more than once seek out. But my suspicion and jealousy would not help her.

“I told you to leave me,” she said.

“And yet I find I cannot,” I replied.

“That is none of my concern.”

Those words wounded me more than any others she had spoken.

“Is there no spark of warmth left in your soul?” I asked, hoping against hope that her countenance would soften, that she would turn her gaze once more my way, that I could look into those beautiful eyes…

“I have no soul.”

There. The final cut. And yet, I could not bring myself to give up on her.

Instead, I told her, “Then I shall surrender mine to restore yours.”

If she responded, I did not hear. I was already a spirit on the airwaves following a weak broadcast signal to Salamanca, where the veil between the land of the living and the land of Death and Dream is thin.

The curse of Death is that she will not let you go. But I would find a way. I would find a way to free my beloved from Death’s embrace, whether she be freed to life, or to the final crossing. And if the trying brings me oblivion, then so be it.

I am a ghost, and I am in love.

If I had carried her to term, she should be around four months old instead of two. But the ones who took her after I miscarried kept her in storage for months before they let her gestate.

What a strange way to think about your baby.

She's mine, but I didn't carry her. I didn't even know about her until that priest in the Rogue Isles told me I had lost her. No, from what I understand, she was nourished by machines in an artificial womb.

Excuse me a second...

There's so much I don't understand. I feel so ignorant. The workings of magic... the workings of science... Both of them have shaped my life -- twisted my existence so that I wonder sometimes if I'm even real.

But she's real. Her eyes are blue and her hair is golden ringlets that cover her little head like a princess' crown. She's soft and warm against my bare breast.

Silly. I'm feeding her from a bottle, but I still do all this preparation and sit alone with her in the nursery and pretend that she's getting her nourishment from my body. I close my eyes and listen to her suckle and imagine what it must be like.

Artificial womb. Artificial breast milk.

Oh, my baby, what can I give you that's real?

Grace turned up with her a few days ago. She said she had found her in the possession of one of her renegade followers. I've never trusted Grace. She tried to kill me after all. But when your enemy turns up at your door and tells you she's rescued your child... how can she still be your enemy?

Silly again. To maintain the fantasy, I switch sides and hold the bottle with my left hand.

But this time I open my eyes.

She's beautiful. She looks like her father, like her big sister, Betsy.

I owe Grace a huge debt. I can forgive that she almost killed me. Looking into my daughter's eyes, I could forgive anything.

Nick looks at her all the time. Holds her. Sings to her. His other daughters are nearly grown. This is the first time I've seen him with a baby. I like it. It makes me feel like there's a future for us.

He didn't bat an eye when I asked if I could pick the name. He let me have my way. (He usually does.) The first night we had her, I started thinking of her name. It just seemed right to have this name in the family.

Hermione. Hermione Rose.

She's a rose like her mommy and her auntie.

The bottle's nearly empty and her eyes are barely open, but I don't want to lay her down. I have months of nurturing to make up for. I have to give her something real.

I kiss her head and caress her little fingers.

The thought of her first heartbeat... the first kick of her tiny developing foot... It all should have happened inside me. I should have experienced that joyous torture of giving birth to her. But I'm damaged, broken. I wasn't even supposed to have gotten pregnant. If I hadn't lost her when I did, I would have lost her sooner or later anyway.

Somehow fate -- God? -- found a way around it. It's not the way I wanted it to be, but then, what is?

Oh, Hermione, it doesn't matter how you came to be. It only matters that you are.

I love you. And that's real.