srsizzy

I think we actually have to read Anna Karenina in our senior year. We have to read an awful lot of books for IB Enlgish...I miss the days of creative writing we once had. And I think it would be more like every other part (parts 1-16) to divide the war from the peace, since that's mostly how it's gone so far.

I'm just making a post to let all know that I still exist. Well, that's not the entire purpose. It's kind of an introduction to my life, and what's going on in it, and why I haven't submitted anything in a while. You see, right now I am in a program called the IB (International Baccalaureate). This program is similar to AP classes, but I think it might be harder. I'm not sure though, I don't know what AP classes are like. The program is recognized by colleges in a lot of other countries. The only thing is the workload. I have a few free hours a day, sometimes none, and no time on weekends. Sometimes it's enough work to not get enough sleep. Soon I'll be getting more work, and have a huge project due in every class in the next two months. So, basically I'm saying that I can't write until next summer. The free time I might have, I have to spend on editing and doing layout for my school magazine, and now I am also the editor for the yearbook. So, though I may do writing for that it will just be articles. I'm not trying to complain or anything, I put myself in this dire situation. I am just finding a way to inform that I probably won't be able to contribute for some time. Even as we speak I should be finishing the last four-hundred pages of War and Peace for next Wednesday's literary seminar, and then I have to read four other "historical" books in the next two weeks. Anyways, enough griping. I'll try to pop in every once in a while. I'll let you guys know when I have more of my book done, but I don't know if and when that will happen. I'm going to try to revise the first four chapters I have by October 31st, and write the fifth chapter by the middle of November, maybe during the break (though this is highly doubtful, since I have some big projects due the following weeks). See you all around.

bitingly

Yeah, I'll admit, I have no idea how college exams happen here. I think it all depends on the college, but all those who have read the story and attended college in the past haven't said anything as of yet. I think they're pretty intense, but I'm not sure, I should probably do some research into it. Dark Town is a fictional city, so the college is too, but I'll see what I can do to make the exam part of it a tad more realistic. I'm glad to hear that people enjoy reading it. That makes me want to post more...I probably will. I have to write it first though. I've thought about how much is explained in the car in Ch 3, and I think it would be better to take some of that conversation and explain it more through the story and less through characters conversing. I read over Wyv's post again, and next time I take a run over the story for editing I'll try to think about adding more physical and characteristic traits to the characters.

Check top of page for Post 09 The Reed Family Aproximately 250 years before the party In a small village in England there lived a very happy community. They prospered in planting grain and many other autumn crops. Every year there would be a harvest festival where the entire town would gather and celebrate the seasons. The people of the village worshipped many things at dusk, though the word "worship" is used lightly here. The evening, when the sun was setting, was the time this village belonged to. At every event, every dinner table, every night, all would sit silently for a few moments as the sun set behind the treetops. There was hardly any strife, and life there went on without any trouble. The village was far from perfect, but got on well enough. Every so often there would be crop failure, and sometimes the winters would be harsh, but the people of the village persisted without complaint. Everyone knew it was normal for these things to happen, but many would fancy the thought that these things happened when they weren't doing things right, or someone did a misdeed. In this way, everyone was able to remain responsible for his or herself, for fear that if they did wrong the whole village would pay. It was an odd belief, and there were many other odd beliefs, but these were what made the community function. One day, a man named Peter Reed appeared. He claimed that he had been on a long voyage, and needed a new home to settle down in, and so he settled there. Peter unpacked the few possessions he had, and moved into a house that nobody remembered existing. It was imagined that the building must have been there the all along without anyone noticing it, because it was hardly new. All these thoughts passed over their heads with very little scrutiny, and things went back to the way they were. Though no one really noticed it, when Peter moved in, the whole village began to change. The farms were more prosperous, the weather was gentler, and the families were happier. Soon enough, everyone accepted Peter as if he had lived amongst them for a very long time. No one knew how old Peter Reed was, but it didn't seem to matter. Sometimes he looked very young, and sometimes he looked very old. All that mattered was that he was everyone's friend. After a year of living in the village, Peter met Alice Lancaster. Alice didn't know of the Reed family, but soon took a fancy to the man. One marvelous afternoon, three months after they met, they were out on a picnic together. As dusk approached, Peter took Alice down to the creek, and they watched as the stars faded into view. Under the moonlight, Peter asked Alice to marry him. Half a year later, the wedding ceremony took place. Peter said he had a very small family, and only a dozen of his family members came, most of them looking as if they were of no relation to him. The only one that returned frequently after the wedding was Peter's brother, Montague. They didn't look alike, but everyone could tell by the way they spoke to each other that Peter and Montague were very close. The ceremony passed over wonderfully. Alice had family travel in from very far, and most of the townsfolk were invited to the wedding. One of Peter's relations, a man who only called himself Falstaff the Wanderer, was the life of the party. He was an odd man with grey skin who claimed he was from across the channel, though he didn't specify any more than that. During the wedding, Falstaff told fantastical legends, and did many tricks, most of which the children thought was magic and set the adults with curious shivers. Some of the guests stayed the night, sleeping on the floors and outside in tents, including Peter's brother. When the time was approaching midnight, Alice could here the two brothers arguing on the porch, and when she went out to see what was going on Montague was leaving. He turned and waved to her, walking off into the night and leaving her with a severely annoyed Peter. A year later, they conceived their first daughter, Isabelle. She was a very sweet girl, and her parents loved her more than anything in the world. As a toddler, she was the life of their home. Her intelligent, beautiful eyes shed light on the small family, bringing happiness to her mother and father, even when Peter returned from a tiring day of working at the mill. He would come in and pick her up, and all she would do is smile and laugh, making Peter's heart warm with happiness. When she grew older, beginning to walk and speak and do the things that aging children tend to do, Alice and Peter had a son. They named him Charles. When he grew older, he was an energetic toddler, and Isabelle sometimes found herself ignored as Charles took the attention of any guests. They both learned to read and write at a small schoolhouse in the center of town. Alice taught her children manners, and their father taught them to work hard, and both of the children grew up sharp and polite. No one in the neighborhood harbored bad feelings to the Reed family. They helped out in the community as much as, if not more than, many of the other families in the village. Soon after Charles turned five, everyone began to learn that Peter was a wonderful storyteller. He seemed to keep it private at first, but soon he was telling tales of adventure that many had never heard, over a fire in the forest or dinner when the town would gather to feast during a festival. Peter told tales of satyrs, nymphs and pixies; fairies, dwarves and magicians; and even sometimes he told of witches, monsters, ghouls and ghosts. Once or twice he told stories of lands far away, where there were god-like beings that socialized with humans and lived amongst them as kings. Charles enjoyed listening to his father's tales more than anyone. His favorites were those of fairies, wisps, wolves, and all other manner of beings in the forest. His sister told him with a condescending tone that none of it was true, and that their father was only telling stories. Whenever Charles asked his father, the only reply would be, "You never know." This kept his spirits up. Charles would always dawdle at the forest's edge before entering, whispering a silent plea for any creatures to let him pass unharmed. Over the years, Montague Reed visited many more times. A lot of the time he tried to coincide his visit with a festival that was taking place. Sometimes Falstaff the Wanderer would accompany him, keeping the crowd entertained with his parlor tricks and stories that weren't much unlike the ones Peter told. The Reed family would always greet Montague with open arms, welcoming him into their home for a week or a day, as long as he was able to stay. Montague said he often had business trips to make (though he never said what kind of business) and he could only stay as long as his schedule permitted. His niece and nephew were both very fond of their uncle, and would often go on excursions into the forest with them. When they came back, they often wouldn't remember what had taken place, but only that they must have had a wonderful time because they were feeling as cheerful as ever. Every year the family would expect a visit from Montague, sometimes two or three times a year. Alice's family would also visit, but it wasn't the same. It was very rare to have a Sir or Miss Lancaster grace the family with their presence. The family was sometimes expected to visit Alice's parents for holidays, but the children never looked forward to this. No one in the family seemed particularly fond of Alice's family except Alice herself. It was curious, but the only relative the children much cared for was their uncle Montague. As Isabelle bloomed into her years of becoming a woman, and Charles fought against becoming a young man, the family continued to prosper in its mediocre fashion. Peter started managing the mill and every so often Charles would come along to help. It was on one of these days that Charles decided to accompany his father that something very peculiar happened. Peter had stepped outside to look at the clouds approaching on the horizon, and when he returned, instead of carrying the bags of grain Charles had somehow conjured them into the air and was carting them across the room with nothing but the wave of a hand. When Charles noticed his father return he became flustered and the bags fell to the ground, spilling grain all over the floor. Peter stared at his son intensely for a very long time. When Charles seemed to be on the verge of tears, his father finally spoke. The first thing he said was that he was not angry with his son, but that under no circumstance could Charles do things like that in the eyes of anyone but his father. Peter then commenced to wave his own hands, muttering under his breath and causing all the grain to gather back in the sacks. Charles was only slightly surprised, and as they worked his father explained to him why the mill had been working better under his management. Charles admitted to Peter that he had learned to move things like that when he was alone in the forest. Now that he felt he had the acceptance of his father, Charles began to use this magic he had learned, but only when he was alone or with his father. Aside from cooking and tending to the needs of the house, Alice could be found mending and sewing dresses and gowns for women in the village. She had taken an interest to sewing when Isabelle and Charles had needed new clothing, and the family couldn't afford much. Now she found the hours of peaceful stitching to be almost ceremonious. Montague visited a few months after Peter found out Charles's secret. When Charles had a moment alone with his uncle, he accidentally let it slip that he could do something that his sister couldn't, but he didn't say what it was. When Montague inquired on what Charles was talking about, the boy told Montague (or "Monty" as the family called him) that his father said he couldn't let anyone know what it was. Montague simply stated that maybe Charles ought not to tell him if his father asked him not to, and dropped the subject entirely. Isabelle began to feel just as unnoticed as she did as a toddler, and could often be found silently cooking in the small room that counted as a dining room and a kitchen. Though she had encountered magical occurrences, she never attributed them to herself, and often thought they were the product of a dizzy spell. It wasn't until she was almost into womanhood when she realized that she could often glimpse into the near future. The fear of being thought a witch and cast out from the village kept her from telling anyone about it; and at night, when she heard sounds that no one else complained of, she was sure to keep her mouth closed on the matter. While her brother grew into this newfound magic, Isabelle turned away from it and found herself neglected by their father more and more, though she never really knew why. Charles never worried of what others may think, because he knew his father was just like him, and as long as his father wasn't frightened then Charles felt no reason to be frightened either. It was a breezy day in August when Montague Reed visited once more. The wind tossed dust and leaves across the road as he strode up to the little house, carrying a leather bag at his side. In Montague's wake ambled a recognized man with grayish skin and scraggly hair. He stood stiffly on the porch behind Montague as the uncle's gloved hand approached the door. Two knocks and Isabelle ran to open the door. "Montague!" A voice cried out from a rocking chair. Alice sprung up, putting her sewing aside and rushing to her brother-in-law, while trying to keep her pace as mannerly as possible. "You must be starving! Oh, Isabelle, could you start up the stove for supper. Peter and your brother should be home soon enough. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow! Come in, come in!" Montague tipped his hat to Alice with a familial smile, and stepped through the wooden doorframe. He could hardly manage saying, "How do you do Alice?" before she had run over to clean off a chair for him to sit in. His right hand hovered where he had stretched it out for a handshake. "Isabelle is growing to be a charming young woman," he said, trying to ignore Alice's hyperactive attitude. Isabelle blushed as she set up a pot over the wood stove. Montague's follower hovered at the door for a moment. "Oh, you know you can come in for supper as well Falstaff," Alice said, rushing to the door and holding it open. "Oh, that's very kind, but I think I'm going to hop to the pub for a spot of drink." Falstaff bowed his head and began to turn away. "Are you sure? You certainly look as if you could do with a wee bit more than just a drink," Alice said, trying to impress upon the thin man that he needed a good meal. "Let the man be Alice," Montague said, his expression becoming weary. "My assistant is shy around company…just like little Isabelle here," he said with a wink to his niece. Isabelle blushed again and left the house to fill a pot with water at the spout. "Oh, Falstaff, you're like family, there's not a reason to be shy," Alice implored. "Let it be Alice," Montague said, taking on a demanding tone. "Suit yourself then." Alice silently straightened the table up as Falstaff stepped off the porch and let the door swing shut behind him. "The both of you really don't look like you've eaten in ages," she muttered, violently polishing off a candle holder and setting it on the table a little too hard. "All right then, where has that girl run off to? Isabelle?" she shouted. When her daughter ran in and pointed at the pot of water, Alice grimaced and began fussing about the stove. When Isabelle politely asked her to move so that she could prepare the food, Alice busied herself with cleaning some dishes. "Now, now, Alice," Montague cried, short laughs cutting into his speech, "settle down woman! The dishes aren't going to dash off on their own accord. Come, come, and tell me how the year has treated the Reed family!" "Oh, you know Montague, the usual. We missed you on the solstice, but it was a pleasant night nonetheless. Now where are those boys? They should've been back by now, the sun's just setting…" The orange and red hues of dusk were dancing through the front window and Alice shut her eyes as the sun disappeared behind the line of trees. Just then the door opened and in bustled father and son, laughing gaily as they noticed that Montague was sitting before them. Charles ran to embrace Montague, and oddly they both seemed to life one another off the ground. When they released each other Montague looked as his nephew with an odd twinkle in his eye and surprised expression that only Alice seemed to notice. "Charlie my boy, look at you! You're really becoming a man." "That he his," Peter pronounced, stepping forward possessively. For a half of a moment he grimaced at his brother, but then his expression became jovial once more. Again, this change in demeanor was only observed by Alice. "I thought Falstaff was coming, is he here?" "He hopped over to the pub, you know how he is. Should keep the people entertained." The smile slipped from Montague's face, and each man stared the other in the eye a tension grew between them. It was gone though, as soon as Alice noticed it, and the children remained completely ignorant. "Yes, well, we'll have to save him a bit of supper for when he returns," Peter said. Alice smiled as Peter planted a warm kiss on her forehead. He took a seat by his brother and Montague's meaty arm stretched over Peter's shoulder. Peter began to talk about the success of the mill, occasionally stealing glances at his son, and Montague cut in with a small tidbit about his latest business venture. Whenever Alice heard these conversations it seemed to her that they said more than they were actually saying. It was as if they spoke in a secret language, so hidden that no one could notice what the true subject of the conversation was. It was none of her business though, and she kept her nose out of it as her and her daughter prepared dinner for the family. Dinner went by pleasantly, and the family caught Montague up with the current affairs of the village. When Alice had cleared away the dishes and sent the children to bed, Peter and Montague went out to smoke their pipes behind the house. Alice could barely hear the two voices muttering over the sound of the breeze through the window as she lay in bed reading a book. It was never her intent to intrude on the two brothers, and had always allowed them their privacy, but this time she couldn't help pricking up her ears when their conversation became intriguing. "You're going to have to accept that this won't last forever," Montague's voice sounded louder and deeper than normal, though he was almost whispering. "Why must you always change the conversation to this? I know what I'm doing. Have you sensed it in Charles? He's special, and I like to think that perhaps I could raise him to be someone extraordinary, the last of his kind." Peter's tone was full of excitement. "Not the last," Montague exhaled deeply, and continued, "just the last that is allowed. There will certainly be others, and if he has children! I've noticed that he is looking peculiar. Have there been any signs that he knows?" "Yes, yes, amazing development. Recently I've learned that he inherently knows how to interact with…" Peter's voice died out into a whisper and Alice couldn't hear the rest. "…but his sister on the other hand." "I could tell. She doesn't have any of the signs about her that she should. Very pretty, but not a speck of evidence that she's…well…" Montague trailed off and puffed at his pipe. Alice held her breath in anticipation, wondering what exactly he had meant. What was it that Charles had and Isabelle didn't? "It is quite peculiar, really, she's older than him, and such things have always been more apparent in females. I hate to ask it, but are you positive that she is…err…yours?" Alice gasped, and threw her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Montague grunted, but neither noticed that she was listening through the window. "Of course, positively, come brother, you have to at least be able to tell your own kin." Alice let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew that her husband would never doubt her dedication to him, and it was insulting that Montague, her own brother-in-law, would even insinuate such a thing. "There is a possibility that she just isn't the same…or she gets her traits from her mother's side of the family." "Yes, well, you never know. Maybe it will develop later." The sound of them smoking their pipes was the only thing Alice heard for some time. The smell of the smoke crept through the window, and Alice thought it smelt less like tobacco, and more like something sweeter. "So this is what you're going to do for now…what about when they're gone? Many have tried to lead this life, and it always ends in pain. We aren't meant to live amongst them, we aren't meant to be them. We are merely meant to protect them; and ourselves when it comes down to it." "Montague, I could never imagine leaving this…my family behind. Charles will need my guidance as he grows older, and maybe some day I will be able to take him to…" But Alice dozed off here, and the rest of their conversation played itself out in her dreams, leaving her doubtful that what she had witnessed had even been real. She didn't quite understand it, and in the end dismissed it as something her mind concocted to confuse her, as many people do when confronted with such strange things. The night wasn't over when Alice went to sleep. Though Peter and Montague conversed and smoked until Peter decided to join his wife in bed, something else took place. Late past midnight, halfway between when night becomes dawn and dawn becomes morning, Falstaff the wanderer returned to the Reed family's home. He stepped inside for a moment, and observed Montague not sleeping in the bedding they provided him, but sitting and contemplating in Alice's old rocking chair. Neither of them said a word, and Falstaff turned around and went right back outside. The soft sound of the door closing was such a foreign one in the middle of the night that Isabelle found herself fully awake upon hearing it. The room she shared with her brother was silent, and all that could be heard was the soft breeze outside, yet she found herself unable to concentrate on sleeping. Her eyes felt heavy and her thoughts were sluggish, but there was something in the air that insisted that she leave bed at that instant; the fresh air of the so early morning desired to be inhaled. Isabelle decided that it was no use, and gave in to the peculiar sense. For all she knew she had fallen back to sleep and all of this was a simple dream. A comb was lying on the chest that held all of her best dresses and gowns, and she snatched it up, beginning to comb her long red hair. As she quietly tiptoed into the next room she found her small feet already nuzzled in her slippers, though she had no recollection of putting the slippers on. This added more to the impression that it was all a dream, and she was surely meant to step out the front door and into the unknown world of the deep night. No one was sitting in her mother's rocking chair, and Isabelle hardly noted that Montague was not anywhere to be seen. His spiritual presence was apparent though, and so Isabelle took no notice of his physical absence. While the girl's small hand carefully stretched out to the doorknob, her skin looking paler than normal in the moonlight, nothing crossed her mind. Not her parents' response to her being out so late, not the curious sensations that were running through her mind, not what might be awaiting her outside the door. Nothing that could happen mattered, only what was happening. Without her hand ever touching it, the door slowly opened. Perhaps it had been left open just a little crack, so little that it appeared to be closed. What Isabelle found before her was as unsurprising as the sky being blue during the day, for she had expected it just as much when she awoke. Falstaff was stretched out below an old elm tree that Isabelle didn't entirely remember being before her house. His black eyes shone in the silver moonlight, and his grey fur sparkled under the stars. She approached him slowly, and he eyed her from the short distance without an ounce of the wariness in his eyes that would normally be given to someone advancing towards him late in the night. When she was close, Isabelle knelt at his side, drawing her hand from his chest to his chin, running her fingers through his thick silver coat. When she began to rub her fingers behind his ears, his eyes stared into hers with such a cold intelligence that she almost thought he was telling her to discontinue, but when she lifted her hand he whined softly. She patted his soft head and continued what she had started. Falstaff stood up for a moment, stretching and scratching the earth with his paws. Isabelle leaned her back against the tree in her white nightgown, and allowed him to lay his head on her lap. She continued stroking his fur as she spoke. "Fenrir," the name escaped her lips before she really knew where it was from. "The night is so dark and cold, yet I find it so much more comforting than the soft bed that would welcome me into its covers like a mother hen to her eggs." "These things tend to happen on nights such as this," he growled softly. "The moon is full, perhaps the planets are aligned, and the stars are striving to be as bright as the sun that they emulate. Who knows why such times are of importance. It is the way the world has turned since it was born, as it turns now where we lay, and as it may turn until it ceases to turn any longer." "Will a day such as that ever come?" Isabelle inquired, not daring to guess or hope at what the answer might be. "Only time will tell," Fenrir Falstaff said, licking his muzzle. This response comforted Isabelle in some strange way. The unknown was more pleasing than what the answer may have been. "I do know that many have believed that it would come, and others still believe that it may come, and when it does come none will expect it. They have all told stories of it, but all the stories are so different, and the world can only end in one way and not a thousand." The grey and white hairs on his back stood on end as he said this, and Isabelle smoothed them out with her hands. His breathing was soft and in rhythm with the wind. "It's so displeasing to think of, who would even wish to make stories about it." She didn't emphasize it as a question, but the statement was more rhetorical. No one could have an answer for why one does what one does, or one thinks what one thinks, only speculation, and speculation leads to more questions and builds anticipation for an answer that may never come. This thought passed between the both of them, and they left the statement as it was. "Do you know any of these stories? You seem to know so many, it is like you know everything in the world." "Yes, I know a few, and I know who began them, and I think I know why, but that's left to be thought and unsaid." The deep growl died down, and Isabelle waited respectfully to see if the storyteller could begin to tell a story. The night continued on around them, and all who slept remained blissfully unaware of the girl and the man who were sitting under an elm that had never been. Birds perched silently in their trees, cattle slept soundlessly in their barns, and horses rested patiently in their stables. "Do you see the thin gold chain around my neck?" Isabelle had hardly noticed the collar under the thick fur. It appeared to be thin, as Fenrir said, but perhaps that was because his neck was so thick. The band was less like a chain and more like a ribbon. It was smoother than silk, and was like a collar the richest man alive would have for his servant. The only problem was that it was so tight around his neck. The golden band was digging into his flesh, which kept it hidden under his fur. "Can you not loosen this thing?" Isabelle cried, trying to fit her fingers under it. "No," Fenrir stated simply. "This is where I shall begin my story, with the chain that binds my flesh. It is a story that was told many years ago, by a people that are mostly forgotten." Isabelle shivered in anticipation, and was flushed with goose skin. She quickly flattened out the ruffled fur around the collar, attempting to forget that it was there. "Long ago," Fenrir Falstaff began, "there was a great wolf who was the son of Loki, a trickster amongst all the gods. His name was Ferisulfr. When he was born all the other gods became fearful. Every day he grew more and more, and soon the gods worried that Fenrisulfr could be a great threat to them. There was no way they could kill the wolf, so they decided instead to trap him. If he was chained, or imprisoned, there was no way he could harm them with his great teeth or sharp claws. "And so they set out to build a chain to hold him. From iron the first chain that was made they called Lœthingr, and once it was bound around his body Fenrisulfr was able to break it with one kick of his great leg. The gods were bewildered by his strength, and forged another chain, also of iron, but this one was twice as strong as the first. It was named Drómi. Though it took some effort this time, Fenrisulfr was able to break this chain as well. "Now the leader of the gods, Odin, was severely puzzled. They had made two iron chains, but both had failed to contain the beast that soon would clearly mean harm to the gods. So Odin went to the dwarfs, and requested that they make something strong enough to bind the great wolf, and prevent him from ever doing any harm. They, the dwarfs, took six key ingredients to make this new chain: the sound of the cat's footfall, the hairs of the woman's beard, the sinews of the bear's mind, the breath of the fish's lungs, the saliva of the bird's beak, and the roots of the mountains. These things they brought together, and out of them they made Gleipnir, a chain that was as soft and thin as a silken ribbon, but stronger than any iron. "Now Fenrisulfr had begun to take this whole chain situation as a game, and arrogantly believed that he could break any chain that the gods would attempt to bind him with. But when the gods showed him Gleipnir, and he noticed how meek the 'chain' seemed to be, he suspected some kind of magic intervention. The gods promised that they would free him if he could not break Gleipnir, but he didn't trust them. In order to assure that the gods were telling the truth, Fenrisulfr demanded that one god leave his arm in the wolf's mouth, and if they did not free him Fenrisulfr would bite the arm off. "No one volunteered at first, for they all knew that they could not undo his bonds, until a god named Týr sacrificed himself, holding his arm in Fenrisulfr's gaping maw. They bound the wolf with Gleipnir, tying it around his legs and ankles and body. Fenrisulfr fought and fought to undo the chain, but the more he fought the tighter it held to his flesh. Fenrisulfr immediately demanded that they free him when he realized that he could not break the mystic chain. The gods did nothing but laugh, and it was apparent that they had no intention of doing as they promised, so Fenrisulfr fulfilled his promise. His jaws clamped down and ripped off Týr's arm, devouring it madly as he still struggled to get free. "But there was no way the Fenrisulfr would be able to free himself, and the gods quickly moved to make a permanent prison for him. They took another chain, Gelgja, tying it to Gleipnir, and then tying it to a great rock, Gjöll. Then they took a greater stone, Thviti, and used it to hold Gjöll deep down in the earth. As Fenriulfr cried out in protest they took a sword and lodged it in the roof of his monstrous mouth, holding it open. And this is how they kept him, chained to the earth on an island in a river. "Now, you may wonder how this story relates to the end of the world. You see, legend also told that Fenrisulfr would continue to grow. It was said that when Ragnarök comes, Fenrisulfr will have grown so large that his bottom jaw will touch the earth and his top jaw will scrape the sky." Fenrir Falstaff was quiet now. His deep voice echoed into the twilight, leaving images in the mind of the listener that were as real as dreams. "But that's just a story, right?" Isabelle asked curiously. "The things that are most believed in are merely stories, yet they are continually thought of as truth, aren't they?" Isabelle didn't entirely agree with this, and was about to protest that she didn't believe in imaginative stories more than anything else. "Religions," Fenrir quickly explained. "Religions are believed in by all, yet the only proof that we have is the belief we put in them." Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Silver walks into the dark room, and steps into the spot light. "Wait...what?"

I haven't watched B5, wasn't in on SciFi? I don't have cable, so I never watched it, but I'm not enticed to, mainly because it's "nerdy" fanbase puts me off. But I'd say as far as space/sci fi shows go, the new Battlestar Galactica beats them all. Has anyone seen Lady in the Water yet? I really want to see that soon, but I don't have any money.

...? Milk?

beach

wind

dead

I've been told a lot that I need to decribe more, and I always forget the main characters physical descriptions. So I'll try to get some of that kind of stuff in. As for seeing more of David and them, a lot of people have expressed anger to my answer to that question. The other three aren't going to be in the first book a whole lot more, if really at all. The second book is completely about David, and the last one is mostly about Genevieve. Jeremy gets kind of spattered everywhere because I haven't really thought of anything important that he does. Now, of course, none of this is definate. I won't know what happens until I finish it, but that's the plan I have. I'll try to set up more of a past with Jackson to draw the reader's interest more, but in my mind Jackson is kind of a plain guy. It's his relations from the past that make him interesting, but you'll see what that means in the fourth chapter. I didn't realize this subforum was here and I just saw this (would've responded earlier). Oh, and about the subheader with the warning of profanity, I can't edit my post to change the title. If you or someone else could do that, that'd be mighty helpful. And about moving it, I don't have access to any of those except the scarlet pen (EDIT: nevermind, I'm a dope), and I'm not so worried about it being stolen any more. Thanks for the advice Wyv, I'll try to incorporate the things you said and fix that stuff.

tree

Cars Super suck. I really don't have much else to say. I didn't find it funny, interesting, and the plot was so freaking cliche that...well, I can't even think of what to say. Pointless really, I think it was just made to make a movie/money. But I guess that happens a lot. I wish I didn't spend money on it, oh well.

kitty

Update at top of page Terms belonging to A Series of the Void, Dark, Light and Evil ~ Celestials- The second intelligent beings to come into existence. They take the form of Light, Dark or Void, and all that turn against this turn to Evil. They live in the Celestial world, Purgatory, or Hell, and only come to Earth for entertainment reasons, to protect humans, or to stop unauthorized demons from going against the Law. Demons- All Celestials who turned to the Evil and went to Hell. The Void- All Celestials who aren't fully decided between Dark and Light, they exist as a buffer zone between the two (a metaphor for what they are is the space between light and shadow). The Dark- All the Celestials who associate themselves with the concept and rulings of "Dark". Not to be confused with "dark/evil/vile/horrible" all things humans associate with darkness now. The Dark believe in the opposite of the Light, and it goes no further than that. The Light- The opposite of Dark, though the two do not necessarily always disagree or hate each other. The Evil- The Celestials who looked out only for greed, power, and causing harm to others. They were eventually classified as Demons and banished to Hell. Ethereal- A term often used to describe the state in which Celestials exist. The Celestial world is ethereal while the Human world is physical. The two existences often overlap in both worlds, for there is a small physical property to the Celestial world, and the same goes for the Human world. Celestial World- The original universe that held the Celestials. This world is not governed by science Humans know, but by a completely different set of rules centered on etherealism. The world isn't a globe, but several domains interspersed in an endless three-dimensional plain. Purgatory- The "dimension" per se that exists between the Celestial world and the Earth world. This is the home to the Void Celestials and is a completely neutral and barren ground. Hell- The world under the "dimension" of Earth. It is completely occupied by all manner of Evil things, and is ruled over by Ardent Satan. There is a small entrance by which Demons can get out of Hell and onto Earth. Quortox (kwor-tos)- Four ethereal "worlds" that overlap Earth, allowing all manner of Celestials to walk on Earth. When entering a segment of the quortox one does not enter a new world, but merely the world around them becomes different. Certain actions on Earth draw energy to certain segments of the quortox, mostly to do with "worship" or any amount of mind power concentrated solely on a certain thing. - The Reave (reev)- the realm that exists for the Dark. Everything becomes dark and melancholy. All energies of sadness or darkness are drawn here. Vampires mostly associate themselves with the Reave, and it can be occupied by the forces of Dark or Void. The Light may have trouble seeing and existing in this realm, and is more susceptible to the adverse effects. These effects include: pain in the blood (or life force), nausea, headaches, depression, loss of skin tone (paleness), and the sudden and unexplained loss of memories or objects. - The Clear (klee-ar)- the realm that exists for the Light. Many things can be hidden in the Clear, all of which will not be seen in any other realm. Most energy that has to do with religious worship, ceremony, or sacrifice comes here. Plants and similar entities/objects grow in places that have certain energy, and some may be transported out of the Clear. The Dark and The Evil are both subject to adverse effects that the Clear may cause them. These effects include: chest pain, elation to the point of impaired judgment, burning of the flesh, delusion, hallucinations, and insanity. - The Fog- the realm that exists for the Void. As its name suggests, everything becomes foggy/misty. The Fog holds very few properties and, like Purgatory, is much of a "neutral" zone that exists for transportation. The Void can use it for more than the other factions. - The Inferno- the realm that exists for the Evil. Its creation was a mistake, but now that it is there it can't be destroyed. It makes the world full of anger and hatred, makes everything appear as if it is on fire. All energy of oppression, hatred, anger, and all evil worship goes there in the form of "brimstone." Only the Evil can go there without experiencing its adverse effects. These effects include: burning of the flesh, vocal burning, brimstone effects, increased strength mixed with rage, insanity. The Unirio Galaxia- A book about the history of the creator of all things and said creation, written on accounts of memories and any evidence found. The Book of Pandora- A book about the history of Pandora and all the events leading up to her imprisonment and the release of Evil into the world, written on accounts of memory and any evidence found. The Law- the system set up to classify all Celestials and the rules that control them. Unirio- The title of she who created all things. Magnifio- The title of the Leader of Light and the Leader of Dark. Phoenexio- The title of all Celestials who hold governing power over etherealism, but who live lives separate from other Celestials. Laederio- Those who stand under and serve the Magnifio. Superio- Those who are of lesser power to all ranks above, and either live private lives or work under the Laedario. Gancho- All Celestials who have no other rank in the Celestial world. Angels- Light Celestials who were granted bodies to walk amongst Humans without any trouble. Devils- Rebellious or non-rebellious demonic leaders in hell. They used to all stand below Satan, but now many are against him. Vampires- Angels who betrayed the Celestial world and were classified as "fallen". Reave Walker- An ethereal machine that is used by Dark Celestials to protect them from the harmful effects of the realms of Earth if they are unused to being there. The Golden Gates- A passage that allows Celestial to travel from Purgatory to Earth, and connects many portals around Earth all together. Convergence/Possession- When a Celestial binds him or herself to a human body. Brimstone- An evil energy that is utilized by Demons and fills the Inferno. Its effects are incredibly harmful to Angels, and Brimstone effects are the side effects it has on those who are near it. Fire Mask- Angels and others who enter the Inferno require fire masks, a type of ethereal "respirator," in order to breath or else they suffer the brimstone effect called "vocal burning". Phalogen- A drug/plant used to induce premonitions of the future, present, and/or past. It only works on humans, and has been used throughout time by them in many religious ceremonies. Important Characters from A Series of the Void, Dark, Light and Evil ~ LightGod / Allah / Zeus / Jupiter / Odin Rift / Apollo / Gabriel Diana / Artemis / Michael Dark Phadz / Shiva-Vishnu-Brahma / Teacher of Buddha / Hades / Pluto Kadz / Azrael The Physcian Hel Jörmungandr / Leviathan Void The Prodigo The Void Council Vincent / Joel / Epimetheus Montague / Atlas Fenrir / Falstaff / Middle head of Cerberus Prometheus Hephaestus / Vulcan Evil Ardent / Satan / Shatan / Loki Ares / Mars Humans Genevieve Hammond Jackson Reed Jeremy Duncan David Fraser Peter Reed Alice Reed Isabelle Reed Charles Reed Story, characters, and concepts ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Well, I'm not that worried, because I'm looking for advice, but if I don't get much response to the actual story, I might as well just take it down. Thanks for that information though, it's helpful. [EDIT] So I've deleted all posts that weren't story, and added them to the post at the top of that page. Post 07 describes what I'll be doing and such, so just check the first post for any more information.

Superman Returns Well, I don't want to say much to give it away. It was pretty darn good, but it wasn't your average superhero movie, seeing as the villain is just a man with no hair. It was reminiscent of King Kong, they tried to give it a feel of an older movie even though there were fax machines, laptops, and cellphones. There were some lame parts, and unrealistic parts (once again, when I say unrealistic, I mean impossible). There were a lot of funny parts that made me chuckle, and despite the seriousness of the situations they tried to keep it lighthearted, somewhat Star Wars-esque with C3-P0 and R2-D2. All in all it was mediocre, and I think the Spiderman movies are the best superhero movies of them all. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (DVD) A very, very good comedy. I suggest seeing it. It's pretty serious, I mean, it's a dark comedy somewhat. There's not much to say for it, but I thought it was a really well done movie, and it's not cheesy comedy like a lot of the thingswe see today. Movies I just rented today: Date Movie, Libertine, The Matador. Here's something interesting: I have 25 movie tickets since 2002. I know I've seen more movies, I just haven't kept all the tickets, or I lost some. I'm trying harder to keep them all now. I'm kind of sad because I haven't kept any series of them (The Matrix, The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, X-Men, Spiderman (though I've seen all of these in theaters)), but I guess I will for the Chronicles of Narnia. Here's the list, in small text so it isn't obtrusive: Superman (2006) Over the Hedge (2006) X-Men 3 (2006) The Da vinci Code (2006) NightWatch (2006) Scarey Movie 3 (2006) Ice Age 2: The Meltdown (2006) King Kong (2005) Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005) Rent (2005) Mirrormask (2005) Serenity (2005) Corpse Bride (2005) Batman Begins (2005) Phantom of the Opera (2005) Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004) 50 First Dates (2004) Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (2003) Matrix Revolutions (2003) School of Rock (2003) League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003) The Hulk (2003) The Matrix Reloaded (2003) Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002) Scooby-Doo (2002) [EDIT] The Matador (DVD) A very interesting dark comedy. It was funny, but there were a lot of weird parts. It's kind of predictable, but I really like the movie. The premise was deffinately good. In my opinion it was a really good meeting. Date Movie (DVD) Just like all the Scarey Movies, but not as good. They didn't have much material to work with, and half the movie is lines and characters completely taken from other movies, and not really changed enough to be funny. There were some funny parts, but the movie wasn't that great.

Hmm, what movies have I recently seen? (DVD means I rented it) Over the Hedge Last movie seen in theaters, me and my sister were severely bored. It was interesting, but incredibly predictable. Funny family movie, but it's just like all the others, mostly existing to make money, and the animation wasn't great in comparison to other movies. Xmen III I thought it was good for a movie, but compared to the story that is Xmen, it was terrible. There's very little character development, and a lot of pointless action/killing. There's a part where Wolvereine was running about and bloodlessly stabbing people, which was incredibly unrealistic when you think about it. The Da Vinci Code Boring, not bad, but I thought it was stupid. I don't find the premise to be all that controversal, and it's rather uninteresting. I'm sure the book is better, though I haven't taken the time to read it, maybe I should. Night Watch One of my most favorite movies in existence. I saw it a few months ago in theaters, and soon baught the british DVD because it hadn't been released in America. If you see it, don't watch it dubbed, the subtitles are much better. It can be confusing the first time you see it, so if you like it then I suggest you watch it again. I've looked up a lot on it, and preordered the book which should arrive at the end of July. The second movie is due for the beginning of 2007, as well as the second book, though both have already been released in Russia. Good movie, a very cliche premise, but I think the concepts and the way the story is portrayed makes up for it. Ultra Violet (DVD) More like "Ultra Violent Ultra Crap" sans blood. Seriously, this movie was part sentimental story, part interesting cinamotography, part slaughter-fest (with not a single drop of blood, even though she is using a sword), and at no point did I feel sad for the characters, or intruiged at what the hell was supposed to be happening. The story is short, and most of the movie is encompassed by action or long drawn-out silence. It was interesting enough to keep watching, but I did feel like leaving the room a few times. Blood Rayne (DVD) Don't bother. Worst movie ever made. The dialogue made me laugh, and I was surprised that Michelle Rodriguez was even in it. She was wonderful in Lost, Blue Crush, and not bad in Resident Evil, but she just completely scarred her résumé by involving herself with this movie. The action was so gorey and inappropriate that it was almost humerous, and the dialogue was so dreadful that I had to finish watching it just so I could see how much worse it could get. The ending was a joke, and made no sense at all (basically recapping all the violence that occured in the movie). Scary Movie 4 It was funny, but I have a sadistic sense of humor. Not much to say, it's much like its predacesors. I liked 1 and 3, I didn't see 2. This one actually has good special effects, which enhances it some, and has a few genuine jokes that aren't just people getting hit over the head or thrown down stairs. Ice Age 2: The Melt Down I saw this with friends, and it was entertaining. The humor was so inappropriate at some points that I wondered why they made it for children. There were some funny parts, but I hated how incredibly unrealistic the whole thing was. I understand that animated movies do get some liscence to stretch reality, but there were some really stupid things happening that were so impossible that it pissed me off beyond belief. If it's going to talk about the ice age, it should remain somewhat true to events and how the world works. Movies that I hope to see in theaters: Superman (seeing it tomorrow), Lady in the Water, Pirates of the Carribean 2, A Scanner Darkly (when is that coming out anyways?), Fearless (Jet Li's last martial arts film). Movies I'd prefer to (and probably will) see on DVD: Clerks 2, The Omen, A Prarie Home Companian, My Super Ex-Girlfriend, Monster House, The Devil Wears Prada. Hmm, I watch just about everything that's popular, including television shows. I could do a review on some of the more popular shows I watch (Lost, Battlestar Galactica, The 4400, Surface (until it was cancelled, and I'll probably watch Heroes when it takes its place), Six Feet Under (until it ended), Doctor Who, Dead Like Me (until it was cancelled), and most of the good sitcoms that can be viewed on basic cable) but that would be a lot. I'd probably die if I had digital cable, which is why my parents refuse to get it. It sounds like I watch a lot, but somehow I'm able to write, read, do art, and get all my homework done. Heh, well that's enough about me.

Tommy woke up to a hissing sound at the door to his room. He'd been stuck in the room for days, maybe weeks. Was someone finally letting him go home to his parents? He didn't know, but he knew that he had to take the chance to get out before the door hissed shut again, maybe to never open again. Tommy half ran, half tripped over his shoelaces out the door. When he came to a flailing halt, he was in a corridor. The air smelled like metal and plastic, which was what everything seemed to be composed of. The small heart in his chest was racing. Without thinking, he ran down the right hand corridor, and kept running. He had been in school when it hit, all the children ran outside to point at the flashing lights and sonic booms overhead. The time had finally come when someone else came to Earth. It didn't really register to Tommy's childish mind that more than 6 billion people had died, and he was one of ten thousand that got to live. All of his friends were gone, and his family, that's all that really mattered.

III. On the Road 4 days after the party "Human, stay awake," Vincent said, rolling the window down. He and Jackson had been driving for almost eight hours straight, keeping slow, but on schedule. It was just about nine o'clock, and he could tell that Jackson wouldn't make it for much longer. It pained him to see Jackson's exhaustion, and he felt it somewhere in himself. In the past few days Vincent had tried to begin the process of possessing Jackson's body a few times, and the small attempts he had made had left him feeling some of what Jackson felt. Each time he had tried, the overwhelming guilt stopped him in his attempts. There were demons that Vincent had caught and arrested for possessing a human's mind and body. He didn't want to be a runaway criminal. Every action came with even more consequences, but he had to find a way to prove his innocence, and Jackson was the best person he could find to help him. "Vincent, it feels like we have been driving everyday for a week, where are we even going?" Jackson asked for the hundredth time. The effects of the phalogen hadn't worn off yet. The drug Vincent had given to Jackson was no cigarette, or any drug that a human could find, make or buy. It was a drug from Vincent's world, used to induce premonitions of the past or future, and it was the past Vincent was looking for. It was used with humans in a time when Vincent's people were on Earth for more peaceable reasons. Its aftereffects had left Jackson extremely disoriented. They had only driven for a day and a half, and Jackson seemed to think it had been much longer. They had also stopped outside of Jackson's town for two days so that Vincent could figure out what to do. All together it had been four days of them being gone. "You know, you haven't told me much of anything. Where we're going, what we're doing…" his voice trailed off as he stared blankly at the road ahead. "I know. I will tell you of it all when there is a more fitting time to do so." One side-effect of the phalogen was that the victim would be completely docile. They would listen to anything anyone told them without protest. Vincent had tried to stop Jackson from taking in so much of the drug, but he was unable to do much when he was focused on keeping himself invisible to the other humans at the party. Jackson had responded strangely to the drug. It seemed to put him in more of a dazed trance than a spiritual one. Vincent was sure that Jackson was seeing onto the ethereal plain when he began acting oddly towards everyone around him at the party. It may have been the fact that so many other chemicals were in his system. Vincent would have to try again when the human was not so intoxicated. "You can stop at the next motel, a little further up. I will let you sleep there. I don't want you to have to sleep in the car again." His attempts to make his hostage comfortable might not have been as successful as he had hoped, but he was trying his hardest. It was not Vincent's intention to act in an evil manner; he only wished to do what he knew he had to. Vincent looked out the window, and pulled a small clump of dried-out, black plants from his pocket. He set the mass in the palm of one hand, and took out his lighter with the other. Pointing it at the plants, the metal flip-top lighter spewed out dark flames that danced on the air like mist. The flames gathered around the plant, clinging to it, but not burning it. Vincent cringed as coldness began to spread across his hand. He squeezed the plant as hard as he could, shutting his eyes tightly. The coldness crept down his arms and edged deep into his body, chilling his insides. Soon his whole body was cold to the touch. Jackson glanced over at him, and blinked a few times. "Where the hell did he go this time?" He tried to keep his eyes on the road as he felt around to touch what he thought was an empty seat, but Vincent grabbed his hand before it hit the upholstery. Jackson jumped, and the car swerved a few feet. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed. As Vincent wondered why a human would assume shit to be holy, Jackson pulled his hand away in reaction to Vincent's now-frigid skin. "Why do you do that?" Jackson slammed the steering wheel with his palm, oddly focusing his eyes on the road and showing his anger at the same time. "I've told you, brother," Vincent said, touching the window and watching fog spread over the glass. "No you haven't." Jackson turned the car into a motel parking lot. "When in populated areas, I have to be visible to only you. I use this," Vincent held out the crumbled remnants of the plant, "to do that. It makes me visually apparent to only those who I want to be seen by." Another unfortunate after-effect of the phalogen was short-term memory loss for a while. Vincent was postponing Jackson's questions until he would be able to remember the answers, which Vincent hoped would be soon. He had never heard of any life-lasting effects of the drug, and he hoped this wasn't the first case. No one had really taken it in such a large dose while already intoxicated. "I'll follow you in, and you get the room for just one night." Vincent had to spell everything out for Jackson. The human didn't seem to be able to think for himself lately. They parked in front of the small motel, which was in a relatively miniscule town at the western edge of New York, far west of Jackson's college. Vincent was aiming for Chicago, but Jackson's strange behavior and Vincent's lame attempts at possession had made them wait two days before starting the voyage west. Jackson exited the car and Vincent crawled out of the already-open driver's side door. His power had allowed him to divert people's attention away from his actions before, but now he was severely drained. It might be odd for someone to notice a door apparently open and close on its own. Jackson stood in front of the motel entrance, staring through the stained-glass window set in the middle. "Jackson, go in," Vincent whispered in his ear, grabbing the human's hand and placing it on the doorknob. Jackson shivered at the touch of Vincent's hand, and opened the door. A bell jingled on the doorframe, and a middle-aged woman sitting behind a wooden desk looked up from a book titled "Young Passion." Jackson stared at her blankly for a moment as she stood up, and absent-mindedly tapped the bell on her desk. "How may I help you?" she asked quickly, taking the bell ring as some kind of sarcastic joke. Jackson hesitated before responding. "One room please, just for a night." She looked at him, unsure of his attitude, then went to a cabinet and withdrew a key. "It will be forty-five dollars." "Um," Jackson said. He reached into his pocket, and looked in his wallet. As Jackson riffled through its pouches desperately, Vincent realized that Jackson didn't have any money left. "Do you have the money or not, sir?" The woman started to put the key away. "Hold on," Vincent said. The woman looked at where he stood, confused. She probably heard him, but her expression assured Vincent that she couldn't see him. He put his hands together and slammed his palms down counter on the craggily desk, shouting aloud something that sounded like "halt." Everything exploded outwards from his hands, and time slowed down. Jackson and the woman stood still, unable to move. He went to walk behind the counter, a bug smacking against his face and drifting off. It was stuck in time as well. Vincent's ability to slow down time was not something all others like him could do. He stood behind the woman, reaching around her and placing one finger on her neck and one on her temple. Burying each forefinger deep into her skin, he hummed aloud. After a moment of concentration, he spoke, his voice transcending into three different tones which overlapped each other. This was a voice that most of his kind could, and often, did use. It worked on humans mostly, making them listen to and believe anything that was said; but when his kind used it against each other, it was not so easy. "Human woman, this man has paid you the money for his room. You will give him the key and let him sleep for the night." Vincent glanced at Jackson, and realized how hungry he must be. "He has paid in advance for breakfast to be brought to his room in the morning." He wasn't sure if this would work. His command would have to last over night, but the human seemed weak enough to accept it. He walked back to Jackson, clapping his hands twice. The experience of coming back to real time made him stumble in mid-step. He was usually able to handle the sensation, but his fatigue was catching up to him. Vincent knelt on the ground, panting, as the woman opened and closed the register and handed Jackson a receipt. "Your breakfast will be brought around nine thirty a.m., and your room number is twenty-seven." She held the key out, and Jackson looked at it for a few seconds, as if it was something completely new to him, before pocketing it. Vincent stood up and led Jackson, by the shoulder, to his room. As they walked down a hallway, he realized that he wouldn't be able to do something like that again. His prolonged run from the Law was draining him of all his stamina. It took strength to do things like slow time and control people's minds, strength which Vincent did not have a bountiful supply of. He would be able to rest as soon as he was sure they were no longer being followed so strictly. When they found the room, Vincent had to unlock and open the door. Jackson seemed dumbfounded by everything around him when he was tired. Extreme exhaustion must have been setting in, because he had certainly been able to drive less than an hour earlier, and the Monday after the party he had even been able to handle going school without being perplexed over doorknobs and keys. It seemed that the longer it was in his system, the more the phalogen messed with his brain. Vincent would have to fix that soon. Jackson walked straight to the bed, and fell face-first onto the pillows. Vincent chuckled softly. The way human bodies responded to a lack of energy was quite entertaining sometimes. Celestials like Vincent didn't require "sleep" per se, but a different kind of rest. Vincent stood by the door silently for many minutes, unconscious of the Earth time passing. Days go along differently when you lived more than a hundred years. When an hour passed, Vincent was snapped out of thought by Jackson's steady snoring. He figured that he should do something until the human woke up, and decided to try to fix their problem. Jackson was acting weird because the phalogen was stuck in his body. Vincent somewhat knew how the System of Science that governed the human world worked. He had healed a few physical wounds, and thought it was worth a try to attempt to expel the phalogen from the human's body. Vincent grabbed Jackson's arm, and easily flipped him over onto his back. He rubbed his own forehead coarsely, vaguely noticing a throbbing pain there, and wondering how to go about manipulating the physical system that governed the human's body. Vincent himself was an ethereal being in his own world, and wasn't controlled by complex systems and structures, but was held together mostly by his own consciousness. That was what celestials were. These humans, on the other hand were much more delicate beings; their substance could be torn apart by the merest action. Vincent took the first step by unbuttoning Jackson's shirt, and putting his blue-skinned hand on the human's chest. When Jackson shook, Vincent took his hand away, and remembered that the visibility effects he used to hide from humans were still making his flesh cold. To quickly get rid of the effect, Vincent bit his own wrist, drawing blood. The violet liquid floated aimlessly from the wound, hovering and twisting around in the air. Grabbing his arm, he concentrated on the effects of the plant, expelling them from his body. The blood stopped slowly meandering from his skin, and a green gas spewed out of the bite holes. He dropped to his knees, groaning. Things like this also required stamina, which Vincent kept forgetting. Pushing the last few bubbles of gas out of his veins, Vincent stood up and felt a burden lifting from his shoulders. Using the invisibility effects wore him out just as much as anything else, and now he might have the little power he needed to heal Jackson. He stood by the bed again, brushing up against the sheets whose color was hard to tell in the dim light, and set his hand back on Jackson's chest. He left the cut on his wrist open, knowing the bleeding would stop itself before any damage was done. Vincent rested his other hand on Jackson's face, his fingers sprawled over Jackson's eyes. What he was about to attempt was deeply related to possession. Vincent slowly edged his own mind into Jackson's, careful not to fully encompass the human's awareness. Vincent located the phalogen in him, and focused on it. He put his own face over Jackson's, and pressed on Jackson's chest, pushing the drug out of him. Jackson exhaled deeply, and Vincent breathed in all the smoky gas that drifted out of the human's mouth. He had tried to use the phalogen himself, but it effected humans a lot more, and was relatively harmless to him, just leaving him with a heightened awareness. After Jackson started to breath normally, Vincent lurched onto the floor and stayed there for the remainder of the night. He would wait until Jackson awoke to see how successful his attempt had been. ~ 5 days after the party ~ Jackson slept, and Jackson dreamt. In his dreams, he was sitting in the grass by a small fire. The grass was yellowing, but thrived with the small life that grass would often thrive with. The skies were darkening, and Sun was naught but a semicircle on the plains he watched over. There were a few buffalo a ways away, grazing silently by a small pool of water. Jackson was half naked, wearing only some kind of cloth around his waist and wooden beads around his neck. There were figures on the other sides of the fire, and they muttered in a language that he could not understand. A draft of wind blew through the flames, tossing smoke and ash into his face. In the breeze, he could almost discern a shape that was barely human. It had the antlers of an elk sprouting from its back, the wings of an eagle gliding from its head, and the scales of a snake slithering down its legs. It was gone quickly, though, blown away with the wind, like the sparks from the fire and the fluttering grasshoppers. The flames of the fire began to change, turning whitish-blue. They danced on the air like smoke, and Jackson found trouble in trying to decide whether the fire was smoldering with smoke, or the smoke was becoming fire. The smoky fire or fiery smoke began to fill his chest. Suddenly, as if they had always been standing there, a dozen men and women appeared around the fire. Each one of them had the mismatched body parts of animals. One woman had ears that were the fins of large river salmon, and feet that were the paws of a cougar. Another man had the shell of a desert tortoise, and the beak of a vulture. They all began to speak, telling Jackson of the sorrows and blessings to come. They spoke in that dream language, where when you wake up you only remember the concept of the words, but not the words themselves. Before they were done conveying the messages, he was asleep. Jackson woke up, head buzzing and chest aching. He sat up quickly, aware that he was in a motel room, but not knowing why. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was laying over the yellow sheets of a double bed. It hurt his brain to try to remember anything; the only reminiscence that came easily was him being at Tailor's Bar. Doing the first thing that came to mind, Jackson walked into the small bathroom, took off his clothes, and drew a cold shower. The shockingly cold water did not knock him into complete awareness, but the sensation of water against his skin reminded him of something else: freezing cold hands touching his chest and arms. The water ran through his hair, and flowed over his face. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out why he was here. Three or four days had passed since his last coherent memory. Had his dorm burned down and he was staying in a motel? No, he would be staying at Jeremy and David's place. Did theirs burn down too? He felt like he had a hangover, but he hadn't been drinking. He wasn't disoriented, or sick, he just couldn't remember a God damned thing. Jackson twisted the shower knob, turning it off. It made guttural noises in the pipes. Grabbing a white towel that matched the rest of the bathroom, he started drying himself off, and put on his clothes. Jackson stepped up to the mirror and smudged the fog off with his hand. What he saw made him jump. A man with violet-blue skin stood behind him. He twisted around, and followed his gut instinct, throwing a punch at the man's chest. His fist connected, but nothing happened. The man didn't resist, or act as if he had felt a thing. He just looked at Jackson with a blank expression. Jackson mindlessly threw out his fist again, aiming for the guy's stomach. The man grabbed Jackson's hand before it hit anything, squeezing his knuckles until they cracked, and twisting his whole arm and body around until he held Jackson in a headlock. "I can understand your anger, brother, but that won't solve a thing." At hearing the man's voice, Jackson slouched in his grip. Memories started flooding into his head. The party was the first thing; he had smoked some drug that threw him completely out of whack. He could recall driving for a long time after running away from home. Besides that, he didn't remember doing much of anything except driving this man somewhere. "Who are you?" The man didn't seem to be holding him very hard, but it was difficult for him to speak. Two of his fingers hurt, and he though maybe the guy had sprained them. His memories answered his own question. "Vincent…" "Oh," Vincent said, letting go of Jackson's neck and arm. "You just didn't remember. I thought you were mad at me." Jackson thought about this for a second, and realized that he was mad. He almost thought about punching Vincent again, but that was already proven ineffective, and his joints still hurt from being in the grip of Vincent's hand. The questions and thoughts suddenly flooded into his head like a dam had broken in his brain. They had been in his mind for days, but he had gotten no answers. "You've been telling me what to do for…for days," Jackson shouted. "Why…why have I been listening to you? Wait, wait, more importantly: who are you? Yeah, I know your name, but seriously, who that hell are you?" Jackson backed away, running into the sink behind him. "Okay, I know, I owe you some answers. First, you've been listening to me under the influence of a drug, it's called phalogen," Vincent said somewhat matter-of-factly. "What is that, some kind of date-rape drug?" Jackson said somewhat humorously. That seemed to be the only way to handle the situation. When he first woke up, he felt perfectly fine, but this Vincent snapped him out of his complacency. He had been kidnapped and was just starting to realize it. "Date…what? No, no," Vincent put his hands up in the air, the universal symbol that meant he didn't mean any harm. At the moment Jackson had quite a different opinion. "It is a drug that…well, this is going to sound odd, Jackson. Jackson, do you know what an angel is?" Jackson was thrown off by the seemingly random question. "Umm…old guys with wings come down and say things, guard the gates of heaven or some shit. I wasn't much of a church kid, and I fail to see how this relates to anything." He wasn't so sure if he should dart for the door. He remembered that the first time he saw this guy he thought that he was hallucinating. Why hadn't anyone warned him that he was talking to a purple-skinned psychopath? The idea that no one else but him could see Vincent was only slightly discomforting. "Are you saying that you're an angel?" "No, angels are like humans, but with the blood of gods...or is it the other way around? I'm not sure. The point is..." he trailed off, obviously forgetting the point, and Jackson gave up all hope. This guy was completely delusional, making up fantasies, dying his skin purple, and acting like he was some being from above. Vincent seemed to sense Jackson's attitude. "The point is, right now, someone's chasing us, and it would be best if they didn't find us." "Good! I hope it's the cops. Maybe they'll save me from this shit." Jackson stormed out of the bathroom. "Stop, human," Vincent said. His voice changed, like it was many voices speaking at once. Jackson couldn't help but do exactly as Vincent commanded. He stood, his legs and feet were rigid on the ugly, brown-grey, motel carpet. "Who is pursuing us is far more diligent and dangerous than mere humans with guns. This may mean nothing to you, but I fear Kadz himself may be coming for us. Jackson, I'll tell you everything when we're safe and driving on the road again." "No," Jackson stated bluntly. "Vincent, who ever you are, who ever the hell you're running from, I don't care. None of this is my concern. Maybe you don't know this, but here in the real world, outside of your padded room, it's not okay to drug and kidnap people." Jackson figured he was being pretty cocky with a psychopath, but the man seemed to be tame…for now. There was a knock at the room door. "That's your breakfast," Vincent said, locking himself in the bathroom. "Coming," Jackson hesitated, looked at the bathroom door once, and unlocked the front door. A young, Native-American looking man stood with a cart that had a plate of food and a mug of coffee on it. "Good morning sir. I hope you're okay with scrambled eggs. We don't usually provide room service, but the manger told me I had to bring this." Jackson nodded, and the servicemen rolled the cart into the room, and set the food on the bedside table. "Thank you, it's very much appreciated." Jackson spoke sounding as if he was short for breath. Thoughts ran around in his head looking for a way to tell this guy that there was a psychotic kidnapper in his bathroom. Before he could say anything, the young man started walking out. "Wait…" "Yes?" the man responded. Jackson looked at the floor nervously. Vincent seemed intent on keeping Jackson with him. He was impervious to pain, probably due to his insanity. Who knew what lengths Vincent would go through to stop Jackson from leaving. When he looked up, there was something strange in the man's eyes. A black shadow seemed to glide over his gaze. Jackson barely noticed it, but when he did, he stopped full in his tracks. The apparition left Jackson with a queasy feeling in his stomach. "Nothing, never mind," Jackson said. The man nodded and Jackson led him out of the room, locking the door behind him. He waited until he heard the cart rolling away down the hallway, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Vincent, he's gone." The door opened quickly. "I'm afraid that we are in much more danger than I first anticipated." Jackson looked at Vincent, and then glanced off to the side. Vincent nearly glided up to Jackson, grabbing him by the chin and looking him in the eye. "Hmm, you saw it too. Yes, brother, Kadz is here." Letting Jackson fall onto the bed, Vincent strode away quickly, and peeked through the cheap, beige curtains. "We need to get to the car. I'm afraid I cannot take the front entrance, not if he is already in their eyes." Jackson sat on the yellow sheets again, observing the obvious stains. Thinking about what they were from wasn't pleasant. He remembered the man's eyes; there had been someone else there, someone else looking at him. Jackson was regrettably finding truth in Vincent's words. "Damn, the food. You…you eat, you haven't eaten in a while," Vincent said, and Jackson looked at the food absent mindedly. "Not to rush you or anything, but the pitiless, murdering assistant to the lord of all darkness is looking for the both of us." Jackson took the plate and started eating the eggs. They tasted too peppery and too bland at the same time. Vincent leaned against the wall, and accidentally knocked a lamp over. Instead of picking it up, he just stuck his hand out as if he expected the lamp to fly into his hands. "I keep forgetting I can't do that anymore…" he said, leaning over, picking up the lamp, and setting it back on its base. Jackson continued to eat, and realized just how hungry he was. He felt like he hadn't eaten a day, and considering he couldn't remember the past few days due to this drug that Vincent had given him, that just may have been the case. He gulped the coffee down, and quickly devoured the toast, despite the fact that the coffee was too bitter and the toast tasted like cardboard. "Okay, you go out the front, I'll meet you at the car." "And how are you getting out?" Jackson knew the answer before Vincent pointed to the window. Looking around the room, he wondered if he had brought any possessions. "Don't I have a bag or something?" Vincent shrugged, pulling the curtains apart, opening the window, and slipping out. Jackson heard somewhat of a commotion as Vincent scrambled out of a bush and crept off. Looking at the clock for the first time, Jackson noticed that it was already ten. Quickly checking his pocket for the key, he left the room and locked the door behind him. Jackson passed the numbered, white doors, which looked just bland as the eggs had tasted. Walking hurriedly through the hall, he ignored everyone he passed, and made his way as quickly as he could. He tried to avoid eye contact, imagining that every gaze would hold that feeling of being looked at by someone else. Too many questions passed through his mind; who or what was this Vincent? Why was he transporting Jackson so far from home, and where was he taking him? Jackson could only hope that these and any other questions he had would be answered when he was in the car and driving away from that dark mist that seemed to cover everyone's eyes. When he made it to the lobby, he dropped the key on the front desk with a soft clink. "Thanks for the room," he said, without as much as glancing at the clerk. Turning the brass door knob and shoving the door open with his shoulder, Jackson walked out into a cold midmorning which had a breeze that was brisker than his stride, and into a small town with grey skies like the case of an old computer. When he got to his blue Accord, given to him by an uncle, he noticed Vincent crouching in the passenger seat, "hiding" from any passerby. "Stay on Erie Road, heading southwest, and we keep going until we find the I-90 again." Jackson got in the car, buckling his seatbelt, starting the engine, and letting it warm up to defrost the partially-fogged windshield. "So, Vincent, first question: where are we going?" He moved the automatic gearshift out of park, and drove out of the small town parking lot, belonged to by the small town motel. Vincent sat up, ignoring the seatbelt, and leaning the seat upwards a bit. "Chicago, Illinois," he said plainly, taking a strangely welded piece of metal out of his pocket and waving it around. "And what's in Chicago that you had to kidnap me to drive you there?" Jackson asked. They passed a few small houses and businesses while driving down Erie road and Jackson noticed a sign that said: Angola, pop. 2266. He vaguely remembered the name of the town from the sign for the motel. "Well, firstly, I'm not kidnapping you. You had the choice to stay home, and you chose not to." Jackson sighed, choosing to ignore this. "You really don't remember anything from the past few days, do you?" Vincent pocketed the metal object, and looked at Jackson. "I remember Steven telling me I slept with him, and then going to my dorm and seeing you. Then I remember you telling me we had to leave for some reason, and somehow you got me to listen to you. I don't really remember Tuesday, and Wednesday is a blur. Then yesterday we were driving, we left late in the afternoon, and then got to the motel." "Yes well, it's the Tuesday and Wednesday that's important, as well as everything I've told you in the span of time since we first met, most of which I am quite sure you have forgotten." Jackson nodded at this; he could remember Vincent's voice, but he couldn't recall what he had been saying all that time. "Well, I'll just go through it from where it began. On Sunday, you slept a lot of the day, and stayed in that dorm room of yours. Then on Monday, you were doing fine at school, until Steven tried to talk to you. Then you got really mad—I saw this because I was watching you—and then you went to your dorm, where I was waiting. I talked to you, told you the danger I was in, and if you needed to get away that I could help you." The memories flickered beneath Jackson's eyes; he could see Vincent sitting casually on his bed in the messy, grayish dorm room. He had talked about taking Jackson for a while, he said he needed him. "Then we drove out of town, and you slept in the car on the side of the road. On Tuesday you were mostly delirious…" "Why?" Jackson asked. Vincent was silent, acting as though he hadn't heard the question. "Why was I fine for two days and suddenly I was delusional?" "You have to understand Jackson…" "Understand what?" Jackson shouted, swerving the car a bit too much to the left. "I didn't want to do what I did…I had to. I thought it was the only way at the time–" he was cut off by blue and red flashing lights, accompanied by the siren of a cop car. "That's not on us, is it?" The police car kept trailing them down the road, denying Jackson's hopes. "Oh God, I was speeding." He'd probably hit the gas too hard with his irritation at Vincent. Jackson slowed the car down and pulled over at a dirt turn-off. The cop pulled up behind him, and Jackson squirmed in the seat nervously as the short, middle-aged, mustached man strode up to the driver-side window. Jackson rolled the window down, and glanced to the passenger seat to see that Vincent wasn't there. "Hello sir." The police officer spoke with a typical, gruff, highway-patrolman voice, holding his belt with one hand and letting the other hang limp at his side. "I just noticed you were swerving and speeding back there. Can I see your license and registration?" Jackson smiled nervously, and tried to not look too nervous as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "Sorry officer, of course," was all he side as he slipped the license out and handed it to the man, and then moved to pull the registration out of the glove compartment. "Jackson Reed, that sounds familiar," the officer muttered to himself. He looked at the card and papers once, and then again. "Would you wait here for one moment sir?" He walked back to the black and white car. The red and blue lights still pulsed on the roof of the vehicle. "Vincent?" Jackson whispered anxiously. "Vincent?" he whispered again, louder, leaning towards the open passenger window. The seat was empty to Jackson's probing arms, as well as the back. Maybe he had finally gone. Jackson wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing. He turned to see the cop talking on the radio, and look Jackson in the eye. It was a relief to notice that the cop's eyes didn't have the fogged-over look that the people at the motel had. The cop started approaching his car again, and Jackson sat face-forward and nervously tapped the steering wheel. Where had Vincent gone? For one thing, this cop could be his salvation, but at the same time, Jackson found himself beginning to believe the things Vincent was saying. He didn't know how or why, but he suddenly felt more trust in him. When the cop got to the window he had an oddly blank expression. "Jackson Reed," he said, as if pondering on the name. "There's a missing persons report on a Jackson Reed from Massachusetts." Jackson had no idea how this New York highway patrolman got that information, but he felt like it was a very bad thing. "Wait, wasn't there a guy in the passenger's seat?" Before the cop could continue, Vincent slid out of nowhere and put his arm around the cop's neck, slid the gun out of its holster, and threw the cop to his knees, all in three seconds. No one said a word, and no cars drove by. The silence lasted a minute, but to Jackson in the car it felt much longer. "Get up," Vincent said, tapping the cop on the side of the head with the gun. The policeman ignored him for a second. "Get up now." Vincent used the strange multi-voice again this time, and the cop flew to his feet. Vincent marched him to the cop car. Jackson leaned out the window to watch what happened next, thinking that he could just hit the gas and leave this kidnapping lunatic behind, but doing nothing. Keeping the muzzle of the gun on the cop's neck, Vincent pushed him against the cop car. "Open the door," he said in the same multileveled voice, "and give me the handcuffs and any pairs of keys belonging to them." The cop hesitated, but from the car Jackson could see Vincent press the gun into the cop's neck even harder. Vincent slowly opened the car door, and the cop reached in, dug around in some stuff, and came out with a pair of handcuffs and two sets of keys. Vincent took them silently, and cuffed the cop's hands around the steering wheel, taking the keys out of the ignition and tossing them in the back with the keys to the handcuffs. He let the cop sit in the driver's seat, rolled down the window, and shut the door. Vincent said something then, but it sounded like a whisper and Jackson couldn't hear it. He imagined it was something like: "someone will stop and help you, but not until we're far away from here," but he was probably wrong. Vincent stood, leaning on the open window in silence, and then reached in the car and grabbed the radio, insisting with that voice that the cop say something. The cop obeyed, and Vincent patted him on the head, walking away from the cop car without another word. Vincent got back into the car, and Jackson started the engine up wordlessly. "He won't remember the license plate, and neither will whoever was on the radio." Vincent sounded confident in this, but Jackson had no idea how it was possible. They started driving again, this time keeping sure to not go over the speed limit. "It would do you best to just forget that that happened." Jackson noticed in his voice and poise that Vincent looked exhausted. His eyes were dim, his skin seemed paler, and even his hair looked more wispy than liquid-like. Jackson suddenly realized that his own heart was racing. He had just had an opportunity to run away, to go back home and he hadn't taken it. This Vincent person—with his purple skin, weird drugs, strange stories, and disappearing all the time—had given Jackson some sort of sense of adventure. Maybe it was his voice that commanded people to do things, or maybe he trusted him, but Jackson decided that he was fine staying where he was. "So, what happened on Tuesday?" he said after a bit of driving. "Well," Vincent started, "You see, brother, I wasn't sure if you would drive me all the way back to Illinois. I had a lot of trouble finding someone like you, and so I was far from home." "Wait, what do you mean, 'someone like me?'" Jackson asked as they finally reached the I-90 highway, and took the ramp onto it. "Jackson, you are asking so many questions, it is difficult to answer every one of them at once." "Okay, okay, then let's just start with what happened on Tuesday." Jackson's heart was still beating madly in his chest. What guarantee was there that this cop would forget the license plate number just because Vincent could do weird things with his voice? Of course, Jackson remembered, he himself had been unable to refuse to do what Vincent told him to do. "As I was saying, brother, in order to ensure that you would…listen…I was going to…um, well…possess you." Vincent was very nervous when he said this, and was pressing himself against the car door as if he expected Jackson to strike him. "Possess me? You mean, like, demonic possession? What is this now, Satanism?" There never seemed to be a point when Jackson would understand what was going on. First there's a strange man offering him drugs and kidnapping him, now there were satanic rituals involved? It definitely matched up with the violet-blue skin and weird chains. Jackson noticed for the first time that there appeared to be strange charms on the links of some of these chains, most of which he didn't recognize, but there was one he could definitely tell was a crow. "Yes, similar to demonic possessions…well, the same thing, except I'd make it less painful. Though whether it's a demon or one of my own kind, it is a very terrible thing to do." Vincent looked reproachful, trying to avoid Jackson's gaze. "You know, those are the people I caught. It was my job to stop demons, to stop vampires," Jackson expected him to say werewolves next, but he didn't. "I tried to possess you, but I didn't have the willpower to. That, mixed with the aftereffects of the drug I gave you, caused you to seriously lose your senses. You sat in bed most of the day, muttering things, so I left you alone." It wasn't as bad as Jackson had imagined, though he didn't really know what he had imagined. "Either you're insane, or you're saying that quote-on-quote 'magic' is real, and you're some kind of supernatural being." "Somewhat, I mean, the essence of that is true. The world views us more as myth now than ever before." This seemed to make him sad, and as he watched the highway scenery flutter by, Jackson imagined that Vincent was thinking back to some sort of "glory days" when he was happier. They were quiet for awhile, and Jackson decided that he didn't need any more answers for now. Granted he still didn't know why Vincent needed him, or what they were running from or to, but right now Vincent looked very tired, and Jackson found a strange sense of pity for the man. The first time he had seen him, he had been a strange man in the campus cafeteria rambling about religions across the world. Then he was struck with a thought. He asked another question before he remembered that he wasn't asking any more questions. "So why did you first approach me as 'Joel,' and how did you make yourself look more human?" It was recently dawning upon Jackson that Vincent didn't just look like any old normal human with strangely colored skin. Something about his bone and muscle structures was fundamentally different from a human's physiology. "I noticed you on the street," Vincent began after opening the window and taking a deep breath of the winter air. "You had an aura that I recognized; it was something I was looking for. So I approached you, oh, and so you know, I was wearing all the extra clothing because the…well, you might call it 'magic'…I use makes my body very cold. It's a…well, the equivalent of a plant I guess, some kind of moss, and it grows in the Clear, mostly in places where there has been rituals dedicated to the full moon." To Jackson, it sounded like Vincent just said it grew in the "clear," but he pronounced the "a" after the "e," which made the word sound kind of French. He decided this probably wasn't important. "You know, you get sidetracked too easily. I didn't ask about your invisibility moss." "Right, well, you had the aura of a seer, and I needed to get closer to see if I was right. When I sensed the dreams in you, I figured that it was worth a shot to try the phalogen." He grimaced when he got to the subject of the mystery drug Jackson had taken. "I was naïve, and not for the first time. I shouldn't have let you take so much, I should have stopped you. That 'drug,' as you would call it, has been the source of our plight for the past few days. I finally managed to get it out of your system last night, but at the cost of not being able to interact with ethereality or the quartox until I find rest." "The quarters?" Jackson said, trying to maneuver around an asshole in an SUV that had somehow found a way to fill all three lanes. "Quartox, like quarter except with an 'oh ex' instead of an 'ee ar'." Vincent sneered at the SUV as they finally found a way past it. The driver was oblivious, talking into thin air even though the car was empty. Vincent didn't seem to know that there was a hands-free device attached to the man's cell phone. "Right, and might I ask what the 'quar-toes' are, and why you would want to 'interact' with them?" Jackson tried once more to find humor in the situation. At least this conversation had allowed him to forget the fact that he was still technically being kidnapped. He wondered if Stockholm syndrome was still possible after only a few days. "Firstly: it's a singular word; and secondly: you may ask, but I will not provide you with answers, brother." Jackson had figured that this would happen, or whatever Vincent told him would make no sense anyways. "It would be a long conversation, best saved for another time." Jackson wondered when this "other time" would be, when the car was quiet once again. He absentmindedly turned on the radio, and searched through the tuner to find a decent station. The station played alternative music, from back when alternative music was actually alternative. Vincent enjoyed it enough, although he didn't actually acknowledge that it was there. A few times he looked around at the cars on the road, as if he expected the boogeyman to jump out of any one of them. He looked awfully scared for someone who could turn invisible and take down a cop in the blink of an eye. What could make someone like Vincent so scared? Thinking of this, Jackson wondered if he ought to be scared. Vincent had told him that whoever was after them was after them both, but perhaps that was because he was holding Jackson hostage. It was hardly conceivable that Vincent had kidnapped him to protect him from someone. There was no one that Jackson knew he needed protection from. On that subject, Vincent had just said he was looking for the aura of a "seer." Did that mean Jackson was a seer? He had definitely never been able to tell the future, and he wondered what this drug had to do with it. Did the drug make him see the future? Jackson definitely wanted answers, but they continued to drive in silence for almost an hour. The scenery was enjoyable, and Jackson had to find a new radio station a few times. When he could find nothing but static, country, and news, he remembered that he had recently had a CD player installed; he popped in a CD that Jeremy had burned for him. It was mostly composed of recent rock music, and a few jazz songs that were played by a local band. After they passed a sign declaring that they were in the area of Erie, Pennsylvania, pop. 103717, Vincent broke the silence. "We're stopping in Cleveland for the night. I figure that we can both rest a bit there, and the large city should keep us decently hidden from view." They had also driven by a sign that declared they were around 100 miles from Cleveland before Vincent said this. "Um," Jackson muttered awkwardly. "Why do you keep calling me brother?" "It's a way we respect your humanity, we do the same to each other, it is a title. If you were a woman I would call you sister; just as some call Him father." This last phrase he muttered under his breath, with a hint of contempt. "You call everyone you know brother and sister?" Jackson found this piece of information intriguing. "No, just humans. People call me superio, as well as others. They are titles of rank, human obviously being the lowest, and magnifio the highest…well, besides unirio which is the title the creator holds. Of course, she is gone." This time there was sorrow behind his voice, as if speaking of a dead companion. "I'm sorry," Jackson found himself saying unexpectedly. The lingering sound of Vincent's power voice hovered in the air, as if he had mistakenly used it. "No need, her disappearance was not of human cause. It was your loss really, not so much ours." Though Jackson had no idea what Vincent was talking about, he felt a lingering sense of pity. Something troubled this man deeply, and not just what he was talking about. For a half an hour the only sound to be heard was the stereo and the cars around them. Vincent rested his head against the window with his eyes half open, obviously unable to sleep. Jackson constantly thought about this Vincent character. There were so many aspects to this world he was a part of, whether it was real or not. He spoke of these things with no hesitation, acting as if everything he said was a part of everyday life. There was no doubt he believed what he said, but Jackson was still unsure. The only proof he had seen was that this man was able to disappear on a whim and remain unnoticed by any onlookers. "You look hungry," Vincent said when Jackson supposed they were halfway there. Jackson wasn't aware that he had expressed hunger in any way, though Vincent was right, he was very hungry. "But I don't think you have any money left. I had to convince the hotel clerk to let you sleep there for free." "What?" Jackson exclaimed. "My credit card has over a thousand dollars on it! How did you –" "You're what?" Vincent interrupted. "Oh…oh yes, I forgot about all your human digitizing. Ah, the powers science has brought you. We could have never expected as much." Vincent smiled dazedly. "Well…if I remember correctly, they can track charges made with credit cards." "Oh yeah," Jackson said, dumbfounded. "Hmm," Vincent drew his face into an expression of deep contemplation, and Jackson wasn't sure if he wanted a way around this. It kept coming as a surprise to him when he remembered he was being kidnapped, for whatever reason. He chuckled when he realized that not many grown men were kidnapped out of their own house without as much as a fight. "There are little slotty machines that spit out currency paper for you, correct?" Vincent spoke as if he thought the concept of money was absurd. "Um, yes, ATMs, they are used to withdraw money." "And something like a gas station may have one?" Vincent asked curiously, adding, "I'm sorry I have forgotten so many things, but my body is almost devoid of energy, and I'm finding it hard to remember trivial facts." "Well," Jackson said, once more trying to ignore the last half of what Vincent said. "Gas stations have them sometimes, and big chain stores. There are tons of them in the city, but no matter where we used it, it could be tracked." "Yes, but if we leave the area quickly, they will probably not find us. We can grab some food and be out of there quickly." "We? So you'll be going in too? I guess they won't notice a purple-skinned…" Jackson stopped himself before he said maniac. "You'll just be invisible." "Um, no; I suppose you haven't understood what I've said. I can't do much of anything anymore. I'll stay in the car while you get yourself nourishment." "Don't you eat?" Jackson asked sarcastically. "No, not the same types of things you would," what ever that meant. Jackson hoped this didn't mean that Vincent only ate live animals, or worse…humans. He didn't look much like a cannibal, but Jackson had never met a cannibal so he wasn't very sure. "So, I'll just find an ATM somewhere, and then…what about tonight. Where can we both stay?" Jackson couldn't use his name at a hotel, nor his credit card, nor could Vincent come up to the room with him. "We'll face that problem when it comes to us," Vincent said in a way that signified the conversation was over. They drove the rest of the way to Cleveland in an uncomfortable silence. Jackson could tell that Vincent had no idea what to do next. He wondered if there would soon be an occasion when Vincent told him why they were going to Chicago. If he didn't get a good enough answer soon, it may be high time Jackson figured out how to get away from his kidnapper. Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Little Hood boy ran down a side ally, dodging past all the guys with guns. "Can't catch me, sucka!" He ducked around hotdog stands, and jumped over skate boarding punks in an effort to not die. Then he tripped and fell down into a gutter. The stone under him crumbled, and gave way, and soon he was slipping and sliding down a muddy hole that seemed to be set straight on to hell. When he landed, the whole cavern smelled like sulfur, and light refracted off of strange crystals to shine rainbows on the stone. "Weltanschauung!" something cried off in the darkness. "'Scuse me?" Little Hood boy responded. "Here's a polly lop, punk!" And then a lollypop hit Little Hood boy in the head. It was the same color as the rainbows on the walls. "I got'cho lollypop now, sucka!" Then Little Hood boy fled from the cave, and went to eat the lollypop in solice. New words: boom-a-rang lightning rod sepulcher rhino

Elephants should not Be inside the frigid fridge Because it is cold

"Well then," Jimmy said, an odd look of content on his face. "I say the plantiff, unless anyone can convince me otherwise. Personally, I hate cigarettes, I tried to not let that get in the way of my words before, but I feel like I should come right out and say this. I mean, sure, some of you might smoke, and you take responsibility for smoking. But don't you ever want to quit? I'm sure it's hard. To me, cigarettes just exist to make money. I'm fine if people grow their own tobacco, smoke when they please, but these corporate people have a hand in a monopoly, and they use it as much as possible to get money." Jimmy Thompson leaned back in his seat, and was hoping that they'd come to a decision soon so they could get this over with. He was happy the trial was over, and as much as it concerned him, the tobacco companies could be fined a million or more dollars, and he'd be happy. Well...as long as it came from the executive pockets, and not the workers. He thought maybe he knew someone who worked for a tobacco company somewhere. OOC: for the plaintiff (money for plaintiff (extra damages (unknown amount))).

"Personally, I'd like to know when we'll hear from the defense. This is all tragic, and I think we all get the point. Cigarettes are addictive and can cause lung cancer and such." Jimmy sighed, sipping at a cup of coffee. "They're pressing the same point, and I don't know about you, but I'm very curious to see what the defense pulls." As the discussion moved on, Jimmy found himself once again thinking of people who were bought off. This was a very serious trial. One person had been removed from the jury already, and rumor had it that the plantiff had bought him off. Who knew what the defense would do, what, with their fortunes of money, and seemingly limitless power. More and more faces seemed to look untinterested in a way that meant they would not change their minds. OOC: Suspicion calls for...NightFae/Natasha Allan