Go to the Broadway Geocities
____________________________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________________________
The sunlight filtered in past the shuttered windows, leading beams of illumination past swirling and dipping motes of gold. The world was quiet, peaceful. In the distance, outside, in the cruel and merciful sunlight, the occasional faint sound of children playing; a dog barks, and falls silent. Peaceful solitude hangs drowsily in the thick, warm air. The rising, then fading drone of a plane carrying people away, far off in their hectic lives, away from the stillness they reject, and crave. The quiet, muted sound of a children's program. Small blue creatures frolic about the screen before the still figure in the shabby, overstuffed chair. The worn felt chair, faded to a dusty green, is the only furniture present in the empty room, other than the tv. And the battered but beautiful mahogany table lost in a no man's land of papers; papers shuffled and piled and scattered all across it; and beams of light sealing it away like some futuristic laser security. But the corner is dark. And safe. No brilliant sunlight wafts down here; only the dull idiot glow of the tv. Occasionally, a white hand slowly strokes the white fur of the dog lying on the his lap. Blue creatures sing and swarm like insects on the screen; their names. Their names. Like insects. Singing in the gloom of the darkened room.
"Is it much farther Papa Smurf?"
A bearded smurf in red is reflected in the figure's solid-screen sunglasses. "Ash to Ash, Kalishnikov," Papa Smurf's reflection says patiently. "Jon, is that you?" A series of muffled cracks are heard from offscreen. What do those smurfs do in their free time. Probably banned by the Comm. Decency Act. Hefty Smurf is here, then there. Who squashed him? No, there he is. With the badger. "You will tell me all you know, you disgusting little creeps!" Gargamel yells, chasing after the giggling, dodging smurfs. No insects here. No order. Purpose?...
The dog in his lap lifts it's head briefly, glancing at the tv. "Shh. With you, always, Spitz."
"A-are you s-sure you're not mistaking us f-for the Nosies?" Scaredy Smurf stammers out, quivering in a corner. Azrael laughs evilly. "Mraeow!" And lifts a clawed paw. "I hate seafood," remarks Tracker Smurf, and the tentacles sink again into the morass, the underground pool of fear.
The figure stirs, shifts. Spitz raises his head again, considering; then lightly leaps to the floor and pads away, cat-silent.
"Yes."
"But maybe it isn't you," Brainy insists. "Maybe you aren't you! Who are you, who? Ash to Ash, Kalishnikov."
"George can't stop him forever," Papa Smurf pants, and runs again. Runs back. Good Papa Smurf. "Give him BACK!!" yells Clumsy, incensed.
"When help is needed, help will call."
click
The gloom lowers itself, gently, but suddenly.
Spitz returns, carrying a crinkling foil bag. Spooke takes it, yawns. Spitz
disappears again, into the near-dusk of the darkened house.
"We are more than the sum of our parts, we are, we are," Spooke hums absently, and runs a hand through his shaggy, silky hair. He rises, yawns. Stretches. Stuffing a handful of chili chips into his mouth, he seems human enough. A black Crow t-shirt, worn jeans, Doc Martens, sunglasses. He wanders down the hall, singing softly to himself. "More than, what courage!! woo woo" he mumbles; chili drifts to the floor behind him, settling amid crumbs. Familiar scent of the house. Familiar scent of the computer; smells like shopping, like plastic; like fun. He drops onto the pedestal before it.
tick tick tack CLACK
Words spring into being on the screen, fascinating. So like us. Joy in this act of creation. He deletes the characters, reenters them. Joy in their reappearance. Finally he clicks the mouse.
Sender: Grand Spooke Malke
To: Kat
I tAke the Road moSt trAveled by
(at leAst, lately)
click, click
Bzuuuuummmmmmhhhhhhhhhh, the power dies off. Mm, there's Spitz; the shotgun. "Thank you, Spizzie," Spooke softly laughs. Ah, but it's almost noon. Late, late.
The shotgun makes a good blanket.
"G'night, Spizz," he murmurs, and the dog watches him as he drops into the depths. Dreams are so vivid. So REAL. Am I asleep?? The floor grows soft...
Spitz watched him for a while, then left, dog tags jingling reassuringly. Comfortingly. Soft clicks as claws hit pavement, Spitz trotting across the street. Alex would watch. Alex would know. Goodbye Alex, we love you still and you are still with us.
The door creaked slightly as nothing brushed past. Then, quiet. Waiting for the night.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Ring, ring.
"Hello?"
"Eerie? WhAt the f#@&'s gOinG oN?!"
"JoN. I'm about to take off; I should be in Toronto in approximately four hours. Are you able to meet me at the airport, or is there a better correspondence point?"
"Airport? Nah, that's cool. Don't worry, we'll find you somehow...So, what's this deal with Malkavians and Diable?"
"I'll try to explain when I get there. Oh, and JoN?"
"Yeah?"
"Inconspicuous. There's something after us, and if it finds us, we've got problems. So try not to call attention to yourself. Tell any others you find the same. Omnicynic should be meeting you shortly. I'll see you in a few hours, and we'll figure out what to do then."
click
Inconspicu wha? Baah, he must mean bring all the highly trained and heavily armed help I can!
(With that JoN hangs up the phone, and it again rings, surprising JoN)
- HELLO? This is the Prime Minister! Answers JoN.
"JoN! buddy. pal. mate. gormph. how are you doing?"
"well actually fie...."
"great. look i called up to tell you something........"
a medium pause.
"what?" came the exasperated voice.
"i can't remember right now..... i've been reading you see."
"look fiendy i have other problems right now... there's this guy...."
"the guy!" gushed forth the fiend. "the guy who wouldn't listen to me when i was talking and wanted to do no good so i sent him to see you! that's what i remember!"
"what? What? WHAT?!? I'M GONNA....."
"just a friendly warning. bye"
the fiend hung up the phone but not before his ears caught the sound of the phone being wacked repeatedly.
- GOD DAMNED FIEND! Screams JoN, waking up the Black Spiral Dancers who again jump up, run around until they ram into each other, and fall back into unconsciousness.
- Still, I suppose you've got to thank the mate for putting Diable back into my life. He's always been a chuckle. So Alex, Ere just called me and...
Rev. Omnicynic drops his Obfuscate, and addresses the master of the house with a curt bow. "Greetings, JoN. My name is Reverend Ubermensch Omnicynic. Do you bid me welcome to your haven?"
(JoN, as quick as lightning and as paranoid as Keanu Reeves in Prison, draws his guns and points them at Omni, putting the red dot squarely in his left eye, when he notices is it his long time rival and sometimes friend, RVO, He drops his guard.)
- Well well well. The traitor. The turncoat. The guy with the really spiffy name.
(JoN withdraws his weapons)
- Yeah, come in ya big lug. This is Alex, and that's there'S a Pooka. (points to the BSDS) THOSE, are my roomates. I presume Ere called you? He'S coming to Toronto, that means we gotta bum a ride. If I know Diable he'll go after Ere, 'cause he's alone and has lot's o' knowledge. And between us he couldn't kick the crap out of, well, crap. But this isn't like Diable, he's more of a "Uuuh, bad Malkavian make fun of Diable, DIABLE SMASH!" I wonder why he's after...knowledge, well knowledge is power...an I'm rambling, let's hit the road. Glances at the BSDs) We better let them sleep.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Back to the StoRyliNe or To the next part
Go to the Broadway Geocities