04.10.08
Visiting.
She first stopped by to see him on a whim. The consummate host, he’d ushered her in and spent the evening talking to her, and he’d never once pushed her on the reason for her visit.
Which was good, because she had no reason to give him.
And she had no more of a reason the next time, or the time after that, until eventually the weight of all those evenings before became the reason.
She rather liked visiting him. She never had to think of something stylish to wear; he would not have batted an eye if she’d shown up naked. And for his part, he’d started leaving the door open for her, and asking after her if she didn’t stop by. She thought maybe he liked her visits, too.
So she swung by again almost on instinct; her feet often took her along the familiar path of their own accord. She knocked gently and opened the door. He raised his head as she slipped inside. “It’s me,” she said quietly, and he nodded, rising to usher her over to the fireplace.
She wondered what it felt like, for him, to touch a person who was not quite a person.
His hand trailed gently down her arm, and he raised her hand to his face, giving it a breathy not-quite-kiss before releasing her. He smiled faintly and sank back into his chair.
Oh.
Their conversation, like her feet earlier, headed down familiar paths. He asked about her day; she asked about his. Back-forth, back-forth, like a dance that both partners knew too well.
…Ah.
She tapped the table lightly, mildly surprised that she felt it today. He hmmmed to himself, head bowed over steepled fingers.
She wondered who would break the pattern first. They took turns bringing up unusual topics; she was fairly certain it was his turn this time.
The silence was broken only by the clock chiming ten.
Maybe it wasn’t his turn after all.
“It’s late,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, rising and crossing to stand before him, touching his face softly before she could lose her nerve.
He caught her wrist and rose in one smooth movement, standing close enough that their bodies barely brushed.
“Despite all of our time spent getting to know each other, I never have figured out whether you prefer men or women,” he said, each word a teasing puff across her cheek.
There was only one answer she could give, really. “You pick,” she said, as emphatically as her distracted mind would let her.
His eyes burned green, and he went still and stared at her for a long moment.
She just looked back.
And then he nodded and pressed against her for a brief kiss before winding one of her long black curls around his finger and tugging her back into the bedroom.
Illusions.
Gabriel paused mid-sentence, wavered, and vanished. Adrian blinked. Lisabet swore, then sneezed.
Adrian tossed her a box of kleenex. “I thought so.”
Lisabet glared at Adrian over the top of her tissue and swore again.
Adrian grinned and went back to stitching the book together. “So here we have an illusionist who burns himself out so completely that he has to create the illusion he’s still alive so his other illusions hold, but since the illusions ultimately need a physical anchor, he anchored himself to you, effectively making you into the illusionist, though he still controls the power, not you. Am I right?”
Lisabet just stared. Adrian looked at her over the top of his glasses and nodded. “I’m right.”
“I think that’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard anyone utter,” Lisabet said, stifling another sneeze.
“Then you haven’t spent much time up at the university, Liss.” Adrian paused.
Lisabet’s stare turned suspicious. “What?” she demanded.
“I’m just wondering how an illusion managed to get possessed, that’s all.”
“Very funny,” Gabriel said, wavering back into existence.
The Fool and the Rose Queen.
Kathleen always avoided the Fool – which wasn’t all that hard, given how seldom he visited Arkham. Still, he did show up occasionally, and when he did, she avoided him like the plague.
He might be able to fool others, but he couldn’t fool her.
Kathleen rounded the bend on River Park Road, and came face-to-face with the last person she expected to see. The Fool.
He was perched on one of the many boulders that lined this section of the river, precariously close to the rushing water of the Miskatonic. His strange eyes, glowing an unnerving deep green in the twilight, were fixed on Kathleen.
Talia and Roland rounded the bend behind Kathleen, nearly knocking her over. The Fool’s stare never wavered. Kathleen never moved.
The Fool did.
His bare hand slid around Kathleen’s throat, and her entire form wavered, then vanished entirely. A shower of thick, pale yellow liquid – the last of the immortality serum – rained down on the three remaining figures. The Fool vanished just before the serum struck him.
Talia and Roland simply stared, too shocked to move.
Kathleen didn’t mind, really.
A First Glimpse.
A too-calm, too-precise voice rang out of the darkness. “It’s about time you got back.”
She turned, still holding out her electronic keycard. “Who’s there? How did you get in?”
A faint wheeze, like the whisper of a laugh, reached her ears. The light by her head flickered on; from further in her hotel room, soundlessly, came a man in a wheelchair.
He sat loose-limbed in the chair, completely relaxed; with his bowed head and shallow breathing, it looked as if he were on the verge of sleep. It was impossible to guess his age; he could have been approaching thirty or even older. His skin was eerily translucent; thin blue veins were clearly visible even by the light of only one lamp. One hand rested limply on the laptop he carried.
She frowned; there was something odd about his hand…
He gave another breathy laugh. “Done with the scrutiny yet?” came the false voice she now recognized as coming from the computer. The stranger rolled forward a little more and raised his head.
She gasped, jerking back against the door. That strange brown-black hair, those hooded black eyes with their silver tracings, those fine silvery circuits running up his hands, that she’d mistaken for veins…
This was no stranger.
“Francis Delacroix,” she breathed, fighting not to cross herself. “You scared me half to death!”
He gave her a lazy lizard’s smile. “Too bad it was only halfway, cousin,” said his computer.
Beowulf on Kathleen.
Kathleen O’Neill adamantly denies that she’s mad. On her better days, she just takes that label as proof of the stupidity of others; on her worst days, anyone dumb enough to call her crazy gets a one-way ticket to Haldeman Street. She hands out the waivers the university requires her students to sign with much sarcasm; as far as the dear professor is concerned, any … problems you have with her are strictly your fault.
Truth is, she’s either the craziest person in Arkham (which would be quite the feat, let me tell you) or she’s the sanest.
Yeah. It’s that kind of town.
——————–
Note: Haldeman Street is the location of the cemetery.
A Conversation in Bed.
Josephine squirmed a little as she settled against her new lover’s chest. One of his hands reached up to toy with her hair.
“So, Dr. Cain…”
He sighed. “Josephine…”
She smiled. “Sorry, Ashmedai. Did you ever sleep with my cousin?”
Ashmedai’s hand stilled so suddenly that it was almost painful. “What?”
“I think it’s a straightforward enough question,” Josephine said innocently. “Francis does seem like your type. One of your types,” she amended as he spluttered.
“Well?” she asked, when he showed no signs of answering.
“…Yes,” Ashmedai muttered, as if he wanted her to miss it.
“Was he good?”
It was amusing, watching unflappable Dr. Cain blush.
Josephine began to play with the end of Ashmedai’s braid. “And which did he pick, anyway?”
“…Right. That conversation’s over.”
“Oh, so that’s how it was. You must have a great deal of stamina.”
Ashmedai seemed to be trying to swallow his tongue. They lapsed into silence.
“How about Professor O’Neill?”
“What brought this on?”
“You have a reputation, you know. Can’t blame a girl for being curious. The professor?”
“She’s asexual, Josephine.”
“Not that that stopped you from trying, hm?”
Ashmedai was blushing again.
“First time she threw her mug at you, then?”
He seemed fascinated by her hair. “No, actually. The phone book. I still think it was a hint.”
“And then there’s that ambassador.”
Ashmedai went pale. “Josephine…”
“So did you ever actually sleep with him, or did you stop at that rather public kiss? I don’t know that I’d've had the guts to kiss a man in front of his husband and the local gentry…”
“Josephine…”
“It was very sexy, though.”
“…Can we please drop this line of inquiry?”
Josephine was silent for a moment. “Into your sexual history, or into your sexual history with Nathan Thaziazhsta?” she asked, dark eyes sharp.
“Both?” Ashmedai suggested.
“He’s the one that got away, isn’t he?”
It was Ashmedai’s turn to be silent. Josephine gently rubbed his side.
“More like the one I never had.”
A wicked grin was all the warning Josephine had. Before she could do more than squeak, Ashmedai had her pinned to the bed. “Shall we talk about you now?” he inquired.
Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play it, fine by her. “Sure,” Josephine said, in as chipper a manner as she could.
Ashmedai blinked.
“Before you ask, I have never lusted after my cousin…”
A Visit by an Aunt.
“So, Dr. Cain, when did you get your eyes fixed?”
Ashmedai jumped and spun to face the woman leaning against the wall. “I thought I locked that.”
“You did. I unlocked it. It wasn’t hard. Stop glaring at me like that, nephew.”
“I’m not your nephew anymore, Morgan.”
“Not this incarnation, no. You’ve been reborn how many times since then? What do you do, kill yourself off every half a century for a new, youthful body?”
“I’m not you, Morgan.” Ashmedai turned back to his desk.
Morgan’s mouth twisted. “You never did answer my question, Mordred. When did you get your eyes fixed?”
“What makes you think I wasn’t simply reborn with working eyes?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Morgan said from right behind Ashmedai. She grabbed his hands and turned them palm-up. “If it were that easy, your hands should be healed, too.”
“That’s different,” Ashmedai said, not meeting Morgan’s eyes.
“Or I was right.”
A sudden surge of power pushed Morgan out into the hallway. The office door closed behind her, then fused into the wall.
“Someone feels threatened,” Morgan muttered, sitting up. She rubbed her head and clambered to her feet.
“I was right!” she yelled through the former door, before turning and skipping off down the hall.
Francis’ No-Good, Very Bad Day.
His sister opened her mouth to speak, but before she could draw enough breath, the wires bit deep into her throat and she dropped silently to the ground. Francis wheeled over by her head and bent down to look in her eyes.
“I am not as cruel as I should have been, Marie,” he said conversationally while pulling the wires back into his flesh. “In fact -”
An infant’s wail split the air. Francis froze, dark eyes going wide, one hand still holding a loose coil of wire. Oh, no.
Slowly, he followed the cry through the apartment to its source. No no no no...
Francis entered the small bedroom, drawing up next to a tall crib. Gingerly, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning on the crib’s rails for support.
The baby girl inside shut up and stared at this strange man. He was very odd, and parts of him were all shiny, which was interesting. Plus, he looked a little like Mama. He was okay, then, she decided, and wiggled.
Francis just stared at her.
The infant gurgled and turned red. Perhaps the strange man didn’t understand her. She tried waving her arms at him, and he finally seemed to get the message.
Francis reached down and picked up the girl. She squealed happily, and set about investigating the metal tracings on his arm while Francis unsteadily sank down into his chair. He fumbled for his touchpad and dialed a number.
“Professor O’Neill. This better be good.”
“Professor?”
“Francis? Aren’t you in California?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. “What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked in a low voice.
Francis stared at the infant, who was now slobbering happily on his arm.
“Francis?”
“…I have a niece,” he responded at last.
12.30.07
Grail Castle.
He really hated the south of France. Fucking Pyrenees.
Dr. Cain scrabbled up another cliff, his head pounding from his magically-induced eyesight. He barked his shin on an outcropping, cursed, and kicked it again just out of spite. It hurt his toe, but it made him feel better.
Times like this, he wished he’d never been given the ability to make his eyes work. Then he could’ve told Francis to fuck off.
Dragon talons did come in handy for scaling mountains, though. Dr. Cain wheezed out a laugh. Kathleen had told him he climbed like a gecko. Not strictly true, but amusing nevertheless.
Dr. Cain pulled himself onto what was more or less the mountaintop and curled up in the brush, blending in seamlessly. Being able to turn “green as spring grass”, as his brother had put it, had moments of usefulness.
All in all, thought the scientist, he had too many useful traits. If he were more boring, he’d never have been sent on this damn fool errand.
He poked his watch irritably. “Francis.”
The watch twitched. “What?”
“Why am I breaking into your family’s ancestral castle, again?”
The watch sighed. “Because I’m holding your laboratory hostage.”
“Besides that.”
No response. Dr. Cain poked the watch again. “Francis. If you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on, I’m going to jump off this mountain and go home.”
“Most people ask before they leave, you know,” Francis muttered irritably. “And I told you. Something weird’s up there. I don’t know what, and I can’t exactly scale a mountain, and I don’t exactly trust the rest of my family to check it for me.”
“That’s really a sad commentary on your family,” said a third voice as its owner hunched down next to Dr. Cain.
Dr. Cain promptly punched him.
Or tried to, anyway. The stranger ducked back and got to his feet in one smooth motion.
Something tugged at the back of Dr. Cain’s mind.
The man twitched his disheveled robe straighter, ran a hand over his cropped white hair, and half-grinned down at the green man.
“So, Mordred, has anyone ever told you you climb like a gecko?”
Strangeness.
Kathleen had just sat down behind her desk when a strangeness walked in her office. She reacted as every disgruntled professor does (or dreams of, anyway) and threw her coffee at it.
Raziel ducked the flying mug. “Either Leonora was lying when she called you a morning person, or she has a very strange definition of ‘morning person’.”
Feeling even more disgruntled, Kathleen retrieved her mug, pulled out a tube of superglue, and set about repairing it. If she ignored the strangeness, it would either go away or become annoying enough to kill.
It wasn’t the particular power that was vexing Kathleen. All angels had it, even Cain, who’d kept it when he went human. She dealt with it on at least a weekly basis, and it didn’t bother her much anymore. No, it wasn’t the power that was bothering her.
Kathleen was just disturbed to find that Raziel made a prettier woman than she did.
