Tristan stepped cautiously out of his room, listening intently for any sounds of bizarre music or tapdancing. The first time had been more than enough; his erstwhile guardian might be mostly trustworthy, but that didn't prevent him from being mostly crazy, too.

The house was silent, but that didn't mean anything; Dee could be meditating upside down from a ceiling fan for all he knew. Tristan took a few more cautious steps down the hall, past Carly's room. She'd slept through the tapdancing or step dancing or whatever the fuck Dee called his morning wake up ritual, but she slept through everything, including that one time the building they were living in was being demolished. It was a good thing the city council didn't gas squatters anymore, or he'd be out a sister.

The living room was empty and quiet, though Tris still didn't believe Dee when he said the creepy masks on the wall weren't staring at him. There were three of them, sprouting black feathers and wisps of silky hair over their striped faces, and the shadows in the eyeholes followed him as he crept across the room. Dee's mammoth entertainment system brooded quietly along the far wall, humming faintly with electric potential.

The kitchen was empty, too, and that was the extent of the little house- their three rooms nestled to one side, and a room that was remarkably lived in even with the staring masks on the walls, and the kitchen with its shiny new coffee pot and ancient, battered tea kettle. Somewhere, a staircase was hidden that led to an attic of sorts, and that was where Dee slept now. Carly had the master bedroom, because she was the girl, Dee had said, and because her clothes took up more space, and because eventually they'd move out and he wanted his room back in one piece, which he'd never get if he gave it to Tristan.

There was a piece of paper tucked under the coffee pot, with a few lines of Dee's elegant, professional caligraphy. "Gone to church, back by noon, call Teia if you need anything." Tristan rolled his eyes as he turned on the coffee pot.

Dee wasn't used to having them around, and once Jim got out of the hospital, he'd probably get worse. He always moved as though he were walking on glass, as though he would somehow, impossibly, break them with a harsh word or a misplaced gesture. He couldn't leave them alone for more than a few hours without calling, endearingly anxious in a way no one had ever bothered to be before.

But despite all of the obsessive, solicitous care, Dee never touched them. Sometimes Tristan would Dee's hands out of the corner of his eye and see the way they drifted closer and closer as Dee used them to talk in one of his more expressive moods- and then he would catch himself and fold up his limbs like a bird and continue talking about books, or movies, or the price of mangos in Guatemala, whatever bizarre tangent he'd gone off on...and he would be distant and proper, and Tristan always pretended he didn't see the way Dee's eyes flickered, nervous and horrified, whenever his hands drifted.

"Are you making coffee?" Carly stared at him blearily from the doorway.

"Yeah. You're up early." It was before two on a weekend.

"House is too quiet."

"Mm." They waited in silence for the coffee, and Tristan wondered what would happen if he set off the smoke alarm: would Dee get there before the fire department, or would Teia beat him to it?

"Dee's at church," he said at last, realizing that Carly was right about the quiet. Sometimes he felt like the sterile white walls were going to collapse on him. The coffee finished with a hiss, and he set two mugs on the countertop. "He left a note, said to call Teia if we started dying or something. Guess he doesn't want his cell phone going off in the middle of a prayer or something."

"He doesn't stop getting weirder, does he?" Carly accepted the coffee with a grateful smile and began pouring sugar into it. "He sings opera in the shower."

"His porn collection is alphabetized," Tris offered.

Carly giggled into her coffee. "He has exactly three pairs of matching socks. I keep pulling them out of the laundry."

Tristan took a long swallow of coffee and grimaced when it burned his tongue. "You think the masks are staring at you too, don't you?"

She nodded. "I have nightmares about the "art" on the walls...and there's a dead squirrel in the closet."

"A squirrel?" He poured himself some more coffee.

"Yeah. In pieces. Like, the ribs and arms and legs are all separate, but the skull is still attached to the rest of the skin and the tail...just sitting in the corner of the closet." Carly stared at her coffee, and then at the coffee maker that Dee had bought for them.

Tristan leaned against the counter, and tried not to think about the color of the walls.
--

(Old habits die hard.)

You don't need no friends
to get back your faith again
you have the power to believe
another dissident
take back your evidence
it has no power to deceive

I'll believe it when I see it, for myself

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven
I look at my daughter, and I believe.
I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth
I can see the sunset and I perceive

I sit with them all night
everything they say is right
but in the morning they were wrong
I'll be right by your side
come hell or water high
down any road you choose to roam

*chorus*

darling, I believe, Oh Lord
sometimes it's hard to breathe, Lord
at the bottom of the sea, yeah yeah

I'll believe it when I see it for myself

I don't need no one to tell me about heaven
I look at my daughter, and I believe.
I don't need no proof when it comes to God and truth
I can see the sunset and I perceive

*repeat and fade*
-Live, "Heaven"

Yes, it's all about the God thing, but I really like this song- mostly for the refrain, and especially the italicised lines. I mean, I don't really care about the God thing, I just like the way it sounds.

And I'm on a necessary music kick, now. Sort of. I'm reverting back to ninth grade. Again.

Damnit.

As usual, when I am alone in the house, I bake. This time, it was three batches of scones. And then Kristen showed up.

As for the baking, well- I was there, it was there, we were there- these things happen.

THE FURIES: Damnit! We're turning off our cell phones! *sulksulksulk*

"Is batshit the technical term for it?"

We won't even touch the cell phones- just wait for the beep. Keep waiting. That's not it, either.

I'm never making hot chocolate again. The world is thus a safer place because of it.

Augh. (Lookit me flooding the blog! It's like old times again...)

Since I've been on an FF kick today, what with the looking at Advent Children shtoof, I decided to stop at Cosplay.com and oogle the pretty people in the pretty costumes. Someone on the forum started an Amano-art costume thread- what sort of materials work best, what advice people could give- and now I really, really want to cosplay something. Anything, I don't really care what, I just want to make a costume.

The last time I went through cosplay.com, I started thinking up ideas for a female Summoner from Tactics costume- it would require a lot of dark green cloth and gold trim, and something to make the silly hat out of, but it wouldn't be all that difficult if I didn't want to make the whole thing from scratch. I'm not all that great at sewing (as the Rennaissance tunic reveals) but I'm not half bad at accessorizing. And things like shirts and jackets can be bought, and don't need to be made.

Really, cosplaying any of Akihido Yoshida's designs would be awesome- if I weren't a girl, I'd totally do Sydney or Ashley. I think it would be awesome to get a large group of people to go as the Crimson Blades- the costumes would be hella difficult to get right, since Yoshida's designs are ridiculously complicated and specific. I could be Samantha, if I had a bust...or I could be Guildenstern if I wore crazy platform shoes.

Dancer from tactics would also make a totally rockin' costume- alas that I don't have the figure for it. Though, actually, she's wearing full length pants, and I'm not too ashamed of my midriff. Hm. The top would probably need to be hand made, or at the very least have a turtleneck sacrificed to it- and that wouldn't be that difficult. Damn my lack of a steady source of leather! I used all the largest pieces lying around the house on Ralph the Roman Toga Torso two years ago. Without leather, the wrist guards could be made out of some sort of heavy cloth, and trimmed with suede or beadwork...the most difficult thing would be the belt, but that would just require some time and patience with metal foil, and I love doing that sort of stuff. It'd be a bit expensive to make it, but it would be fun to jazz it up with extra sparklies. The pants and shawl...shawl's easy, just some cloth, maybe add some trim- heavy cloth would be best, especially since so much of the upper body would be bare and air conditioned buildings are hell on bare skin. The skirt wouldn't be difficult at all- just something straight and narrow and slightly stretchy (feckin' hips...). The shoes would me made out of the same stuff as the arm guards, and since I hate open backed shoes, they could maybe lace up the calf, under the skirt- it would be awesome...

I need to get another pair of clip on hoops, and then a handful of cheap silver hoops of varying sizes...the gypsy thing at dragball worked really well, and I adore long earrings.

What would really be awesome would be doing an Amano version of any of the FFIV or FFVI crew- doing an authentic Setzer would rock so hard. Or Shadow. Or Relm, because I heart her design; Gogo would require too much cloth, but Locke would also be awesome. If I were a boy I'd totally go for an Edge costume, and having someone to be Porom to my Palom would also rock like large boulders.

Getting a group of people to be Cids from the various games would also rock. You could get an Amanoesque Cid iv with the beard and the wrench, and Cid VI with his raincoat, Cid VII with the bomber jacket, Cid VIII with the sweater vest, Cid V with his grandon, Cid IX with the silly hat- or just have another Cid carry around a frog doll...it'd be awesome! Cosplaying as Cid IV or Cid VII would be fun in and of itself, though. I could spew profanity and no one would blink. :)

And oh, to have a partner in crime to do Daryl and Setzer with...*dies* That would be beyond wonderful. And figuring out how to do Cain's helmet? Mmm...no one cosplays as Cain. The armor's too much of a pain in the arse, and to cosplay him badly would just be blasphemous. *le sigh*

I think I'm going to go rooting through the attic for some of my old dress up clothes...we've probably still got bits of Kev's old Venture armor packed away up there, and I know there's a lovely green dress/robe (but not a real green dress, that's cruel) that could be used for a Summoner costume. And we've got all sorts of spangly costume jewelry that would be great for Amanoesque accessories.

And, of course, there's always the possibility of doing Amelia from Slayers...because raining down Justice is one of my favorite pasttimes.

Damnit, I wanna go to a con...*whines* I'm not going to make it to Otakon this year, not with the way things are going now- and Anime Boston happens the weekend before finals, so that's possible...but still, not until next May.

Alas. *costume lust*

One last AC related thing...if they were to make a human cast for Advent Children, they really ought to just have David Bowie play every role. Or, at least have him play Cloud, because really now. He's not fooling anyone with that hair.

Oh, Japan.

Final Fantasy VII: Before Crisis

Holy fucking shit on a stick. Look at the scans, the screen caps...shit on a stick, I tell you! Oh, Square (Squenix, whatever, you'll always be Squaresoft to me...) you know how to make an old fangirl cry. It's a cell phone game. A prequel, Turk based cell phone game. My heart weeps, yet my soul cries out with joy.

And I thought it was ridiculous when they started selling materia on Ebay, and replicas of Yuna's guns- now Final Fantasy has its own cell phones, and games to go with them. It's all so very wrong- and yet, oh so right at the same time.

I still can hardly believe the DVD for Advent Children is coming out this year in Japan; we poor American sods will have to wait for some etenterprising exchange student to buy it, hack it, and subtitle it, or until 2005 when it comes out on UMD in the states. A sequel...shit on a stick, I say. God bless Japan's love of accessories and memorabilia- I want me some figurines, I do.

Man- just think of all the new cosplay opportunities...there'll be groups of three and four moonlighting as Sephiroth and the Clones all over the place. (That's not a half bad name for a band, come to think of it...*snicker*) I love how the clones have slit pupiled eyes. Hee. (And I can't believe the extra girly one is named Yazoo. Yazooooo! Because that's a name to strike fear into the hearts of men! Kadaj would be the cool, confident leaderly one, even if he is the shortest...Yazoo would be the shy but rather evil and girly one...and Loz would be the headstrong, foolhardy manslut. You can tell by looking at the way they wear their collars- Yaz's done all the way up to his chin, Kad's is casually open, and Loz wants people to imagine him naked but the zipper only goes so far. This is going to be too much fun...)

The entire franchise has reached mind boggling heights, it really has. *happy sigh* Man- just wow, utter wow.

Manga!

So, several weeks back, I treated myself to Fake vol. 7 and Saiyuki vol. 1. I figure, what the hell, may as well discuss them now, since I haven't got much else to do at this point.

It's been about a year since I bought Fake vol. 1- right when Order of the Phoenix came out. I bought them together, and I enjoyed Fake more than Harry Potter. This is not because I'm an incurable pervert and there was a lack of pretty men groping each other in Harry Potter- though that certainly didn't hurt. Volume 1 was fairly well translated and consisted of four chapters with plenty of action (not that kind, dumbasses) and character interaction. Not great literature, but it was fun and the art was gorgeous.

I kept buying the series because the art continued to be excellent and the characters continued to be entertaining- and it looked like it would deviate somewhat from the typical yaoi/shounen ai character templates. It didn't, really, but Matoh managed to avoid beating you over the head with cliches every other page. By this I mean that Ryo was more than just a weepy girl with short hair and an alleged cock- or so it seemed, occasionally.

I still like the series, but the last volume disappointed me a great deal- the first six volumes are just a build up to Dee and Ryo finally getting together, and there are some touching moments between the two of 'em...but in the end, all the character development dissolved into Dee the Sex-Crazed Seme and Ryo the Weeping Uke.

Also, volume 7 is short- only two chapters, no conclusion of the Bicky/Carol/Lai/Lass storyline, and a lot of very rushed character development. So, somewhat disappointing- but the art is still top notch (even if I'm not sure some of the things going on in those (brief) sex scenes are anatomically correct...) and the earlier volumes are worth a glance if gay cop dramas are your thing.

And you might just want to pick up volume 7 to giggle over the fact that it's sold plastic wrapped, to protect the innocent from steamy mansex. (Be warned, though- it's not all porn, if that's what you're looking for. (And I wasn't, really, no matter how much I joke.) It's not even mostly porn. There are about six pages (if that) of shots of vaguely naked people and a few panels where I'm not sure what is going on- nothing really explicit beyond that classic yaoi standard, the orgasm face, and maybe a bare ass or two.)

Moving on from the porn...Saiyuki!

The journey west never looked so good without a shirt.
XD
Anyway. I've decided, after many years of contemplation, that I adore Kazuya Minekura's art. The droopy eyes, the squared off chins, the bizarre hermaphrodites- I love it. And the manga, of course, showcases her style much better than the anime, even if the animation manages to resemble her original designs fairly well.

I like the manga better, but that's partly just because I like manga better than anime, in general. Unfortunately for my wallet, manga is something I can't stand in internet form- if it's not on paper, I want nothing to do with it. (This may be because of the dialup here at home, but I'd rather pretend to be a snob. Wait, did I say pretend?)

Volume 1 is basically the first five episodes of the anime, almost word for word. There's a bit more introduction with Sanzo and Goku at the beginning ("If I killed you, you probably wouldn't stay dead." "That's 'cuz I'm rechargeable!") and some extra footnotes on the history of the story and the various aspects of Buddha, but if you've seen the anime, you know what's going to happen.

The art is gorgeous, though- but it is a bit bizarre and can take a little getting used to. The characters still amuse me; Goku is actually less obnoxious in the manga. He's more like a person than a child template, which is a relief. All of the characters are still taken straight from stock templates, of course- the kid, the flirt, the broody one, the mysterious one- but again, you don't read manga if you're looking for high quality literature, and it's entertaining. The characters are endearing, even if they are a bit stereotypical.

Kanzeon Bosatsu freaks me out even more now that hir shirt is transparent- they don't mention the hermaphrodite thing in the anime, just as they leave out most of the incest. (And it's het incest, too- eeew. But it doesn't show up in the first volume.)

I am a shallow person who likes pretty pictures and sulky boys and large, random weapons. Saiyuki makes me happy. It might make you happy, too. :)

Books!

So, The Dark Tower. I can't really talk about the series without sounding ridiculously fangirlish- this is mostly because the description of the Dark Tower at the end of the first book sort of parallels my own quasi religious/spiritual beliefs...and I'm a dork. A huge, screaming dork.

Stephen King's The Dark Tower series is an ongoing epic saga sort of thing- you know, the world's gone to hell in a handbasket, it's up to the last gunslinger to save it, yadda yadda...It sounds like a stock sci-fi/fantasy plot.

But oh, is it ever so much more. I suppose the genre is technically sci-fi, as there are occasional robots running about. But it's much more than a bunch of gimicks and bright lights- the story takes place in a world that has "moved on"- your not-so-standard post-apocalyptic setting.

There's no telling how long the series will run- the sixth book just came out, and as far as I can tell, it's in no danger of ending any time soon. King will probably die before he finishes it, the bastard- but those are his estimates, not mine; the world of the Dark Tower sort of encompasses every world, and while I'm sure that the current main characters are all going to die at some point, it's difficult to say if they'll stay dead. One of them has already died twice...or not at all.

The first book follows Roland as he tracks the Man in Black across the desert; the Man in Black was indirectly responsible for the civil war that destroyed his homeland, and Roland, of course, runs into trouble while following him. He runs into Jake Chambers, an eleven year old boy who ends up being responsible for a remarkable amount of temporal doom (kid just won't stop dying...) and brings him along for the ride. Eventually Roland catches up to the Man in Black and gets a glimpse of the Dark Tower before the book ends. It's a good introduction to the main character and the world he's traveling in- Roland grows on you a bit like foot rot- I adore him in all in unimaginative, pragmatic, gunslinging glory. (He's a bit like Shadow in American Gods, only not as dense, not as irritating, and with a bit more personality. So really, nothing at all like Shadow, but they're the same type of character- stoic and impossible to kill.)

The second book introduces the lobstrosities (gad, I love that word) that chew off bits of Roland's hand and foot and do their damndest to get the rest of him- so Roland hops through one of the doors standing in the middle of the sand (doors, like roses, towers, and keys, tend to pop out of nowhere and lead to strange places in these books) and ends up in New York in 1989 in the body of Eddie Dean, your neighborhood crack mule. Eddie is irritating and abrasive and very, very angry, and probably a reflection of King himself in his heroin days. There's a lot of whining in the second book- it's excusable, of course; I mean, heroin withdrawl and giant lobster monsters and a crazy-as-fuck guy with a gun are enough to make even the most rational of people a bit cranky. And, of course, when Detta/Odetta/Susannah shows up and tries to kill them both, it gets to be a little bit much. The time Roland spends behind the doors is the best part of the story, in my opinion; after he brings Eddie out, it gets to be a little monotonous, since they're all fucked sideways with a spoon and about to die horrible, horrible deaths. The ending's a bit uplifting, though, and it bridges nicely into the third book.

My real problem with King is that I don't trust him. At all. Against my better judgement, I really like all of these characters- I love Roland (I dunno, I have a thing for super hero characters, and Roland's just fucked up enough to make it cool- and his past is twisty and full of vaguely chivalrous knight errant things, and I'm also something of a sucker for knights errant.) and Eddie manages to be incredibly sympathetic and human with all of his insecurities. Susannah is hardcore, almost the same way that Roland is, and is sensible where Eddie is neurotic. Jake (damn kid needs to quit it with the trains and the temporal doom) is actually interesting in a way most eleven year olds are not- but I just don't trust King to not kill them all off in one fell swoop. These books aren't happy books, and they aren't, for the most part, pleasant books- they're gritty and desperate and really, really good- and I don't trust King to not rip my heart out and feed it to the lobstrosities.

It took me forever to read The Drawing of the Three (book 2) for much the same reason that I haven't finished American Psycho; it was just that disturbing at times. The Waste Lands, with its T S Eliot quotes (Because you just can't name a book that and not quote Eliot, it'd be blasphemous or something- though I do wish he'd left out the Prufrock quotes towards the end. That was disturbing.) and swirly temporal doom and dying robots, is a bit less dark- though I don't think I'm ever going to look at trains or old houses the same way again.

Book three is my favorite so far, because I like sane Susannah and insane Roland, and all of Roland's lessons are quite nifty. Also, it was a very quick read- it took me maybe three or four hours in one sitting, possibly less. I only meant to read half of it, but then I did what I used to do with all my books and flipped to the last few pages...since the damn thing ends on a cliffhanger, I realized that I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't find out what was up with the damned train, so I just finished the whole thing. My copy of the book is the special edition one with color illustrations, which is why I'm surprised my dreams had more Harry Potter and less mutated nuclear doom than they did.

I love the way King makes little references to things- there's the Eliot and Browning, of course, and Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Lord of the Rings, ZZ Top, Oz...Crazy references. It's great. In a way, they date the books, but you can forgive that since there's so much temporal doom. (I keep using that phrase, and I apologize- it's just such a great phrase, though. Doom! Temporal doom! Temporal lobstrosity doom! *cough* Sorry. Got carried away.)

And now I need to find the fourth book, since the third ended so abruptly. Fucking cliffhangers. Whee books.

"If I can't be the most important thing in your life, then I won't be anything at all." The harsh words rang true in the shadowy silence, and he held back the sound of pain that threatened his throat until that beloved form had left the room, turned its back on him, for the very last time.

If the distant wail sounded more like a dog's howl in the night, no one noticed it but Remus, lying awake with his own misery.

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

Bad brain. No cookie. Angsty Sirius fic is not at all appropriate for someone who remains aloof from fandom, especially Harry Potter fandom. Very bad.

*le sigh* It happens, I suppose- the need to create something that will be appreciated by more than just the voices in your head. I hate writing like this, though- too much drama, too many unneccessary words. It feels appropriate for the subject, though; how else would you write Harry Potter angst, if not with long, pretentious, overly complicated sentences?

The identity of the person who just walked out shall remain a mystery until I've read through all five books again and have decided whether or not to continue. (I've been doing far too much introspection over the past week if I'm even considering writing this. Definitely need to stop thinking. I'm blaming the diet coke.)

I think I need to do music and book posts soon. Listening to Emmylou Harris will do that to a person.

Dei opened his eyes with a lazy grin, recognizing the drowsy, happy feeling associated with morphine. Ah, morphine. Sweet, sweet painkillers. Going in to work with a morphine drip would piss Tyler off even more than the cigarettes would. The thought made him giggle slightly, which made the room wobble a bit. Probably shouldn't be awake yet. They hate it when you wake up early.

He'd done that in surgery, after the car accident. Just opened his eyes and blinked over the oxygen mask while they were trying to reconstruct his ribcage. He stopped his heart then, too, just to see what would happen. It was like shouting "fire" in a crowded theatre- the surgeons practically raised a stampede. It was amusing, yes, but also noisy, so he went back to sleep.

You'd think I'd be a little less accident prone by now, really. He tilted his head slightly to the left. There was his arm, swathed in white from shoulder to wrist and immobilized in a sling. The tail ends of the pins they'd used to reattach his shoulder jutted out of the plaster.

Dei closed his eyes then, and swallowed heavily past a lump in his throat. He couldn't feel his fingers. Perhaps waking up early hadn't been the best idea; he let the morphine pull him back into unconsciousness with cold fingers.

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

Whee, switching view points. I'd wanted to do the scene where he actually meets Tristan from his pov, but he's still kind of panicky over the thought of not getting full use of his arm back. Also, morphine makes him uncoperative, the little junkie.

*pets characters* I swear, the abuse he takes...

It's a bad thing when I start wanting to write Ultima fic, yes? Something titled "The Shortest Straw," because wow, Xenka, that was compassionate of you. "Ooops, the Balance is too out of whack. Looks like someone needs to be sacrificed, and only the four of you, me, and Gwenno are candidates 'cuz we're not dead. Draw straws to see who gets to throw themselves down the crematorium. Sorry, Hero, it seems that you've drawn the shortest straw. It was nice knowing you."

Christ, I love this game, but it's driving me crazy. The way its constructed makes it almost impossible to not cheat- sometimes you get stuck, you know- on top of a pillar or behind a tree- and the only way you can move is by teleporting yourself. Or sometimes there will be a glitch, and the key you needed will have been swallowed. It's crazy.

I'm pretty sure that staircase should not drop me in the middle of the ocean. Call me crazy, but it's just this hunch I've got. Guess cheaters really don't win. *snort*

And okay, so maybe Dupre isn't my favorite character after all the times he left my party for taking food in the Black Gate, but still. He's an amusing wino with a taste for wenches, and I can't really say I dislike any of the characters in these games. I mean, aside from the ones you're supposed to dislike, like Batlin. Stupid git. *sigh*

So much love for these games, seriously. Big hard love. Everyone should know the joy of casting mass death, and foiling the plans of software pirates. If I ever finish Serpent Isle (not likely), I'll have to do a write up of somesort, or a tribute or a layout or fanart, because these games were the formulative years of my life.

I am such a dork.

Dei knew perfectly well that he was a pathetic creature of habit, but what the hell. If being an obsessive compulsive freak kept him from going postal, so be it. And if that obsessive compulsiveness included scheduled trips to 7-11 for a slurpee, a donut, and a Reader's Digest at one in the morning every Thursday, so be it.

At least this trip had some sort of a purpose to it; he was investing time and money in finding new and petty ways to annoy his brother. The surprise board meeting tomorrow morning would be a perfect place to assault Tyler with one of his lesser but more offensive vices: cigarettes.

He kind of needed a nicotine fix now, anyway; normally he went through maybe a pack every two weeks, if that, but lately he'd been getting surprise visits from Len and Opal. They would come by with lunch and appropriately concerned expressions and ask if he was feeling all right, or if he needed anything else. It was aggravating, and when he told them politely to fuck off, they started sending Teia and Juhee in with snacks and vitamin supplements. All the women in my life just want to be my mother. No wonder I'm not getting laid. That thought was particularly depressing, but it was best not to dwell on it. And, since he wasn't allowed to drink during the week without getting the third degree from someone- Because I'm not pushing sixty (and don't look a day over thirty, still), I'm actually still living in my dead parents' basement and need constant fucking supervision...- he found himself needing a cigarette more and more often.

And everything that went on at the office was Tyler's fault, because the kid had grown into his role of anal retentive, micro-managing, control freak over the years. Thankfully, his little brother could not stand the smell of cigarette smoke, and thus he was initiating Phase One of Operation Piss Tyler the Fuck Off.

He nodded to the cashier, who knew him on sight by now, and scanned the rows of cigarettes. Why the fuck were the tobacco companies offering so many choices? Normally he just smoked cloves, or some bizarre import of Jubal's (which meant that they probably came from another planet and were likely to turn his lungs purple, nevermind black).

"Can I help you make a decision, Mr. Wexford, or would you just like the usual?" The neat, clipped British accent stirred Dei out of his reverie.

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Thanks, Omar. The usual, and something unfiltered or-"

The bell above the door jingled as a boy walked into the store. Dei felt warning bells going off in the back of his head like a St. Agatha's celebration. The kid couldn't have been more than seventeen, but the hood on his sweatshirt was pulled up and over his face, and he walked like someone carrying a gun.

The air tasted metallic and sharp, suddenly: fear. He was someone carrying a gun. Dei repressed the urge to sigh dramatically. Kids. They started so young, these days- he'd waited until he was out of college before building up a rap sheet, even if that hadn't really been his fault. Not that he didn't want to break Tyler's ribs now, of course...

The kid was shouting now, and had pulled out his gun. This time Dei really did sigh. He hated guns. Swords were so much more elegant, and it was so much easier to hit your intended target with them. He knew Omar had a shotgun for dealing with stupid kids. He also knew that this particular stupid kid was desperate- it was a noble sort of desperation, though. The air was charged with intent; this money was for someone else.

And am I a sucker for a noble cause? You bet. If nothing else, it might get him out of tomorrow's board meeting. He began making soothing noises at the kid, and reached into his jacket for his wallet. Get him to put the gun down, give him some money, send him on his way. Don't spend it all in one place, kid.

At least, that was the way it should have gone, but some people had itchy trigger fingers. He wasn't really even paying attention when he stepped between the two guns, which was probably why it hurt more than he expected it to. Dumbass. Next time, try catching the bullets. Or melting them. Or maybe just stopping time so you've got a minute to think? Crazy super powers, yeah, fuck that, some super heroe, this is what got you into the last mess, dumbass. Maybe we should just fucking learn to dodge. Tyler is going to be furious...

Omar was shouting his name, and he couldn't find his arm, which was a bit frightening. Pushing sixty, allegedly immortal, and he'd never had to worry about his limbs before. Internal organs, sure, but limbs? They never went for the limbs, that was too easy. And once they were gone, they couldn't hurt you anymore, not really. He already had the scars to prove that. But there was his arm, and it wasn't really attached, and there was the kid, just staring at him.

Move it, kid. Grab the wallet and go, now isn't the time to be altruistic. Dei almost cheered when the boy finally ran. He wondered if they'd let him have a cigarette when he got to the hospital.

Somehow, he doubted it.
---------------

Tristan has him pegged- he is a dork. A huge, screaming, yuppie dork. This is sort of the beginning of the end; it's technically Tristan's story, but it's also Dei's story, since I couldn't just have him tossing angst like a hairball every January. Sort of a sequel, sort of just a series of "what happens next?" things.

I'm still not sure about the timeline or the ages, but they're all much older than they were in the beginning. Tyler and Opal are happily married and not making babies; Tyler runs his dad's company, Opal started a record label using Tyler's money, mostly. She's a world famous cellist, and she has an excellent board of directors to keep Fire Star Records successful. Dei spent a lot of time bar hopping until he met Lyra, who he immediately fell in love with, proposed marriage to, and was subseqently abandoned by two weeks after meeting her. What few friends he had at that point all ended up dead one way or another, and he checked himself into a mental hospital for a few years.

Lyra went on to become the biggest thing in the music industry since the Beatles and Nirvana combined. Twenty years later, her band, Ekphrasis, has changed the face of music, and Dei is still in love with her. Hasn't spoken to her in twenty years, though. Tyler finally couldn't deal with the angst and put him in proper rehab, and gave him a job heading one of Opal's pet projects. Melisma Sounds is a non-profit record label for new artists and charity fund raising. Since all of these businesses have demons behind the scenes, they all just run themselves, really; Dei is actually in charge of policing the traffic of otherworldly beings into and out of this reality. But he still has to make public appearances for Firestar and Melisma; officially, Deodat Karolus is dead of heroin overdose, so now he goes by Dee Wexford and expends a great deal of energy convincing people that he has no familial connection to Opal or Tyler, no matter what he looked like with long hair.

He's still not exactly stable, and Tyler is more demon-like than human these days, which just makes him annoying. Opal is more of an angel now, too, which just means that computers tend to explode on her. Jance gave in to his inner metrosexual and became a fashion designer/personal tailor for the Karolus family, Toby ended up as a vampire and Dei still blames himself, and Jubal and Len occasionally do productive things, but mostly just fool around.

The gun was cold in his hand, beneath the loose fabric of his sweatshirt. The gun was cold, and so was his skin, even though he was sweating, ever so slightly. Just enough to make his skin twitch in the artificial chill of the air conditioned 7-11, just enough to make his palms slippery and his armpits prickle. He concentrated on breathing, on seeming natural- but who was he kidding, he wasn't a natural at anything but being a fuckup, and this wasn't going to be any different.

He just knew it.

The little convenience store was nearly empty- just the cashier and some dork agonizing over filtered cigarettes at the counter. If he waited any longer, he'd lose his nerve; too bad for the dork. He was tall, but thin, like a sign post in need of a hair cut: not at all threatening. And he was well dressed, probably had a lot of money on him, or maybe a credit card. But credit cards were dangerous, easy to track. Not that it mattered a whole lot, since he only needed the money for the one thing. The one person.

He knew this was a bad idea. This wasn't going to work. Carly was going to kill him.

The gun was suddenly very hot in his hands, and his palms were miraculously dry as he pulled it out of his sweatshirt and began shouting. "Alright! Hands up where I can see them! You, on the floor, and you, start filling that bag! NOW!"

The two men stared at him blankly, and then stared at the gun in his remarkably steady hands. Maybe he wouldn't fuck this one up. Maybe. If they would just stop staring and start moving..."Hurry it up, I don't have all fucking day! MOVE!"

The cashier was reaching for something under the counter and the dork was talking, slow and soft and rythmic, reaching into his jacket and just talking, "...put the gun down, you don't need to hurt anybody, it's okay, it's okay, no one's going to hurt you, you don't need to hurt anybody..."

"Shut the fuck up, pretty boy, and get on the ground! And you, the money, before I blow your fucking head off!" It was almost laughable, it really was, the way everything was moving in slow motion, the way the cashier was pulling a shotgun up from beneath the counter, and of course it would already be loaded, and it was just amazing how well he could pick out little details like the serial number inscribed on the barrel that was pointing at his head, or the impossibly loud noise the mechanism made when being cocked, and he didn't want to kill anyone but he didn't want to die, and he was sweating again, and shivering and everything was happening all at once, too fast.

"No!" That was the dork, long arms flying to put himself in front of two bullets, as both guns went off at the same time.

Fuckup. Story of his life. The man had been pulling out his wallet, and it went skittering between a shelf full of chips and salsa and the ice cream freezer as the shotgun ripped his arm off, just dangling there by a few bits of mangled skin at a funny angle when the guy hit the floor in a sort of greenish heap. Tristan's aim had been off; there was a smoking hole in a carton of cigarettes, filling the air with the sickly sweet smell of tobacco and burning cardboard.

Tristan met the guy's eyes for half a second. They were blue. Really blue. And he was just lying in his own blood, looking kind of lost and confused, staring right back at him. The sound of the cashier discharging the spent shells brought him back to reality.

Tristan dropped his gun, grabbed the guy's wallet, and ran for his life.

Fuckup. What else was new?