AERONA
Aerona held up the sprigs of berries again for the children to see. Ten faces in front of her stared openly back, displaying various stages of smug comprehension and vacant bewilderment. One boy even had his mouth hanging open: Aerona was trying very hard not to laugh at him.
“Now, remembering what I just told you: which of these berries is safe to eat?”
A smug boy at the front shot his hand into the air and waved it about enthusiastically, as though he somehow thought that maybe he was partially invisible and needed to attract as much attention as he could.
“Maybe someone other than Morgan?” Aerona asked. Morgan withdrew his hand, looking slightly smug despite his disappointment. A girl behind him tentatively raised her own.
“Bronwen?” Aerona asked hopefully.
“The one on the right, because it do have no waxy leaves and it do have no milky sap and I ate them before and I was fine.”
Aerona fought her automatic instinct to Give The Cute Child A Hug.
“Good girl! Yes, that’s right. This is Rowan, children, quite a common tree. Don’t worry about the berries being slightly orange, that’s their natural colour when ripe. They don’t go red.” Aerona brandished the other sprig. “And these? Who knows what these are?”
Morgan’s hand narrowly avoided knocking Bronwen out. Everyone else watched silently.
“Yes, Morgan?”
“Laurel! They’re poisonous, they are.”
“Quite right, Morgan. How can you tell?”
Unexpectedly, Siona put up her hand. Aerona picked her.
“Because the leaves are waxy,” Siona said quietly. Aerona smiled. Siona beamed.
“Absolutely! Well done everyone. Now, for your homework this week, I want you all to bring me some berries that are safe to eat. And you will be eating them, so get it right.”
The Training School bell sounded melodically outside the room, and the children leaped to their feet and positively fled the room. Aerona was packing away, and so it was only when she turned to leave that she realised Siona was still standing there, twisting her hands nervously like she did when she wanted to ask a question, but didn’t yet have the courage.
“Hello Siona,” Aerona said warmly. “Did you want to ask something?”
“When do we learn to ride?” Siona asked quietly without preamble.
Ah. The time-old question that they all asked and never listened to the answer until it became, “Now.”
Aerona smiled. “You’re already learning, my lovely,” she said gently. “But you need to be fully competent on a normal horse before you can learn to fly.”
“I want to ride now,” Siona said plaintively. Six-year-olds never listened.
“Well,” said Aerona, “You can speed up the process. If you work extra hard in your riding lessons and get very good, you may well be fast-tracked. But even if you don’t: as long as you work hard at all your lessons, you will definitely fly someday.”
Siona nodded, and wandered off vaguely. Aerona grinned. Any money said that child was just going to ask her next Tutor the same question. Six-year-olds were so cute.
She was passing the yard and heading back up to the Wing Quarters when she heard the slight commotion. The children outside were running towards the Outer Wall, staring and pointing through the huge archways up to the Landing Tower far above. Aerona paused, squinting up the same way into the dark.
The tiny figure of a Rider swept in, landing out of sight on the runway. Aerona thought fast. Night-time was an unusual time for a Rider to make a journey; the merod’s wing feathers drew energy from trapped sunlight, so night flying was generally slower and harder on the animal. The only reason Aerona could think of, in fact…
Was if someone had an urgent message that had to arrive before someone else.
She cursed under her breath and ran up the stairs as fast as she could, taking most two at a time. That wasn’t good. Aerona had spent the last three months largely praying that Lady Gwenda’s increasingly covert behaviour was actually perfectly innocently explainable if only Aerona would stop being such a drama queen and acting like they were all part of some big detective novel. Unfortunately, it was all getting increasingly hard to dismiss.
The Archwiliad was in two weeks. The first of the Northlander Wings was arriving late tomorrow to start the standard political reviews before the Sovereigns went to vote. Seeing a single Southlander Rider before any of the Northlanders could get there suggested something Aerona didn’t like.
She cannoned onto the top landing just as the doors to the Landing Tower were opened by a pair of formally dressed guards. Their very presence wasn’t a good sign. Unless there was a political point to be made, Riders opened the damned doors themselves. Aerona recognised Brandon the stable hand as he walked through, followed by the Southlander.
She was young and looked slightly travel-worn, her flying leathers creased and the wax cracking slightly. Her expression showed pleasant interest as she looked around at the corridor streets of Tregwylan, apparently a first-time visitor. Her stride was easy and long, seemingly at perfect ease with her surroundings. Aerona watched as she pulled off her head gear, holding it easily as she walked.
Long hair swung down past her shoulders, tied in the intricate plaiting favoured by most Riders. Aerona looked at the beads securing the front braids. They were intricate amber-and-silver creations, red, orange and yellow with spiral wires for decoration, marking her as a Bardic Rider. Aerona narrowed her eyes slightly, staring at the wires.
The spirals were anti-clockwise. Aerona stepped smartly around the corner into the Rider’s path, fastening on her brightest be-friendly-to-strangers smile. As she did so, she allowed the beads on her own plaits to show. It would be the only action necessary.
“Hello!” she said brightly. “I’m Aerona. Welcome to Tregwylan!”
The Southlanders eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to the beads as Aerona threw out a Rider Salute, the standard sign of friendship offered between Riders. Aerona grinned, and the Southlander grinned and Saluted back.
“Awen,” she said, her eyes twinkling, and Aerona fought the urge to giggle. Like all Rider’s she’d been trained since birth; but there was always something childishly exhilarating about meeting a fellow Intelligencer when no one else knew the class existed. Awen looked to be having the same thought as she hurriedly gestured around them, breaking eye contact.
“This city is beautiful,” she said approvingly. “I’ve only ever been to the Archipelago once or twice before, and never Tregwylan.”
“Ah,” Aerona said. “You say that, but you’re looking at the top level where everything’s pretty because the rich people live here. Off the record. Do you want a tour?”
“I’d love one!” Awen said merrily, as Aerona had known she would. Brandon started to stammer, so she cut him off kindly.
“It’s alright, Brandon,” Aerona said. “I’ll show her her quarters and get her to wherever she needs to be. Go back to the stables.”
Brandon left, looking relieved, and Aerona gestured along the street.
“Shall we walk, Rider?” she asked playfully.
“I believe we shall, Rider,” Awen returned in the same tone; and they proceeded down the street pretending they were from the fourth century.
**************
Huzzah, decent names for flying horses. After much consultation with Iceduck we've come up with a 'meraden' as a singular and 'merod' as the plural. It sounds better, it looks better and is actually cleverer.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
The Winter Throne
I found this yesterday - hilariously enough, it's a poem I wrote when I was around fifteen, and playing about with Tolkein-style mythological imagery and new rhyme-scemes. I think I was aiming for a personification of winter. I don't think I quite managed it. Also, note the fifteen-year-old angst and complete failure to maintain the rhyme-scheme in the last verse. But, you know... I was fifteen, and we need twenty three posts.
The Winter Throne
He came again this morning; full
Of bellicose belligerence;
His cloak was choked with ice and wool
From creatures beyond recompense.
He thundered through, with his Host;
A seething, breathing, heaving mass
Of diademed demonic class
That each sought to destroy the most.
They broke off branches and froze the grass
And left us with our ghosts.
They came again this morning; out
Of frozen hideouts further North;
Where creatures thick with scaly clout
Hunt and feed as men come forth.
The night is all eternal there
In older, bolder, colder lands
Where Shadows flee the sun’s soft hands
To breed the ice that fills their lairs.
They tear down trees, turn earth to sand
And horde their ill-gained wares.
He came again this morning; aimed
For the Mountain Citadel
To renew his Yule-tide game
Of recreating Earthly Hell.
He saw the walls and tore them down
In rumbling, crumbling, tumbling stone.
He entered purposely alone;
He came to reclaim his crown
And gain again the Winter Throne
To draw the Summer’s frown.
He killed again this morning; all
The townsfolk’s children gone away.
We screamed and swore to take the walls
Of the Citadel come day.
The gates we burned in fire and flame;
A whirling, swirling, twirling pyre
That swarmed and warmed the Winter Sire
Until, screaming, out he came.
We stoked the blaze and urged it higher;
And grieved his very name.
He died again this morning, in
Ice and fire, rage and hate;
We scattered him to all four winds
And drove his Host back from the gates.
There we stood, together, alone
In grieving, disbelieving pain
As the snowfalls turned to rain
And promised Summer would atone.
We cried; awaiting his regaining
Of the Winter Throne.
Also: I totally managed to get a line of cynghanedd in there. Points to whomever sees it first.
The Winter Throne
He came again this morning; full
Of bellicose belligerence;
His cloak was choked with ice and wool
From creatures beyond recompense.
He thundered through, with his Host;
A seething, breathing, heaving mass
Of diademed demonic class
That each sought to destroy the most.
They broke off branches and froze the grass
And left us with our ghosts.
They came again this morning; out
Of frozen hideouts further North;
Where creatures thick with scaly clout
Hunt and feed as men come forth.
The night is all eternal there
In older, bolder, colder lands
Where Shadows flee the sun’s soft hands
To breed the ice that fills their lairs.
They tear down trees, turn earth to sand
And horde their ill-gained wares.
He came again this morning; aimed
For the Mountain Citadel
To renew his Yule-tide game
Of recreating Earthly Hell.
He saw the walls and tore them down
In rumbling, crumbling, tumbling stone.
He entered purposely alone;
He came to reclaim his crown
And gain again the Winter Throne
To draw the Summer’s frown.
He killed again this morning; all
The townsfolk’s children gone away.
We screamed and swore to take the walls
Of the Citadel come day.
The gates we burned in fire and flame;
A whirling, swirling, twirling pyre
That swarmed and warmed the Winter Sire
Until, screaming, out he came.
We stoked the blaze and urged it higher;
And grieved his very name.
He died again this morning, in
Ice and fire, rage and hate;
We scattered him to all four winds
And drove his Host back from the gates.
There we stood, together, alone
In grieving, disbelieving pain
As the snowfalls turned to rain
And promised Summer would atone.
We cried; awaiting his regaining
Of the Winter Throne.
Also: I totally managed to get a line of cynghanedd in there. Points to whomever sees it first.
The Loneliest Guy: Part 1 of 8
With fiery breath pouring from its fanged maw, the Dragon descended upon the city in a furious spiral. Its defenders valiantly prepared the defences but their efforts were in vain. The Dragon landed bodily on the battlements, throwing stone and defender aside like dolls.
Venger drew in a great swell of air, its eyes glimmering like gems before exhaling a furious wave of hellish fire –
"What on earth are you reading that for?" Bobby asked with a grimace.
Peter looked up from his Fighting Fantasy Adventure and gave Bobby a withering look.
"It's better than the Kurt Cobain biography you gave me. What a waste of space that man was. Seriously, 'Rape Me' as a song title? What was he thinking?"
Bobby winced. He was wearing a Nevermind hoody and his hair looked unwashed.
"Maybe you should hang out with more sophisticated people your own age." Bobby chided. Peter stuffed the book back in his bag, careful to hide its contents. "I'm just too young and immature to appreciate the literary genius of Ian Livingstone."
"This one's a Steve Jackson." Peter clarified pedantically. Bobby just snorted and fell into step with him as they began the slow march to school.
**
Cole Steadman loved cigarettes after sex. For some bizarre reason they just tasted better.
At the foot of the bed Dione was pulling on her underwear. She wasn't speaking to him. Cole just tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
The next thing he knew his phone was ringing. He opened his eyes and saw Dione standing in the doorway fully dressed and looking murderous. He must have dozed off. Inwardly he grinned, he loved black girls when they looked angry.
She wiggled the phone in her fingers. "Sarah? I thought you said you two were over."
Cole blinked a couple of times and exhaled slowly. He had two choices, truth or bollocks. He chose neither.
"Fuck you." Dione spat before throwing the phone across the room and hitting him in the forehead.
**
"Xena or Hercules."
"Pardon?"
"In a fight."
"Xena. No wait… Hercules." Peter mused. "Where's Gabrielle in all this?"
"Watching."
"That's just sick."
Bobby was chuckling in the strange kiddie way he had. "Maybe they aren't fighting at all," he said with a sly grin, "Maybe they're doing something else."
"Juvenile." Peter reprimanded him, "I, of course, would never think such a thing. I am above such puerile imaginings. Besides, it wouldn't count as canon."
**
Frank was waiting near the gates. He knew they walked to school. He was imagining in his head that Peter wouldn't be coming, that he'd pull a sickie and bunk off. Frank balled his fists and tried to calm down.
After years of defending him to other people, it had finally come down to this.
Once a liar, always a liar; once a thief, always a thief.
"Hey – have you seen my brother?"
Frank jumped and spun around. It was Sarah. For a moment he couldn't speak. She was wearing her hair down.
"Err – no. Not yet."
"When you do, give him this." She handed him a mobile phone. "He left it in the kitchen this morning. Oh, and tell him that Mum and Dad are letting him go to the Carnival later."
Frank smiled, "Much to your dismay."
"What are you smiling at?"
"You."
"Any particular reason?"
Frank shook his head. She tried valiantly to be aloof but it all crumbled in on her when Frank started whistling. For some strange reason the theme tune to Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles had always brought her out in peals of hysterics.
"Stop it." She thumped his arm mockingly. "Cole will be here in a bit."
"Ah, the Queen of Rugby."
"How many times do I have to remind people, that locker room antics don't count as full-on homo-erotic encounters?"
Frank laughed and Sarah tried to smile. When she looked down the street in distraction he began to wonder. "Is everything okay?"
"Either it is, or he won't be."
**
"Ive got to say, you're in a good mood today. You should stop it, you're weirding me out."
"It's not every day that you save the world." Peter replied, thinking about the contents of his bag. "Well, maybe not save the world."
In the distance were the school gates. It was true, he did feel good; today was the day he was going to make amends.
**
Cole stumbled down the stairs pulling on his vest and school trousers. He'd always thought you could judge a party by how many bodies there were on the floor.
As he went he woke up five people and nearly tripped up three others. He passed through the living room and got a sickening wave of vomit, fag ash and spilled beer. He was grateful for the fresh air as he began to jog towards the car.
Things weren't looking good. That conversation with Sarah hadn't gone well. Had Dione spoken to her before she passed the phone over?
Things were definitely not looking good as he gunned the engine of his shiny, red Peugot 206 GTI.
**
Dione got out of her friend's car near the school gates. It had been her intention to not drink, get an early night and turn up for early practice.
Instead she'd given in to her baser instincts and drunk. Not only that, she'd got drunk enough to the point where she'd believe that Cole Steadman had done the honurable thing with his long suffering girlfriend and put their relationship out of its misery.
Well, those two deserved each other. She was a stuck-up bitch and her boyfriend was a whore.
Fuck! She was so pissed off with herself.
"Dione?"
She spun around and to her horror saw that it was Sarah. Without thinking and without former agreement with the rest of her body, she screamed, at the top of her voice…
**
"Okay. Gabrielle, or Iolaus?"
"Gabrielle. All the way. She's a dark horse. Even though she's ginger."
"Okay, Gabrielle or Leela?"
"Leela. No contest."
"Leela or Captain jack."
"They'd just shag."
"True."
Peter was just about to open his mouth with another opposition when someone screamed in his ear, "YOUR BOYFRIEND IS A WHORE!"
The sound was so sudden and fierce that Peter tripped and fell head-first onto the pavement. As he sat up he noticed that the contents of his bag had spilled everywhere.
A tall blonde girl with shocking blue eyes kneeled down gracefully and picked up a small pink book.
She looked up at him, her eyes blazing and in a cold, deadly whisper asked, "Is this mine?"
**
When Cole reached the gates he found there was no-one there. He was late for registration, but that was the least of his worries. If he didn't find Sarah and assess the situation quickly, he could end up with a brutal and very public break-up, which wouldn't be good for his image.
He made his way over to the gymnasium and found Frank Ryker having a full-blown argument over the door of a toilet cubicle.
"What's wrong Ryker, did he say no?"
"Fuck off Steadman!" Frank said fiercely.
"Calm down, handbags." Cole said, his voice brittle. More pissed off than he had been, he went into the changing area and started to get ready for the morning practice. Maybe the coach would be stupid enough to assume he was on time for a change.
"I was going to give them all back!" a choked and teary voice croaked from next door.
"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Frank replied.
"No – I was going to put them all back, I swear."
"The stupid thing is – I put up with you stealing off me for years. I knew where all my stuff was going. I was daft enough to treat you with patience and understanding, and what do you do? You steal from everyone else instead!"
"It's compulsive!" the voice croaked.
Cole couldn't help but laugh, this little tiff was pathetic. Who was the little worm in the cubilce?"
The door slammed open and Cole stood up, forgetting he was naked. "It's the cold. Honest." He stammered, covering his essentials.
It was Sarah. She looked fearsome and glorious.
"Cole. I'm not interested in your cock. Where's Peter?"
"Peter?"
"Yeah. The toad who stole my diary."
The pieces fell into place in Cole's mind and he stormed into the next room, pushed Frank out of the way and kicked down the door. Behind the cubicle, cowering on the toilet seat was Peter. One of his old punch bags.
Fuelled by displaced anger he gripped Peter by the scruff and threw him across the room and into the sinks. The weedy little rat crumpled like a bag and fell to the floor.
"You stole my girlfriend's diary you little turd." He whispered, relieved that Sarah didn't know about last night. "Now I'm going to fuck you up."
"Hey!" Frank called. Cole spun around in time for Frank's fist to connect with his nose.
Quite a bit happened while he was blind with tears and pain. More concerned with his broken nose Cole thought vaguelly of the intricate ways he could win his revenge on Frank. When he could see again he checked the damage in the mirror and found Sarah staring at him in his reflection.
"I think we need to talk." She said in a small voice. "A little bird tells me you've been playing away. Again. Now, fortunately I was never stupid enough to fall in love with you. But I was stupid enough to think I could trust you."
With no regard for his broken nose or his vulnerable state, she took one long stride across the intervening space between them and drove her bony right knee into his crotch.
As the world started to unravel around him, Cole was forced to listen to her final insult.
"Just so you know, cold weather or no, you're too fucking small for me."
**
It had been a long day. By the time Frank found Peter again it was gone home-time. He was sitting on the curb by the school gates holding his bag.
Frank sat down next to him and they both sat in silence for a long time.
"I'm sorry." Peter croaked eventually.
"I know," Frank replied, "I'm sorry too. I lost my temper. I should have known better."
"I really was going to give them all back." Peter said in a small voice.
"I believe you." Frank said, "What do you want to do now?"
Peter turned to look at him and held up a torn neon yellow poster. A clown's face was grimacing under gaudy lettering which read: CARNIVALE!!!
"I'm going to give them all back and apologise."
**
Bobby had never felt as lonely as he did wandering through the maze of candy-floss stands and over-priced games. Yesterday he'd have loved to have been here, but now the experience seemed hollow.
It wasn't every day you lost your only friend. Bobby shook his head absently and corrected himself. Peter had never been his friend. Peter had just been laughing at him. The stupid kid next door who didn't have any friends his own age.
In the distance he spotted a ghost train ride. What the hell, he mused. He needed a sit down anyway.
**
Cole was scouring the crowd like a man possessed. That bitch Dione was going to pay for what she'd done to him. It was all her fault.
The swelling in his face and groin had subsided throughout the day but he was still in agony.
The bitch was going to pay.
**
Bobby fell into the queue behind his sister and the champion athlete girl from the same year. He'd never seen them hanging around before. They were cackling like banshees and making funny gestures with their fingers.
"This big?! God I was so drunk I didn't notice!"
**
Peter's bag was empty. He'd never felt more glad that he had Frank as a friend. Side by side they'd gone through every last stolen trinket and given them back. With Frank by his side he only felt the loss of his final victim the worse.
"He's over there, by the Dungeons and Dragons ride." Frank said, pointing at a long queue of people. Peter looked over and saw Bobby standing morosely behind his sister.
"Come on." Peter muttered.
**
The cart rolled up to the gate and Bobby followed his sister past the barrier and onto the platform.
"Sarah!" a voice bellowed from behind them. Cole Steadman, bloodied and bruised was elbowing his way through the crowd towards them.
"Stay the hell away from us!" Dione screamed back at him.
**
"Now's our chance." Frank said as they followed the wake of Cole's frenzied attack. Bobby was up ahead. "I'll distract these guys."
"Hey, Cole!" Frank yelled over the din of protesting bystanders. "Round two!"
Peter darted over the barrier and towards Bobby. He reached out with the stolen Xena toy outstretched as something hit him in the back.
Peter barrelled into Bobby as Frank landed on top of bother of them. Sarah and Dione were screaming in the front and the cart was already moving.
The open-mouthed face of an Orc framed the door of the ride.
A strange pair of images flashed in his mind.
A Princess in a Tower.
A Knight in black armour.
And a distant voice sung…
All the pages that have turned,
All the errors left unlearned, ohWell I'm the luckiest guyNot the loneliest guyIn the world
"Wake up, Presto."
Peter woke up suddenly and knew instinctively that something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger one what but there was something telling him he wasn't in London anymore.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was in a low, barn-like roof space with wooden floors and straw everywhere. On top of that, the place stank. Low cots were lined up against the wall.
Why on earth was he wearing scarlet pyjamas?
"Presto!" A voice called from outside. Instinctively he knew that was him. He didn't know how, he just did. "We're leaving now!"
Peter stood up and stumbled to the window. Below was a courtyard and stables. Standing around a pack of horses were five strangely clothed individuals. "There he is!" Someone cried. "Come down, we've got to go."
Unable to argue and hoping they'd have the answers he did as they asked and made his way out of the strange building. He walked down the narrow, rickety stairs to a long smokey hall that was filled with tables. An enormous open fire dominated one end. The place reeked of urine and beer.
Nauseated he closed his eyes and stumbled towards the door.
"Ready now, are we?" A soft female voice asked gently. Peter opened his eyes and looked up. It was Dione and she was on horseback. Why was she on horseback?
"Er, yes – I think. Where are we?"
The group laughed. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to focus. "See? I told you he was a lightweight."
"Honestly Presto," another muttered, "You should learn to say no."
An arm helped him up onto a horse and he sat in the saddle, swaying.
"Leave him be. He is a gentle spirit. Not all are built for the rigours of vice." An eerily familiar voice muttered. He looked up and saw the huge figure of Cole Steadman sitting on another horse and resplendent in silver armour.
"We can't all be saintly, Steedman." Came Frank's voice as he leaped onto his own horse. He was dressed in green leather with a bow swung over his back. What on earth was going on? He looked at the others. He wasn't going mad. Dione, Cole, Frank, Sarah and Bobby were all looking at him with warm expressions.
"Couldn't you magic away your hangover?" Sarah said softly. She was dressed in rich purple leather. When Peter didn't reply they laughed and nudged their horses out of the courtyard and onto the road.
In the distance, at the base of an enormous flood-plain was a tiered white city, glowing in the early morning light.
"Let's pick up the pace," Frank said, taking a leader-like tone, "I have a mind to reach Ealdwic by nightfall."
As Peter followed the group as they nudged their horses into a canter he fought to steady himself.
He cast a look back at the building on the roadside. The sign of the Hard Drive Inn shifted in the breeze and an unfamiliar figure who he was certain hadn't been there a moment ago, stood waving from the doorway.
My name's Peter Donaldson.
I had an accident in two thousand and eight and woke up in a fantasy world.
It's like I'm living the best dream ever. They say that if you wake up in a dream you can take control and change it. Maybe that's what's happened to me.
I'm surrounded by people I know, people I've hurt from the real world, now maybe if I make amends I can send us all home.
Venger drew in a great swell of air, its eyes glimmering like gems before exhaling a furious wave of hellish fire –
"What on earth are you reading that for?" Bobby asked with a grimace.
Peter looked up from his Fighting Fantasy Adventure and gave Bobby a withering look.
"It's better than the Kurt Cobain biography you gave me. What a waste of space that man was. Seriously, 'Rape Me' as a song title? What was he thinking?"
Bobby winced. He was wearing a Nevermind hoody and his hair looked unwashed.
"Maybe you should hang out with more sophisticated people your own age." Bobby chided. Peter stuffed the book back in his bag, careful to hide its contents. "I'm just too young and immature to appreciate the literary genius of Ian Livingstone."
"This one's a Steve Jackson." Peter clarified pedantically. Bobby just snorted and fell into step with him as they began the slow march to school.
**
Cole Steadman loved cigarettes after sex. For some bizarre reason they just tasted better.
At the foot of the bed Dione was pulling on her underwear. She wasn't speaking to him. Cole just tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
The next thing he knew his phone was ringing. He opened his eyes and saw Dione standing in the doorway fully dressed and looking murderous. He must have dozed off. Inwardly he grinned, he loved black girls when they looked angry.
She wiggled the phone in her fingers. "Sarah? I thought you said you two were over."
Cole blinked a couple of times and exhaled slowly. He had two choices, truth or bollocks. He chose neither.
"Fuck you." Dione spat before throwing the phone across the room and hitting him in the forehead.
**
"Xena or Hercules."
"Pardon?"
"In a fight."
"Xena. No wait… Hercules." Peter mused. "Where's Gabrielle in all this?"
"Watching."
"That's just sick."
Bobby was chuckling in the strange kiddie way he had. "Maybe they aren't fighting at all," he said with a sly grin, "Maybe they're doing something else."
"Juvenile." Peter reprimanded him, "I, of course, would never think such a thing. I am above such puerile imaginings. Besides, it wouldn't count as canon."
**
Frank was waiting near the gates. He knew they walked to school. He was imagining in his head that Peter wouldn't be coming, that he'd pull a sickie and bunk off. Frank balled his fists and tried to calm down.
After years of defending him to other people, it had finally come down to this.
Once a liar, always a liar; once a thief, always a thief.
"Hey – have you seen my brother?"
Frank jumped and spun around. It was Sarah. For a moment he couldn't speak. She was wearing her hair down.
"Err – no. Not yet."
"When you do, give him this." She handed him a mobile phone. "He left it in the kitchen this morning. Oh, and tell him that Mum and Dad are letting him go to the Carnival later."
Frank smiled, "Much to your dismay."
"What are you smiling at?"
"You."
"Any particular reason?"
Frank shook his head. She tried valiantly to be aloof but it all crumbled in on her when Frank started whistling. For some strange reason the theme tune to Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles had always brought her out in peals of hysterics.
"Stop it." She thumped his arm mockingly. "Cole will be here in a bit."
"Ah, the Queen of Rugby."
"How many times do I have to remind people, that locker room antics don't count as full-on homo-erotic encounters?"
Frank laughed and Sarah tried to smile. When she looked down the street in distraction he began to wonder. "Is everything okay?"
"Either it is, or he won't be."
**
"Ive got to say, you're in a good mood today. You should stop it, you're weirding me out."
"It's not every day that you save the world." Peter replied, thinking about the contents of his bag. "Well, maybe not save the world."
In the distance were the school gates. It was true, he did feel good; today was the day he was going to make amends.
**
Cole stumbled down the stairs pulling on his vest and school trousers. He'd always thought you could judge a party by how many bodies there were on the floor.
As he went he woke up five people and nearly tripped up three others. He passed through the living room and got a sickening wave of vomit, fag ash and spilled beer. He was grateful for the fresh air as he began to jog towards the car.
Things weren't looking good. That conversation with Sarah hadn't gone well. Had Dione spoken to her before she passed the phone over?
Things were definitely not looking good as he gunned the engine of his shiny, red Peugot 206 GTI.
**
Dione got out of her friend's car near the school gates. It had been her intention to not drink, get an early night and turn up for early practice.
Instead she'd given in to her baser instincts and drunk. Not only that, she'd got drunk enough to the point where she'd believe that Cole Steadman had done the honurable thing with his long suffering girlfriend and put their relationship out of its misery.
Well, those two deserved each other. She was a stuck-up bitch and her boyfriend was a whore.
Fuck! She was so pissed off with herself.
"Dione?"
She spun around and to her horror saw that it was Sarah. Without thinking and without former agreement with the rest of her body, she screamed, at the top of her voice…
**
"Okay. Gabrielle, or Iolaus?"
"Gabrielle. All the way. She's a dark horse. Even though she's ginger."
"Okay, Gabrielle or Leela?"
"Leela. No contest."
"Leela or Captain jack."
"They'd just shag."
"True."
Peter was just about to open his mouth with another opposition when someone screamed in his ear, "YOUR BOYFRIEND IS A WHORE!"
The sound was so sudden and fierce that Peter tripped and fell head-first onto the pavement. As he sat up he noticed that the contents of his bag had spilled everywhere.
A tall blonde girl with shocking blue eyes kneeled down gracefully and picked up a small pink book.
She looked up at him, her eyes blazing and in a cold, deadly whisper asked, "Is this mine?"
**
When Cole reached the gates he found there was no-one there. He was late for registration, but that was the least of his worries. If he didn't find Sarah and assess the situation quickly, he could end up with a brutal and very public break-up, which wouldn't be good for his image.
He made his way over to the gymnasium and found Frank Ryker having a full-blown argument over the door of a toilet cubicle.
"What's wrong Ryker, did he say no?"
"Fuck off Steadman!" Frank said fiercely.
"Calm down, handbags." Cole said, his voice brittle. More pissed off than he had been, he went into the changing area and started to get ready for the morning practice. Maybe the coach would be stupid enough to assume he was on time for a change.
"I was going to give them all back!" a choked and teary voice croaked from next door.
"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Frank replied.
"No – I was going to put them all back, I swear."
"The stupid thing is – I put up with you stealing off me for years. I knew where all my stuff was going. I was daft enough to treat you with patience and understanding, and what do you do? You steal from everyone else instead!"
"It's compulsive!" the voice croaked.
Cole couldn't help but laugh, this little tiff was pathetic. Who was the little worm in the cubilce?"
The door slammed open and Cole stood up, forgetting he was naked. "It's the cold. Honest." He stammered, covering his essentials.
It was Sarah. She looked fearsome and glorious.
"Cole. I'm not interested in your cock. Where's Peter?"
"Peter?"
"Yeah. The toad who stole my diary."
The pieces fell into place in Cole's mind and he stormed into the next room, pushed Frank out of the way and kicked down the door. Behind the cubicle, cowering on the toilet seat was Peter. One of his old punch bags.
Fuelled by displaced anger he gripped Peter by the scruff and threw him across the room and into the sinks. The weedy little rat crumpled like a bag and fell to the floor.
"You stole my girlfriend's diary you little turd." He whispered, relieved that Sarah didn't know about last night. "Now I'm going to fuck you up."
"Hey!" Frank called. Cole spun around in time for Frank's fist to connect with his nose.
Quite a bit happened while he was blind with tears and pain. More concerned with his broken nose Cole thought vaguelly of the intricate ways he could win his revenge on Frank. When he could see again he checked the damage in the mirror and found Sarah staring at him in his reflection.
"I think we need to talk." She said in a small voice. "A little bird tells me you've been playing away. Again. Now, fortunately I was never stupid enough to fall in love with you. But I was stupid enough to think I could trust you."
With no regard for his broken nose or his vulnerable state, she took one long stride across the intervening space between them and drove her bony right knee into his crotch.
As the world started to unravel around him, Cole was forced to listen to her final insult.
"Just so you know, cold weather or no, you're too fucking small for me."
**
It had been a long day. By the time Frank found Peter again it was gone home-time. He was sitting on the curb by the school gates holding his bag.
Frank sat down next to him and they both sat in silence for a long time.
"I'm sorry." Peter croaked eventually.
"I know," Frank replied, "I'm sorry too. I lost my temper. I should have known better."
"I really was going to give them all back." Peter said in a small voice.
"I believe you." Frank said, "What do you want to do now?"
Peter turned to look at him and held up a torn neon yellow poster. A clown's face was grimacing under gaudy lettering which read: CARNIVALE!!!
"I'm going to give them all back and apologise."
**
Bobby had never felt as lonely as he did wandering through the maze of candy-floss stands and over-priced games. Yesterday he'd have loved to have been here, but now the experience seemed hollow.
It wasn't every day you lost your only friend. Bobby shook his head absently and corrected himself. Peter had never been his friend. Peter had just been laughing at him. The stupid kid next door who didn't have any friends his own age.
In the distance he spotted a ghost train ride. What the hell, he mused. He needed a sit down anyway.
**
Cole was scouring the crowd like a man possessed. That bitch Dione was going to pay for what she'd done to him. It was all her fault.
The swelling in his face and groin had subsided throughout the day but he was still in agony.
The bitch was going to pay.
**
Bobby fell into the queue behind his sister and the champion athlete girl from the same year. He'd never seen them hanging around before. They were cackling like banshees and making funny gestures with their fingers.
"This big?! God I was so drunk I didn't notice!"
**
Peter's bag was empty. He'd never felt more glad that he had Frank as a friend. Side by side they'd gone through every last stolen trinket and given them back. With Frank by his side he only felt the loss of his final victim the worse.
"He's over there, by the Dungeons and Dragons ride." Frank said, pointing at a long queue of people. Peter looked over and saw Bobby standing morosely behind his sister.
"Come on." Peter muttered.
**
The cart rolled up to the gate and Bobby followed his sister past the barrier and onto the platform.
"Sarah!" a voice bellowed from behind them. Cole Steadman, bloodied and bruised was elbowing his way through the crowd towards them.
"Stay the hell away from us!" Dione screamed back at him.
**
"Now's our chance." Frank said as they followed the wake of Cole's frenzied attack. Bobby was up ahead. "I'll distract these guys."
"Hey, Cole!" Frank yelled over the din of protesting bystanders. "Round two!"
Peter darted over the barrier and towards Bobby. He reached out with the stolen Xena toy outstretched as something hit him in the back.
Peter barrelled into Bobby as Frank landed on top of bother of them. Sarah and Dione were screaming in the front and the cart was already moving.
The open-mouthed face of an Orc framed the door of the ride.
A strange pair of images flashed in his mind.
A Princess in a Tower.
A Knight in black armour.
And a distant voice sung…
All the pages that have turned,
All the errors left unlearned, ohWell I'm the luckiest guyNot the loneliest guyIn the world
"Wake up, Presto."
Peter woke up suddenly and knew instinctively that something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger one what but there was something telling him he wasn't in London anymore.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room. He was in a low, barn-like roof space with wooden floors and straw everywhere. On top of that, the place stank. Low cots were lined up against the wall.
Why on earth was he wearing scarlet pyjamas?
"Presto!" A voice called from outside. Instinctively he knew that was him. He didn't know how, he just did. "We're leaving now!"
Peter stood up and stumbled to the window. Below was a courtyard and stables. Standing around a pack of horses were five strangely clothed individuals. "There he is!" Someone cried. "Come down, we've got to go."
Unable to argue and hoping they'd have the answers he did as they asked and made his way out of the strange building. He walked down the narrow, rickety stairs to a long smokey hall that was filled with tables. An enormous open fire dominated one end. The place reeked of urine and beer.
Nauseated he closed his eyes and stumbled towards the door.
"Ready now, are we?" A soft female voice asked gently. Peter opened his eyes and looked up. It was Dione and she was on horseback. Why was she on horseback?
"Er, yes – I think. Where are we?"
The group laughed. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to focus. "See? I told you he was a lightweight."
"Honestly Presto," another muttered, "You should learn to say no."
An arm helped him up onto a horse and he sat in the saddle, swaying.
"Leave him be. He is a gentle spirit. Not all are built for the rigours of vice." An eerily familiar voice muttered. He looked up and saw the huge figure of Cole Steadman sitting on another horse and resplendent in silver armour.
"We can't all be saintly, Steedman." Came Frank's voice as he leaped onto his own horse. He was dressed in green leather with a bow swung over his back. What on earth was going on? He looked at the others. He wasn't going mad. Dione, Cole, Frank, Sarah and Bobby were all looking at him with warm expressions.
"Couldn't you magic away your hangover?" Sarah said softly. She was dressed in rich purple leather. When Peter didn't reply they laughed and nudged their horses out of the courtyard and onto the road.
In the distance, at the base of an enormous flood-plain was a tiered white city, glowing in the early morning light.
"Let's pick up the pace," Frank said, taking a leader-like tone, "I have a mind to reach Ealdwic by nightfall."
As Peter followed the group as they nudged their horses into a canter he fought to steady himself.
He cast a look back at the building on the roadside. The sign of the Hard Drive Inn shifted in the breeze and an unfamiliar figure who he was certain hadn't been there a moment ago, stood waving from the doorway.
My name's Peter Donaldson.
I had an accident in two thousand and eight and woke up in a fantasy world.
It's like I'm living the best dream ever. They say that if you wake up in a dream you can take control and change it. Maybe that's what's happened to me.
I'm surrounded by people I know, people I've hurt from the real world, now maybe if I make amends I can send us all home.
Wednesday, 20 February 2008
Day of the Dumpster - Part Two of Four
It took some time for the five strangers to grow used to their surroundings and calm down sufficiently to listen to the voice in the pipe. This was understandable, as the adrenaline was pumping in each of them, having been lifted from a tremendous earthquake.
But now, they were calm. William Cranston was leaning against a console at the side of the room, examining the battered buttons and crooked panels. Kim Hart was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, tapping her foot. Zack Taylor had sat down on the floor, and was toying with his shoelace. Trini Kwan was staring all around her, wide-eyed with wonder, and had yet to say a word.
Finally, Jason Scott was pacing calmly, examining the details of the room curiously. He seemed calm, but his mind was racing. So many questions, and no means of guessing at their answers.
But finally, the voice spoke – the voice in the pipe, that had introduced itself as Zordon.
"I am about to reveal a great deal of information to you that is secret from the rest of your planet," he said, speaking slowly, as though each word was a struggle. "It will be a lot to take in, and I imagine that you will have your doubts. But you must listen well to every detail."
"Fine," said Zack. "No talking during the exposition."
"Ten thousand years ago, on my home planet, I was attacked by Rita Repula, an intergalactic sorceress from Gamma Vile in the M-fifty-one galaxy."
"Dude, I was surprised to find out there was more than one continent," said Zack. "You can spare us the geography."
"Speak for yourself," said Miss Hart.
"Her intention was to destroy my planet, Eltar," Zordon continued, ignoring another look from Zack for name-dropping. "I fought to the best of my abilities, but was crippled, and trapped in a time warp."
"You mean that pipe you're in?" asked William, speaking rather too quietly in the large room.
"This vessel was built for me by my assistant," explained Zordon. "Meanwhile, the Sentinels of my home imprisoned Repulsa, with the aid of their secret weapons."
"Sentinels," said Jason. "These would be the police?"
"The premise is similar," confirmed Zordon. "They placed Rita in a space dumpster ..."
"Wait," said Miss Hart. "A what?"
"A space dumpster."
"A space dumpster," Miss Hart repeated. "You binned her?"
"The metaphor stands."
"You BINNED her."
"Dude," said Zack. "This guy claims he's over ten thousand years old, and you're bothered by an unusual justice system?"
"But now the space dumpster has been opened," Zordon continued. "By astronauts from your world. And Rita's free, and according to her culture's traditions, she must now destroy your planet."
"And her name's Rita," said Miss Hart. "Just to confirm."
"That is correct."
"Look, this is all great," said Zack. "But I need to get back. I've got to find someone out there before she gets hurt."
"No-one will be in danger while we're here," said Zordon. "Our systems will give us fair warning of danger to anyone in Angel Grove."
Jason looked at Zack. "You're from Angel Grove too?"
"Sure," said Zack. "I take it you are as well."
"Me too," said William.
"And me," said Miss Hart.
Jason looked thoughtful.
"You mentioned an assistant," said William, turning to Zordon. "What became of him?"
"He's still around," said Zordon. "This is my automaton, Alpha Five."
A four-foot-tall robot approached them from behind one of the larger consoles. It was humanoid in shape, and painted a metallic red.
"Good day," it said, with a warm, friendly voice that reminded the crew of an automated telephone service.
"Alpha is responsible for the Command Centre," Zordon revealed. "He found the five of you himself."
"Right," said Jason. "And why us? What are we doing here?"
"I mentioned a secret weapon," said Zordon. "Show them, Alpha."
The robot – Alpha Five – crossed over to a long unit that William had assumed was yet another console. The robot's arm slid down with a quiet humming sound, and reached out for a lever. Rather than pulling it downwards, as William had expected, Alpha moved backwards, opening a drawer in the unit.
From within, the robot retrieved a small wooden box.
"This box can only be opened by specific DNA," said the friendly voice. "I have set it to yours, Jason Lee Scott."
"Call me Jason," replied Jason absent-mindedly. He took the box. "So, I just open it?"
"You're the only one who can," revealed Alpha.
"Yeah, I got that," said Jason, opening the box. It was stiff, but there was no hint that it had been locked at any point.
Inside were five large golden coins, around two inches in diameter. Jason was about to pick one out, when Zordon spoke again.
"These coins have unusual properties," he said. "It is a coin such as these that powers this entire Control Centre."
William stood up, and walked closer.
"Really?" he said. "I'd wondered about that. How you keep your robot powered."
Alpha Five opened a panel on his chest to reveal, looking comically like a replacement heart, a matching golden coin.
"The coins offer unlimited power," said Zordon. "As long as it is channelled correctly. Merely holding them will grant you advanced strength and skill, heal wounds more rapidly, and grant you additional stamina."
"Could do with some of that myself," said Zack, whose shoulder and foot were still hurting him. He reached for the box.
"Take the Mastodon Coin," said Alpha hurriedly.
"The what coin?"
"The mastodon," said William. "Similar to mammoths, but died out much sooner."
Zack examined the coins, and saw that each were carved to depict a dinosaur head. He spotted one depicting a mammoth-like creature, and took it.
Immediately, he realised that these coins weren't merely props. He felt his entire body tighten, and his muscles strengthen. Zack was hardly unfit to begin with, but by the time the transformation was complete, he'd never felt better – other than his shoulder and foot, but he could literally feel them healing, the bones straightening and the bruising subsiding.
"Right," he breathed, taken aback. "Great."
"Which one's mine?" asked Miss Hart, marching for the box.
"The pterodactyl," said Alpha. "William Cranston has the triceratops, Trini Kwan has the sabre-toothed tiger, and Jason Lee Scott has the tyrannosaurus."
"I get the coolest one, then," said Jason with a smile, lifting his own coin from the box, and enjoying the sensation of his already muscular body increasing in strength.
"Hey," said Miss Hart. "The pterodactyl's the coolest. It flies!"
"The tyrannosaurus is in more films," insisted Jason.
"The mastodon has character, though," interjected Zack. "I mean, it's too cool to be in films. It lets its lame mammoth cousins get all the glory."
Jason turned to the others, seeing that they hadn't moved to take their coins.
"William, wasn't it?" he said. "Come get your coin."
William moved apprehensively, and picked out the triceratops coin. He was hit harder by the transformation, as hardly-used muscles tightened and grew, and all the excess fat disappeared from his body. It felt strange – not painful, but not pleasant either.
"Sorry," said Jason to the fifth member of the crew. "I didn't catch your name."
"Trini Kwan," she said curtly.
"Would you like your coin?"
"No thank you," she said.
"Right." Jason looked around to the others for support, but they were avoiding eye contact – embarassed by having been carried away by these strange coins. "Why not, Trini?"
"I don't like this," she said. "I don't know if this is some prank, or a TV show, or if, like ... If one of you ..." Her lip started to quiver, and the rest of her face followed. She screwed her eyes shut to hold back the tears.
"Get the others talking," Jason whispered to William, handing him the box.
Next, he walked towards Trini, and placed an arm around her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This is a bit insane, I know."
"How can you do this?" she whispered. "You're just playing along, taking their magic treasure, and talking to robots and million-year-old aliens, and you're ... it's like you believe it."
"You're right," said Jason. "But today, an enormous earthquake hit my home town. Before I came here, the last thing I saw was the devestation outside. Some guy in a pipe wants to tell me a space witch did this? Fine. That's fine by me."
"How?" asked Trini. "Why?"
"Because the alternative is too hard to think about right now," he explained. "I saw the mess. Looters. Broken windows, probably entire buildings destroyed. Everyone rushing to get out. And then I disappear, and I'm given this coin, and told it's a secret weapon. And you know what? We could do with a secret weapon."
Trini wiped the tears from her eyes.
"And if it's all a prank," said Jason. "Then it's a damned good one. And I for one don't mind falling for it."
"You're very wise," said Trini.
Jason snorted with laughter. "I work in a leisure centre," he said. "I get a lot of thinking time."
Trini smiled.
"So," said Jason. "You ready to try out your magic treasure?"
And Trini laughed. The relieving laughter that comes after a good cry.
She followed Jason back towards the others, who were busy chatting amongst themselves.
"Oh, hi," said Miss Hart, as though she hadn't been expecting them.
Trini smiled at her, and reached for the box. She lifted the coin. She closed her eyes as it took effect, and when it was finished, she examined the coin itself.
"You will also need a device to channel the power appropriately," said Zordon. "Alpha will provide you with devices of this sort."
Alpha handed them each a bulky grey device, the size of a deck of cards. There was a button on two of the narrow sides, and a thin strap on the back.
"These are morphers," said Zordon. "Insert your coins into them, and pressing the button on the left of the devices will morph you into your power suits."
"Power suits," repeated Jason.
"The advanced physical capabilities of these coins are child's play compared to Rita's abilities. To stand a chance against her, you will need protection. These morphers will create a barrier around you, in the form of a suit. They'll be able to absorb a lot more damage, and will make you far stronger than any ordinary human could ever be."
"May I hazard a guess?" asked Zack. "We're forming a team, right? Like superheroes."
"That is correct," confirmed Zordon.
"I have the coolest dinosaur," said Jason. "Does that make me the leader."
"Not as cool as a pterodactyl," insisted Miss Hart.
"Of course you're the leader, Jason Lee Scott," confirmed Alpha. "That is why you were chosen."
"Right, I was joking," said Jason. "I'm twenty-seven and work in a leisure centre."
"So unfair," said Miss Hart. "I'm twenty-eight, and I have a cooler dinosaur. I should well be the leader." She paused. "Sexist," she added.
"You are the team's tactician, Kimberly Ann Hart," said Alpha. "You are resbonsible for planning and executing battles."
"Yeah, sure," said Miss Hart. "And call me Kim, by the way. Seeing as you're a robot and all."
"Are you not surprised by your designated role?" asked Alpha. "You appear to be taking this in your stride."
"Second I get out of here, I'm headed straight home," said Kim. "See if there are still robots and earthquakes tomorrow."
"You're in denial," Alpha accused. "You will have to conquer this quickly. Your first battle will take place soon."
"Looking forward to it."
"So, who am I?" asked Zack. "On this team. I'm not the Falcon of the team, am I?"
"You are here for morale," said Alpha.
"Morale?" said Zack. "Morale! Leader, tactician ... and morale. Wow, you were really scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"There will come a time when nobody wishes to go on," said Alpha. "You will have to ensure that everyone fulfils their duties."
"Hey, I'm the most likely of us all to run out on all this," said Zack. "I have a girlfriend out there, and she's probably still on the run from rock monsters."
"Putty Patrollers," said Zordon. "Rita's endless legion of brainless soldiers."
"Oh, endless legion," said Zack. "My favourite kind of brainless soldiers."
"Do I have a role?" asked Trini softly.
"You are the spiritualist, Trini Kwan," said Alpha. "Your purpose is to keep the team good and true."
"Whoa, there," said Zack. "Spiritualist and morale? We're here for diversity, aren't we? See how the white guys get all the cool jobs? I bet speccy here's, like, the scientist or something."
"William Cranston is the researcher," said Alpha.
"Same difference," said Zack. "Is there a superhero union we can join? First day on the job, I think I should strike."
"You aren't superheroes," said Zordon. "You are rangers of your planet, protecting it and enforcing its laws upon invaders from other worlds. You are vessels for the power contained within your coins."
"Power Rangers," explained Alpha helpfully.
"What do we do?" asked Jason, who'd now inserted his coin into his morpher, and clipped it onto his belt.
"You don't have much time," said Zordon. "The earthquake in your neighbourhood has subsided while you've been here, but a full brigade of Putty Patrollers have entered it. Soon, they will begin to move out. You must defeat the entire brigade before they harm anyone in Angel Grove."
"How many?" asked Jason.
"Twenty."
"Oh, great," said Zack. "Twenty. That's only four each!"
"Thanks for that," said Kim. "Good job keeping up morale there."
"I'm not fighting," said Trini.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," said Jason.
"Five each!" said Zack. "For anyone keeping count."
In the centre of the room, the white sphere glowed, and an image appeared in it.
"A crystal ball?" asked William, bemused.
"A viewing globe," said Alpha. "It can approximate an image based on the movement of energy throughout the world."
They saw a field. Twenty grey men were stood in four lines of five. As Zack had said, they seemed to be made of rock.
"Those are your opponents," said Alpha. "Prepare to teleport."
"Teleport?" asked William. "Is that how you got us here in the first place?"
By the time he finished his sentence, he and the others were standing in the middle of a field.
The Putty Patrollers spotted them, and began to advance.
But now, they were calm. William Cranston was leaning against a console at the side of the room, examining the battered buttons and crooked panels. Kim Hart was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, tapping her foot. Zack Taylor had sat down on the floor, and was toying with his shoelace. Trini Kwan was staring all around her, wide-eyed with wonder, and had yet to say a word.
Finally, Jason Scott was pacing calmly, examining the details of the room curiously. He seemed calm, but his mind was racing. So many questions, and no means of guessing at their answers.
But finally, the voice spoke – the voice in the pipe, that had introduced itself as Zordon.
"I am about to reveal a great deal of information to you that is secret from the rest of your planet," he said, speaking slowly, as though each word was a struggle. "It will be a lot to take in, and I imagine that you will have your doubts. But you must listen well to every detail."
"Fine," said Zack. "No talking during the exposition."
"Ten thousand years ago, on my home planet, I was attacked by Rita Repula, an intergalactic sorceress from Gamma Vile in the M-fifty-one galaxy."
"Dude, I was surprised to find out there was more than one continent," said Zack. "You can spare us the geography."
"Speak for yourself," said Miss Hart.
"Her intention was to destroy my planet, Eltar," Zordon continued, ignoring another look from Zack for name-dropping. "I fought to the best of my abilities, but was crippled, and trapped in a time warp."
"You mean that pipe you're in?" asked William, speaking rather too quietly in the large room.
"This vessel was built for me by my assistant," explained Zordon. "Meanwhile, the Sentinels of my home imprisoned Repulsa, with the aid of their secret weapons."
"Sentinels," said Jason. "These would be the police?"
"The premise is similar," confirmed Zordon. "They placed Rita in a space dumpster ..."
"Wait," said Miss Hart. "A what?"
"A space dumpster."
"A space dumpster," Miss Hart repeated. "You binned her?"
"The metaphor stands."
"You BINNED her."
"Dude," said Zack. "This guy claims he's over ten thousand years old, and you're bothered by an unusual justice system?"
"But now the space dumpster has been opened," Zordon continued. "By astronauts from your world. And Rita's free, and according to her culture's traditions, she must now destroy your planet."
"And her name's Rita," said Miss Hart. "Just to confirm."
"That is correct."
"Look, this is all great," said Zack. "But I need to get back. I've got to find someone out there before she gets hurt."
"No-one will be in danger while we're here," said Zordon. "Our systems will give us fair warning of danger to anyone in Angel Grove."
Jason looked at Zack. "You're from Angel Grove too?"
"Sure," said Zack. "I take it you are as well."
"Me too," said William.
"And me," said Miss Hart.
Jason looked thoughtful.
"You mentioned an assistant," said William, turning to Zordon. "What became of him?"
"He's still around," said Zordon. "This is my automaton, Alpha Five."
A four-foot-tall robot approached them from behind one of the larger consoles. It was humanoid in shape, and painted a metallic red.
"Good day," it said, with a warm, friendly voice that reminded the crew of an automated telephone service.
"Alpha is responsible for the Command Centre," Zordon revealed. "He found the five of you himself."
"Right," said Jason. "And why us? What are we doing here?"
"I mentioned a secret weapon," said Zordon. "Show them, Alpha."
The robot – Alpha Five – crossed over to a long unit that William had assumed was yet another console. The robot's arm slid down with a quiet humming sound, and reached out for a lever. Rather than pulling it downwards, as William had expected, Alpha moved backwards, opening a drawer in the unit.
From within, the robot retrieved a small wooden box.
"This box can only be opened by specific DNA," said the friendly voice. "I have set it to yours, Jason Lee Scott."
"Call me Jason," replied Jason absent-mindedly. He took the box. "So, I just open it?"
"You're the only one who can," revealed Alpha.
"Yeah, I got that," said Jason, opening the box. It was stiff, but there was no hint that it had been locked at any point.
Inside were five large golden coins, around two inches in diameter. Jason was about to pick one out, when Zordon spoke again.
"These coins have unusual properties," he said. "It is a coin such as these that powers this entire Control Centre."
William stood up, and walked closer.
"Really?" he said. "I'd wondered about that. How you keep your robot powered."
Alpha Five opened a panel on his chest to reveal, looking comically like a replacement heart, a matching golden coin.
"The coins offer unlimited power," said Zordon. "As long as it is channelled correctly. Merely holding them will grant you advanced strength and skill, heal wounds more rapidly, and grant you additional stamina."
"Could do with some of that myself," said Zack, whose shoulder and foot were still hurting him. He reached for the box.
"Take the Mastodon Coin," said Alpha hurriedly.
"The what coin?"
"The mastodon," said William. "Similar to mammoths, but died out much sooner."
Zack examined the coins, and saw that each were carved to depict a dinosaur head. He spotted one depicting a mammoth-like creature, and took it.
Immediately, he realised that these coins weren't merely props. He felt his entire body tighten, and his muscles strengthen. Zack was hardly unfit to begin with, but by the time the transformation was complete, he'd never felt better – other than his shoulder and foot, but he could literally feel them healing, the bones straightening and the bruising subsiding.
"Right," he breathed, taken aback. "Great."
"Which one's mine?" asked Miss Hart, marching for the box.
"The pterodactyl," said Alpha. "William Cranston has the triceratops, Trini Kwan has the sabre-toothed tiger, and Jason Lee Scott has the tyrannosaurus."
"I get the coolest one, then," said Jason with a smile, lifting his own coin from the box, and enjoying the sensation of his already muscular body increasing in strength.
"Hey," said Miss Hart. "The pterodactyl's the coolest. It flies!"
"The tyrannosaurus is in more films," insisted Jason.
"The mastodon has character, though," interjected Zack. "I mean, it's too cool to be in films. It lets its lame mammoth cousins get all the glory."
Jason turned to the others, seeing that they hadn't moved to take their coins.
"William, wasn't it?" he said. "Come get your coin."
William moved apprehensively, and picked out the triceratops coin. He was hit harder by the transformation, as hardly-used muscles tightened and grew, and all the excess fat disappeared from his body. It felt strange – not painful, but not pleasant either.
"Sorry," said Jason to the fifth member of the crew. "I didn't catch your name."
"Trini Kwan," she said curtly.
"Would you like your coin?"
"No thank you," she said.
"Right." Jason looked around to the others for support, but they were avoiding eye contact – embarassed by having been carried away by these strange coins. "Why not, Trini?"
"I don't like this," she said. "I don't know if this is some prank, or a TV show, or if, like ... If one of you ..." Her lip started to quiver, and the rest of her face followed. She screwed her eyes shut to hold back the tears.
"Get the others talking," Jason whispered to William, handing him the box.
Next, he walked towards Trini, and placed an arm around her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This is a bit insane, I know."
"How can you do this?" she whispered. "You're just playing along, taking their magic treasure, and talking to robots and million-year-old aliens, and you're ... it's like you believe it."
"You're right," said Jason. "But today, an enormous earthquake hit my home town. Before I came here, the last thing I saw was the devestation outside. Some guy in a pipe wants to tell me a space witch did this? Fine. That's fine by me."
"How?" asked Trini. "Why?"
"Because the alternative is too hard to think about right now," he explained. "I saw the mess. Looters. Broken windows, probably entire buildings destroyed. Everyone rushing to get out. And then I disappear, and I'm given this coin, and told it's a secret weapon. And you know what? We could do with a secret weapon."
Trini wiped the tears from her eyes.
"And if it's all a prank," said Jason. "Then it's a damned good one. And I for one don't mind falling for it."
"You're very wise," said Trini.
Jason snorted with laughter. "I work in a leisure centre," he said. "I get a lot of thinking time."
Trini smiled.
"So," said Jason. "You ready to try out your magic treasure?"
And Trini laughed. The relieving laughter that comes after a good cry.
She followed Jason back towards the others, who were busy chatting amongst themselves.
"Oh, hi," said Miss Hart, as though she hadn't been expecting them.
Trini smiled at her, and reached for the box. She lifted the coin. She closed her eyes as it took effect, and when it was finished, she examined the coin itself.
"You will also need a device to channel the power appropriately," said Zordon. "Alpha will provide you with devices of this sort."
Alpha handed them each a bulky grey device, the size of a deck of cards. There was a button on two of the narrow sides, and a thin strap on the back.
"These are morphers," said Zordon. "Insert your coins into them, and pressing the button on the left of the devices will morph you into your power suits."
"Power suits," repeated Jason.
"The advanced physical capabilities of these coins are child's play compared to Rita's abilities. To stand a chance against her, you will need protection. These morphers will create a barrier around you, in the form of a suit. They'll be able to absorb a lot more damage, and will make you far stronger than any ordinary human could ever be."
"May I hazard a guess?" asked Zack. "We're forming a team, right? Like superheroes."
"That is correct," confirmed Zordon.
"I have the coolest dinosaur," said Jason. "Does that make me the leader."
"Not as cool as a pterodactyl," insisted Miss Hart.
"Of course you're the leader, Jason Lee Scott," confirmed Alpha. "That is why you were chosen."
"Right, I was joking," said Jason. "I'm twenty-seven and work in a leisure centre."
"So unfair," said Miss Hart. "I'm twenty-eight, and I have a cooler dinosaur. I should well be the leader." She paused. "Sexist," she added.
"You are the team's tactician, Kimberly Ann Hart," said Alpha. "You are resbonsible for planning and executing battles."
"Yeah, sure," said Miss Hart. "And call me Kim, by the way. Seeing as you're a robot and all."
"Are you not surprised by your designated role?" asked Alpha. "You appear to be taking this in your stride."
"Second I get out of here, I'm headed straight home," said Kim. "See if there are still robots and earthquakes tomorrow."
"You're in denial," Alpha accused. "You will have to conquer this quickly. Your first battle will take place soon."
"Looking forward to it."
"So, who am I?" asked Zack. "On this team. I'm not the Falcon of the team, am I?"
"You are here for morale," said Alpha.
"Morale?" said Zack. "Morale! Leader, tactician ... and morale. Wow, you were really scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"There will come a time when nobody wishes to go on," said Alpha. "You will have to ensure that everyone fulfils their duties."
"Hey, I'm the most likely of us all to run out on all this," said Zack. "I have a girlfriend out there, and she's probably still on the run from rock monsters."
"Putty Patrollers," said Zordon. "Rita's endless legion of brainless soldiers."
"Oh, endless legion," said Zack. "My favourite kind of brainless soldiers."
"Do I have a role?" asked Trini softly.
"You are the spiritualist, Trini Kwan," said Alpha. "Your purpose is to keep the team good and true."
"Whoa, there," said Zack. "Spiritualist and morale? We're here for diversity, aren't we? See how the white guys get all the cool jobs? I bet speccy here's, like, the scientist or something."
"William Cranston is the researcher," said Alpha.
"Same difference," said Zack. "Is there a superhero union we can join? First day on the job, I think I should strike."
"You aren't superheroes," said Zordon. "You are rangers of your planet, protecting it and enforcing its laws upon invaders from other worlds. You are vessels for the power contained within your coins."
"Power Rangers," explained Alpha helpfully.
"What do we do?" asked Jason, who'd now inserted his coin into his morpher, and clipped it onto his belt.
"You don't have much time," said Zordon. "The earthquake in your neighbourhood has subsided while you've been here, but a full brigade of Putty Patrollers have entered it. Soon, they will begin to move out. You must defeat the entire brigade before they harm anyone in Angel Grove."
"How many?" asked Jason.
"Twenty."
"Oh, great," said Zack. "Twenty. That's only four each!"
"Thanks for that," said Kim. "Good job keeping up morale there."
"I'm not fighting," said Trini.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," said Jason.
"Five each!" said Zack. "For anyone keeping count."
In the centre of the room, the white sphere glowed, and an image appeared in it.
"A crystal ball?" asked William, bemused.
"A viewing globe," said Alpha. "It can approximate an image based on the movement of energy throughout the world."
They saw a field. Twenty grey men were stood in four lines of five. As Zack had said, they seemed to be made of rock.
"Those are your opponents," said Alpha. "Prepare to teleport."
"Teleport?" asked William. "Is that how you got us here in the first place?"
By the time he finished his sentence, he and the others were standing in the middle of a field.
The Putty Patrollers spotted them, and began to advance.
Cymru
AWEN
It was cold; one of those nights where the only cloud cover was the occasional smoke-like wisp of frozen moisture that drifted serenely across the face of the moon, and did nothing to heat the land. The air was utterly still in Awen’s ears even as they flew at full speed, Brân’s wings beating powerfully yet almost noiselessly. It was like flying through a vacuum.
Below them, the sea glittered silver and black, a featureless landscape contrasting ironically with the undulating shoreline receding behind them. It always amazed Awen how much smaller everything became once she was airborne; Snowdonia reared imposingly up behind her right shoulder, whilst the Marble Harbour glimmered far to her left in Milford Haven. In front of them, lonely sentinels among the void, stood the Sixteen Cities of the Archipelago: massive square towers housing entire cities inside their many levels, their torch-lit windows and Landing Towers providing hives of light in the darkness. Awen marked the angle of the nearest Landing Tower and checked Brân’s speed. He snorted irritably, tossing his head at the rein contact petulantly, but he obeyed; on either side of Awen the enormous black wings stretched out into a glide, turning them effortlessly towards the torches.
A pair of stable hands scurried out of the gaping archway at the end of the carpeted runway as they approached, their robes marking them both as advanced apprentices. They were dress robes too; Awen considered the formality. The Sovereign must be trying to impress her. Somehow, that thought unsettled her; Riders had the privilege of rank, but they generally didn’t merit such high attention to detail as dress robes. Somehow, Awen got the feeling that the honour was intended for Lord Flyn by proxy.
Brân swept up to the platform, unfolding his legs and landing at a trot rather than hovering to a halt. She’d have to work on that with him; he was still incredibly inexperienced. As he trotted up the carpet towards the stable hands he left his wings up on either side of him too, head held high. Very inexperienced, Awen amended. One of the apprentices, a young lad of about fifteen or so, looked suddenly nervous. The other noticed her companion’s hesitation and stepped forward, steadfastly ignoring Brân’s attempts to intimidate. Awen was impressed.
“Welcome to Tregwylan, Rider,” the girl said. She looked about twenty. “My name is Carys; I’ll be your stable hand for the duration of the visit, if it pleases you.”
“It does,” Awen smiled at her. “I have to warn you though, he’s young and he’s an idiot. I’d dismount now but he tends to leap off Landing Towers if there’s no rider on his back.”
Carys grinned, showing a few missing teeth.
“I usually train with the yearlings, Rider. I’ve seen worse.”
Awen felt slightly relieved. Brân could be quite the embarrassment when he wanted to be; knowing Carys dealt with worse daily was profoundly comforting. She nudged him on through the archway and into the tower.
It was a wide tower, and the stables were arranged in a gentle downwards spiral until the Guest Stalls and yearling pens two stories below, which were in a large, flat room. Once securely inside Awen allowed Carys to unbuckle the flying harness so she could dismount – on any other meraden Awen would have done it herself, but on Brân trying to remove the thick gloves to do so while holding the reins was an exercise in human endurance. Even with her in control he still managed to shake his head enough that his mane nearly caught in one of the buckles, which sent Carys into endless apologies and Awen into endless reassurances that Brân was an idiot. By the time she’d dismounted and the rest of the harness had been stripped off, Brân was looking distinctly smug.
“Too intelligent, he is,” Carys said, slapping Brân’s neck affectionately as she lead him into his stall. “He knows how and when to push his boundaries. Is he still a stallion?”
“Yes,” Awen sighed. “Lord Flyn wants to breed from him, more’s the pity. I wish he wasn’t.”
“Er… if it pleases you, Rider,” the boy said hesitantly. Awen had almost forgotten he was there. “Can I show you to your quarters before you meet with the Sovereign?”
“That would be marvellous,” Awen told him. “Be good, Brân.”
As she followed the boy out of the stables, Brân whinnied after her, a long, lingering call.
***********
This initial post was meant to be much longer, but, you know... I got hungry and cooked tea instead. More will follow soon, so try not to worry about the apparent complete lack of plot.
It was cold; one of those nights where the only cloud cover was the occasional smoke-like wisp of frozen moisture that drifted serenely across the face of the moon, and did nothing to heat the land. The air was utterly still in Awen’s ears even as they flew at full speed, Brân’s wings beating powerfully yet almost noiselessly. It was like flying through a vacuum.
Below them, the sea glittered silver and black, a featureless landscape contrasting ironically with the undulating shoreline receding behind them. It always amazed Awen how much smaller everything became once she was airborne; Snowdonia reared imposingly up behind her right shoulder, whilst the Marble Harbour glimmered far to her left in Milford Haven. In front of them, lonely sentinels among the void, stood the Sixteen Cities of the Archipelago: massive square towers housing entire cities inside their many levels, their torch-lit windows and Landing Towers providing hives of light in the darkness. Awen marked the angle of the nearest Landing Tower and checked Brân’s speed. He snorted irritably, tossing his head at the rein contact petulantly, but he obeyed; on either side of Awen the enormous black wings stretched out into a glide, turning them effortlessly towards the torches.
A pair of stable hands scurried out of the gaping archway at the end of the carpeted runway as they approached, their robes marking them both as advanced apprentices. They were dress robes too; Awen considered the formality. The Sovereign must be trying to impress her. Somehow, that thought unsettled her; Riders had the privilege of rank, but they generally didn’t merit such high attention to detail as dress robes. Somehow, Awen got the feeling that the honour was intended for Lord Flyn by proxy.
Brân swept up to the platform, unfolding his legs and landing at a trot rather than hovering to a halt. She’d have to work on that with him; he was still incredibly inexperienced. As he trotted up the carpet towards the stable hands he left his wings up on either side of him too, head held high. Very inexperienced, Awen amended. One of the apprentices, a young lad of about fifteen or so, looked suddenly nervous. The other noticed her companion’s hesitation and stepped forward, steadfastly ignoring Brân’s attempts to intimidate. Awen was impressed.
“Welcome to Tregwylan, Rider,” the girl said. She looked about twenty. “My name is Carys; I’ll be your stable hand for the duration of the visit, if it pleases you.”
“It does,” Awen smiled at her. “I have to warn you though, he’s young and he’s an idiot. I’d dismount now but he tends to leap off Landing Towers if there’s no rider on his back.”
Carys grinned, showing a few missing teeth.
“I usually train with the yearlings, Rider. I’ve seen worse.”
Awen felt slightly relieved. Brân could be quite the embarrassment when he wanted to be; knowing Carys dealt with worse daily was profoundly comforting. She nudged him on through the archway and into the tower.
It was a wide tower, and the stables were arranged in a gentle downwards spiral until the Guest Stalls and yearling pens two stories below, which were in a large, flat room. Once securely inside Awen allowed Carys to unbuckle the flying harness so she could dismount – on any other meraden Awen would have done it herself, but on Brân trying to remove the thick gloves to do so while holding the reins was an exercise in human endurance. Even with her in control he still managed to shake his head enough that his mane nearly caught in one of the buckles, which sent Carys into endless apologies and Awen into endless reassurances that Brân was an idiot. By the time she’d dismounted and the rest of the harness had been stripped off, Brân was looking distinctly smug.
“Too intelligent, he is,” Carys said, slapping Brân’s neck affectionately as she lead him into his stall. “He knows how and when to push his boundaries. Is he still a stallion?”
“Yes,” Awen sighed. “Lord Flyn wants to breed from him, more’s the pity. I wish he wasn’t.”
“Er… if it pleases you, Rider,” the boy said hesitantly. Awen had almost forgotten he was there. “Can I show you to your quarters before you meet with the Sovereign?”
“That would be marvellous,” Awen told him. “Be good, Brân.”
As she followed the boy out of the stables, Brân whinnied after her, a long, lingering call.
***********
This initial post was meant to be much longer, but, you know... I got hungry and cooked tea instead. More will follow soon, so try not to worry about the apparent complete lack of plot.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Scribblers: Nemesis
Issue Three
INT. THE SCRIBBLERS’ BASE. ABOUT MIDNIGHT.
CHRONAL and FINESSE are walking into the base where they all live.
CHRONAL
...so I said ‘hello’, and she immediately flipped on her head and stayed there for 30 seconds.
FINESSE
Like a celebration?
CHRONAL
No, I honestly don’t think she meant to do it.
FINESSE
You know what that is, don’t you, that’s a negative super power is what that is.
CHRONAL
Oh, yes! You’re probably right.
They reach the door and walk in. The bedroom nearest them has the door ajar, and distressed noises are coming from within.
CHRONAL
She’s in trouble!
HE moves to leap into action but FINESSE holds him back.
FINESSE
Er, you’ve never slept in a room with Amity before, have you?
CHRONAL
No, of course not.
FINESSE
Yeah, she’s pretty much always like that.
CHRONAL
Really?
FINESSE
She’s an empath, Chrone. She can’t keep her emotional walls up when she’s asleep.
They walk into the adjoined living room (by the way, the Scribblers’ base looks remarkably like the Centre Parcs villa with more bedrooms and secret passages etc.) and find LYRIC there, sitting on the sofa by the lamp.
LYRIC is working on the fine details. He is muttering under his breath and in the air in front of him, for moments each, hover tiny, intricate things - a fly’s wing, then a computer chip, a painted fingernail.
He looks up and the latest one vanishes.
LYRIC
Can you shut her up?
FINESSE
Hold on, I’ll do a bit of wall-building.
FINESSE goes to the door of Amity’s room and looks at her for a bit. She starts to sleep peacefully.
A BIRD flies in through an open window, and morphs back into SHIFT, who looks very tired out.
Everyone looks up at her expectantly.
SHIFT
(Out of breath)
Nothing. I went everywhere.
CHRONAL
Did you try the warehouse?
SHIFT
Yes.
LYRIC
And the old quarry?
SHIFT
Of course. I went to all the old villain haunts.
FINESSE
Even the sewer cave?
SHIFT
Yes.
CHRONAL
Then we’ll have to force his hand. We can draw Sintaro out with a show of force.
LYRIC
It’s too risky - do you know what he can do?
SHIFT
Maybe nothing at all. The serum might have been unsuccessful.
CHRONAL
Then you know what we’ve got time for? A PLAN!
LYRIC
A McPlan?
CHRONAL
Yes.
AMITY
Wraith, come out.
WRAITH
Like some kind of square? No way.
WRAITH suddenly materialises on the sofa, wearing a dressing gown. FINESSE looks smug.
WRAITH
Lame.
CHRONAL
OK, what do we know?
WRAITH
Sucky exposition.
AMITY
Good pont, Wraith. Shall we get on with surprisingly accurate conjecture and forward the plot a bit?
LYRIC
Gets my vote.
FINESSE
OK, so the serum probably worked, although I doubt it worked perfectly, and he’s probably building a team of heroes with himself at the head.
SHIFT
It’s what I’d do.
Everyone looks at her.
SHIFT
You know, if I was an evil supervillain. Which I am not.
CHRONAL
OK. And where do you think you might have your super-lair under those hypothetical circumstances?
SHIFT
Hmmm. Somewhere you wouldn’t suspect. Maybe...rent-a-lair.
FINESSE
I am staggered we didn’t think of that.
CHRONAL
To the Turbo-Jet!
WRAITH
I’m driving.
PANEL: Everyone except Wraith looking very worried in the Turbo-Jet, Wraith looking maniacally pleased.
CHRONAL does his blurry thing, then reappears looking confident.
CHRONAL
OK, we don’t know what to expect, so five of us go in together, that way if there is something big, he can’t pick us off individually. Wraith, you’re the exception.
WRAITH looks round at him.
LYRIC
Eyes on the road!
They swerve wildly and then drive on.
CHRONAL
Wraith-don’t-look-at-me you stay invisible and keep back - if anything goes wrong we’ll at least have one trick left.
SHIFT
I’d better hide then. I’ll be a moth.
CHRONAL
Fine, but stay with us. Hide in someone’s collar.
FINESSE
Taxed.
AMITY
Oh, I wanted a daemon.
SHIFT
It’s still be me, Amity, and stop mixing genres.
AMITY
Sorry.
PANEL: The six Scribblers arrive. They stand before a massive warehouse door, the drama of which is only slightly undermined by a sign saying “Rent-a-lair”, followed by a list of sympathetic insurance companies. Shift flutters as a moth above Finesse’s head, Wraith is a faint shimmer mid-way between visibility and invisibility, and the others stand side by side looking Cool.
They go into the room, and there’s a security guard there, in one of those little booths.
CHRONAL
We’re looking for Sintaro.
The very ordinary-looking security guard looks up.
GUARD
Sintaro? Where have I...ah, yes. You’ll be the Scribblers, then. He’s expecting you.
FINESSE
Where?
GUARD
Oh, right.
He consults a piece of paper.
GUARD
Third door on the left, second floor.
As they leave, we see (they don’t) a tiny purple tongue flick briefly from behind his lips. Then he goes back to his newspaper.
The gang reach the appropriate door.
CHRONAL
Wraith?
Wraith does his trick with looking through doors. He is completely invisible and therefore completely relaxed until he sees a girl looking back at him. She waves cheerfully, then opens the door quickly into his face. He falls down and in the shock, becomes visible again.
MEDIUM
Hello. You must be the Scribblers.
WRAITH
How?
MEDIUM
I’m called Medium.
She looks directly at SHIFT, still hidden in FINESSE’s hair.
MEDIUM
I see what is hidden. Team!
Four people turn up - three men and a woman. Like MEDIUM, they are all wearing exclusively black. It’s a bit designer-cool, to be honest. They each stand opposite a different Scribbler, leaving a gap in the middle and the space opposite Chronal empty. They all look pretty mean.
MEDIUM stands opposite WRAITH, who has got up by this point. Opposite FINESSE is a handsome blonde man - muscular, with a sinister twist to his lip. Opposite AMITY is a thin, dark man with a very steady gaze. SHIFT is confronted with a strong-looking man with a sheen almost like metal across his complexion, and across from LYRIC is a woman with loads of long red hair down her back and very pale, empty eyes that are quite scary to look at.
DISCORD
Fair’s fair, Medium. We already know who they are.
MEDIUM
Thank you, Discord. Scribblers, allow me to introduce my friends.
The words for this page appear in blocks at the top, and each panel contains one Scribbler and one villain.
MEDIUM
Block.
BLOCK bows extravagantly. Finesse could not look more disdainful.
MEDIUM
Discord.
DISCORD lets an unpleasant smile hover on his lips. Amity looks uncomfortable.
MEDIUM
Eraser.
ERASER gives Lyric a sultry look. Lyric clearly finds her a bit perplexing.
MEDIUM
Metal Man.
METAL MAN
(Mumbling)
I didn’t know we were going for ironic nicknames until we’d handed our forms in.
SHIFT finds this pretty amusing.
MEDIUM
As for what we can do, why don’t you let us show you...
FINESSE
Er, “Block” can block powers, “Discord”’s a telepath, “Eraser” can unmake matter, and “Metal Man” (she stops to smirk) can turn himself into anything non-organic.
CHRONAL
Shall we fight them?
WRAITH
Plan good. Fight.
Each one squares up to their opposite number, except Chronal, who steps back thoughtfully, and Block and Finesse, who circle the group.
LYRIC
Ties that bind a rope would do give them enough rope a rope
PANEL
A large rope is half-materialised around all the baddies. LYRIC is looking at it fiercely, but ERASER is looking at it too, standing almost right beside him. Both are speaking.
FINESSE and BLOCK are circling the group, helping/hindering.
SHIFT is a saber-toothed tiger, in mid-air as she launches herself at the now metallic Metal Man.
AMITY and DISCORD stand motionless where they started, staring at each other.
MEDIUM looks gloatingly on, and WRAITH, semi-visible again, looks side-long at her with pure hatred.
PANEL
FINESSE stands behind SHIFT, strengthening her, as she transforms in mid-air into a buffalo - Metal Men can still be squashed, and he clearly knows it.
WRAITH has crept up behind MEDIUM while she’s distracted, and is about to knock her out with a stray pipe he has found.
LYRIC has caused a sword to appear in his hand, and has created loads of tiny darts in mid-air. They are about to rain down on the baddies, but they are still translucent because ERASER is also muttering under her breath.
AMITY and DISCORD still stand in the middle of the room, motionless, but now Discord’s posture shows utter dejection. He looks about to give up.
BLOCK is standing very nearby.
CHRONAL is suddenly right on the other side of the panel, watching events, helping where he’s needed.
ERASER
Undo the pipe take it away there won’t be any pipe today
WRAITH
A sword will help a mighty sword go easy on the jewels a real sword
PANEL
(Last massive crowded panel for a while, promise!)
SHIFT is now a wild cat, and is standing fiercely on the chest of the now prostrate metal man.
BLOCK is standing over AMITY, who is lying on the ground in distress. DISCORD looks smug again.
MEDIUM has turned around but is being overpowered by WRAITH, who is still invisible even though she can see him (he prefers it that way). He looks perplexed at his absent pipe.
LYRIC is making the panel look crowded and interesting by making jets of water shoot out of the cracks in the walls, overpowering ERASER, who is spluttering too much to speak counter-words.
PANEL
AMITY being helped up by FINESSE, clutching her arms. In a bit of a state, really.
AMITY
He’s taken my empathy.
FINESSE
You’ll get it back.
AMITY
It’s how I know you’re all alive. You’ve all gone.
FINESSE uses her powers to give AMITY back hers, and she stops being such a drama queen.
AMITY
Right.
BLOCK is occupied in stopping SHIFT’s powers from working. She is suddenly human again, and METAL MAN is advancing on her with a stupid grin.
AMITY stands behind him, with FINESSE by her side.
He crumples into an emotional heap on the floor, then skulks from the room.
FINESSE
What did you give him?
AMITY
Self loathing.
SHIFT turns into a wolf, for a bit of a change, and goes back to intimidating the unfortunate Metal Man.
WRAITH has successfully pinned MEDIUM, so he drags her over to be guarded by SHIFT.
Damn, just realised the telepath hasn’t done anything at all. Um...OK, he...oh whatever. He’s been allowing them all to communicate freely for the whole time without words, or something.
DISCORD saunters over to where LYRIC and ERASER are still trying to outdo each other (she has stopped the water thing now).
LYRIC is about to speak.
DISCORD
Fire.
ERASER
No fire keep out the fire make no fire.
LYRIC is surprised. He opens his mouth again.
DISCORD
Falling beam.
ERASER
Stable roof, strong roof, no damage no danger.
FINESSE walks over and stands behind LYRIC.
FINESSE
Now.
LYRIC opens his mouth.
DISCORD
Selective avalanche.
LYRIC
Avalanche careful fall on them keep us safe keep them under avalanche
WRAITH puts his hands around ERASER’s mouth to stop her from undoing it, and AMITY gives DISCORD an unaccustomed bout of self-doubt to keep him occupied.
With FINESSE’s support, LYRIC conjures an amazing, and selective, avalanche, which rains snow and rock and earth on the baddies, but more or less completely misses the Scribblers. This looks amazing - everyone is up to their ankles in snow, and the scene is as above when it freezes.
MR SINTARO turns up. He’s probably wearing a black suit, or something. He is slow hand-clapping.
CHRONAL (sorry he hasn’t been about much - he’s about to make up for it) walks slowly towards him through all the frozen fighters. This looks Really Cool, especially because he is wearing a much better outfit.
MR SINTARO
Hello again, Chronal.
CHRONAL looks at him, not prepared to engage in pleasantries.
MR SINTARO
As you see, I have kept my word...
CHRONAL
And your penchant for melodrama.
MR SINTARO
...and have acquired your powers. Did you like my friends? I did hope they would amuse you.
CHRONAL
Did they give their consent to this scheme?
MR SINTARO
Of course. Discord saw to that.
(See? He is useful.)
MR SINTARO
And now we are going to fight. The same powers. An even contest.
CHRONAL
Really?
CHRONAL suddenly disconcertingly appears right beside MR SINTARO.
CHRONAL
Experience counts for a lot, you see. For example, you probably think you have stopped time. It was years before I could tell the difference between ‘almost’ and ‘quite’.
CHRONAL is suddenly tying the last knot in a rope that is now securely tying up Mr Sintaro.
CHRONAL
It is worth the effort.
He miraculously has hand cuffs and foot cuffs. Both are now attached appropriately to Mr Sintaro.
CHRONAL
Shall we rejoin the others?
CHRONAL glances around the room to check that his friends are all winning, then goes back into normal time.
METAL MAN has turned himself into a metal shelter and the rest of the super-villains are now huddling underneath it to avoid being crushed by the mini-avalanche.
The Scribblers gradually disengage themselves from their enemies, and then walk out through the door. Mr Sintaro stands bound in the middle of the room looking disgruntled.
The gang is back in the turbo-jet. WRAITH is NOT driving.
LYRIC
Good work-out.
FINESSE
They’ll be better next time.
LYRIC
Better make sure we are, then. Right, what I want to do is for you to start learning how to hinder us rather than help us, if you can. They won’t be expecting it, and if I ever see that girl again I want to give her more than a quick avalanche.
AMITY
(To SHIFT)
Paned?
SHIFT
Good idea.
Not, I'm afraid, the most polished thing I've ever written, but there we are! Sorry about the voices too - I sort of forgot about it when the action started. Have included panels when I felt like it, in the hope that someone might draw them. :-)
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