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delennsatai · 5 years

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DMC Gen Week: part 6

Sonata for Two

Summary: Young Vergil struggles to feel special on his seventh birthday, having to share it--and everything else--with Dante, and their mother tries to keep the peace.

Part of @dmcgenweek Day 6 Prompt: Birthday/Music

Classic DMC this time! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155810

“Hurry up, Dante.” Vergil pounded on their shared bathroom door with his small fist. Dante always took too long getting ready when they had to dress up. Not that Mother had said so in so many words, but even Dante knew better than to show up to their birthday dinner in shorts and a t-shirt. “I still have to fix my hair.”

“No you don’t, it looks great!” Dante shouted from inside.

“It looks like yours.”

“That’s what I said!”

Vergil rolled his eyes and folded his arms. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Dante opened the door and spread out his arms, doing a stylish twirl. “Ta-da!” he beamed. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re making us late,” Vergil huffed, stepping into the bathroom to carefully slick his hair back in front of the mirror. Dante came in on his heels and made faces at him from behind, but Vergil ignored him. He wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding in anticipation of their seventh annual dinner celebration. He should have been excited. Gifts, fancy food, an expectation that Dante would behave himself…who could ask for more?

“Am not. You’re just jealous cuz I look better.” Dante grinned at him in challenge, but Vergil swept past him imperiously to head downstairs. “Hey, wait up!”

At the bottom of the stairs they stood together for inspection. Mother smiled and told Vergil he looked very handsome, like a perfect gentleman. He gave Dante a smug smile.

“What about me, Mother?” Dante asked eagerly.

“Oh, Dante…stand still, there we are…” She licked her thumb and used it to rub away some dirt that still smudged Dante’s face from his tree-climbing antics earlier (while Vergil had been trying to read quietly but Dante wouldn’t stop shouting “VERGIL LOOK AT ME!” while he performed increasingly stupid stunts). Mother gave Dante a fond smile and cupped his cheek in her hand for a moment, then adjusted a few stray strands of his hair and stepped back. “You look wonderful, Dante. Your father would be proud.”

Vergil’s smile curdled on his face, as his gut seemed to drop out of his body with a lurch. Father would be proud of him? Why, because he’d bothered to run a comb through his hair for once? He’d learned a new word from a poem the other day: “slovenly.” He resolved to use it to describe Dante at every opportunity from now on.

“All right, boys, time to go!” Mother handed them their coats—Dante’s red one had a hood attached, while Vergil had detached his hood and replaced the plain plastic buttons with ornate gold-painted ones, but otherwise they were identical—and put on her own before ushering them outside to the car. Vergil pointedly sat in the front seat, ignoring Dante’s whines of “but you didn’t call shotgun!” and glaring out the window for the entire ride.

When they got to the old-fashioned restaurant, the owner greeted Mother warmly and led them to their usual table in the back, as tasteful candlelight flickered everywhere they looked and carved mahogany pillars reflected in the mirrored ceiling above their heads. Soft classical music played as a backdrop to the low murmur of conversation. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Dante muttered to him as they followed behind her. “It’s our birthday, bro, have a little fun!”

Why does it always have to be OUR birthday? Vergil thought, wondering what life would be like if he didn’t constantly have to take a back seat to Dante’s craving for attention. Would Mother fix his hair and tell him Father would be proud of him? Would he get to spend a whole afternoon in peace and quiet, and then have a conversation with Mother over dinner without getting interrupted every two minutes?

They sat down in a comfortable booth that curved around its little corner table, so the three of them could easily talk without raising their voices. Mother asked about their day and chatted about her gardening, promising they could have first pick of the flowers when they were ready to be picked. Vergil assured her he would have the actual first pick, since he was older. Dante said he didn’t want Vergil’s boring blue flowers anyway. Mother gently chided them. It was all business as usual, but Vergil was sick of business as usual. He deliberately ordered something totally different from what Dante was having and refused his brother’s offer to trade a bit of his dish for a taste of it. (Even though he had to admit that what Dante was having looked delicious.)

When Mother had a cake with seven candles brought to the table and sang happy birthday to them, Vergil couldn’t help feeling only three and a half of those candles were for him. She cut Dante a generous slice from the side with the red icing roses, then cut Vergil one from the side with the icing bluebirds, and he thought, will I ever get to have a whole cake that’s just for me?

By the time the hour of gift-giving rolled around, he just wanted the whole thing to be over. He’d never felt this way about their birthday before, but after months of their second-grade teacher’s complete inability to tell them apart despite obvious cues, and two years of pestering Mother about when Father was coming back with no solid answer, he was starting to wish he didn’t have a twin at all.

“The first gift is for both of you,” Mother said, setting a small box down on the table between them. The little card attached to it read: “To Dante and Vergil, my beloved sons. Never forget how much your parents love you. With all my heart, Mother.”

To Dante and Vergil. Dante’s name always came first. “I don’t want to share it with Dante,” he blurted out abruptly. Even as he heard himself say it he knew it sounded childish, but he didn’t care.

“What?” Dante’s eyes widened, his shoulders slumped. “Why not?”

“Because I have to share everything with you!” he snapped. “It’s not fair.”

“But…we’re twins.” Like that was all the explanation Dante needed or wanted.

“I didn’t ask for a twin!” Vergil shoved Dante, as though with a simple push he could eject his brother from the restaurant. Or from his life.

“Hey!” Dante scowled and shoved him back. “Well, neither did I! Especially a mean one like you!”

“Boys!” Eva reached across the table to separate them with a firm grip. They were, if she was to be honest, already a match for her in strength; but what she lacked in half-demonic power she made up for with a stern motherly tone. “That’s enough. Vergil, apologize to your brother, that was uncalled for.”

She watched his face darken like a thunderstorm had passed over it. This kid’s stubborn pride…she knew it was going to get him in trouble someday. “But it’s true and I’m not sorry,” he insisted.

Dante looked like Vergil had punched him, hurt and confused but ready to brawl right here in this booth, other diners be damned. “I’m not sorry either!” he shouted. She resisted the urge to hide under the table, as their squabble was beginning to draw attention. “Why can’t you ever just have fun?”

Vergil opened his mouth with a look on his face that said he was about to slice Dante’s feelings to shreds. She pressed her lips together and pounded a fist once on the table, making the silverware and the boys both jump. “I said, that’s enough!” The children fell silent, having the grace to look a bit guilty but still glaring at each other over the wrapped box. She softened her tone. “Vergil, honey, I understand how you feel. But I’d like you to consider how Dante feels, too. Can you do that?”

“I don’t care how Dante feels,” he muttered, but she could tell it wasn’t true, because the guilt in his face intensified and he mumbled his words like he thought he could get away with them if she didn’t hear them properly. Dante tensed and she was pretty sure she’d have a literal fight on her hands if she didn’t nip this in the bud now.

“Yes you do,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument, “and Dante cares about how you feel, too. Don’t you, Dante?”

“No!...yeah, I guess.”

“That’s right. Vergil?”

The elder twin withered before her eyes, his face crumpling into a defeated sulk. She was sure this argument would continue with relish after they were out of her earshot, but maybe presents would help diffuse it. “Fine,” he said eventually. “Sorry, Dante.”

“…do you wanna open the box?” Dante offered. An olive branch if she’d ever seen one, the poor sweet kid. She wished they could get along for more than five minutes at a time. It wasn’t always Vergil’s doing, either—Dante certainly did his share of antagonizing his brother for no good reason—but Vergil was rarely the one extending his hand first afterward.

“Okay.” Vergil slid the box closer to him so he could carefully undo the ribbon and unwrap it with meticulous focus. Dante was literally bouncing in his seat with impatience, but he must not have wanted to start another argument because he didn’t complain about how long Vergil was taking. Finally, he pulled off the lid to reveal two near-identical amulets, pale red jewels the size of the twins’ fists, gleaming in the candlelight. One was set in silver, the other in brass.

Both boys were still and silent for a moment. Vergil broke it first, lifting the brass one out of the box with care. The pendant felt like more than jewelry, heavier in his hand than its physical weight alone accounted for. He was sure it would speak to him, if he had a way to listen. He looked up at Mother with a question on his face while Dante picked up the other amulet with a curious and almost reverent gaze.

“They once belonged to your father,” she said. “Take good care of them. They’re very important.”

“Why?” Vergil asked.

“You’ll understand someday.” Her smile had something faraway in it.

“…thank you, Mother,” he said solemnly.

“Yeah! Thank you!” Dante’s face lit up as he hung the amulet around his neck. It looked hilariously huge on the seven-year-old, but he’d grow into it. Vergil followed suit.

“You said that was the first present, right?” Dante said brightly.

She grinned. “I did say that. But the others are waiting for you at home.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

***

Dante was predictably ecstatic about the new set of Nerf pistols and cowboy hat he received, although Vergil groaned upon seeing them, knowing countless foam projectiles lay in his immediate future. When it was his turn, he entered Mother’s warm, cozy study with his hands stuck in his pockets, remembering and hating the way his face had flushed red when he’d been forced to apologize to Dante.

She smiled at him. “I hope you’ve had a lovely birthday, Vergil.”

“I guess.” He didn’t smile back.

“I’d like to talk about what happened at dinner.” She patted the loveseat next to her. He felt his heart pounding again, but he sat down, waiting for the scolding. Instead, she ran a hand gently through his hair. “Dante’s a handful, isn’t he?”

“He’s loud and annoying. And slovenly.”

She desperately schooled her face; he would not appreciate her laughing right now. But oh, Vergil, that quick mind of yours, and that haughty tone! You’re so much like your father. Will you ever get to see that for yourself, I wonder? “Yes, he can be those things,” she agreed. “But he let you open the box, didn’t he?” He shrugged. “Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know why he does anything.”

“I think you do, and you just don’t want to admit it.” She sighed, curling into a more comfortable position on the loveseat, tucking her legs underneath her. “Vergil, your brother adores you. He interrupts your reading because he wants to spend time with you. And he likes sharing everything with you because it reminds him that you’re always there for him.” She waited a moment to see if he would have anything to say, but he steadfastly held his tongue, so she went on. “I had a talk with him, too, you know. I asked him to try to give you a little more space.”

He lifted his eyebrows at that. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.” She looked into the distance for a moment, the corners of her lips turning up in a sad smile. “When I was young, my sister and I were inseparable.” He blinked in surprise. “I doubt you’ll ever meet her. We…don’t speak anymore.” She found out about Sparda and the whole family disowned me. It’s their loss, missing out on these two beautiful children in their lives. “At the time, though, we were always together. And most of the time, that was perfect. But sometimes I wanted some time to myself, and she had a hard time understanding that.”

He watched her intently. “What did you do?”

She chuckled. “Nothing. What could I do? She was my sister, and even when she frustrated me, it was a comfort to know I would never be alone. She was always there for me when I needed her, and I for her. Vergil…” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to need space. But it’s also okay to rely on Dante and enjoy his company. It’s a blessing to have someone who will always be with you.” Sparda…where are you?

Vergil frowned in concentration, thinking it through. She gave him credit for not just placating her with empty reassurances; the one thing she’d never known Vergil to be was dishonest. Dante would fib at times, but he was so terrible at it she couldn’t really be upset. But what Vergil eventually said was, “Can we stop talking about Dante now?”

“Sure.” She reached behind the loveseat and pulled up an oblong box, handling it with care and laying it across her son’s lap. It was pretty heavy, he noticed, and longer than his arm. “Happy birthday, Vergil.”

He opened this box with the same exactitude as the last one, finding that inside it was a long case made of leather and wood. Could she have…? His eyes widened with anticipation as he undid its clasps and pushed open the lid to reveal—yes. He gasped softly. “Mother…”

“This was my aunt’s,” she said, “and now it’s yours. Your teacher tells me you’ve really excelled, so it seemed like the right time for you to have one of your own.” She smiled widely and handed him a thin book she’d had hidden under her shawl. “What do you think, time for a duet?”

“Can we?” Now he was smiling, too, and she tried not to tear up at his unadulterated joy.

“Of course.” She stood and made her way to the piano, with her piece of choice already spread neatly across the stand. “Page 24, if you would.”

Vergil lifted the violin gingerly out of its case and stood to join her, pulling over his own stand and flipping through the book of Baroque classics until he found the page. It took longer than usual for him to get ready—rosining the bow, setting up his chin rest, tuning with his characteristic look of perfect concentration and insisting on doing it by ear rather than with the piano’s aid as usual. Once or twice she caught him pausing when he thought she wasn’t looking, just to admire the instrument’s lacquered amber maple and the mellow sound his gentle plucking made. Finally, he nodded his readiness to her, and her hands came down onto the keys to begin the accompaniment in a measured moderato.

The pensive, lyrical music filled the cozy little room, as Vergil tried hard not to make any mistakes. She’d chosen a piece of intermediate difficulty that she knew he’d played before, giving him the chance to show off while still offering a challenge he’d appreciate. Once he settled into the rhythm of it, his jaw and shoulders relaxed. The timbre of the old violin was mellifluous and rich, and she could tell how much he loved it just by watching him play. Someday, she thought, he would be a true virtuoso.

As the final notes faded away, Vergil lowered his bow with a flourish and turned toward her to bow deeply with an air of formality, so she applauded with a soft giggle at his showmanship. “That was beautiful, Vergil.”

“Thank you, Mother.” His gaze as he came up from his bow told her he was grateful for more than the praise.

“You’re very welcome.” She closed the fallboard and came over to give his forehead a kiss. “Now, it’s almost time for you and your brother to get ready for bed. If you want a hot chocolate first, you’d better put away your violin and come join us in the kitchen quick, before we drink it all.” She gave him a wink and left him standing there in his contented daze for a moment. Your violin, her voice repeated in his mind. Then he registered her words and hurried to put the instrument back in its case—carefully, carefully—and store it safely in the bedroom he shared with his twin before running downstairs to the kitchen.

Despite his delay, he still made it there before Dante did. When his brother dashed into the room like a firecracker and saw that Vergil had claimed the last of the marshmallows, his face fell into a resigned pout. Vergil looked into his cup thoughtfully. It’s not like Dante will even want me to share my violin, he thought. That’s all mine. “Here,” he said, spooning out half the marshmallows and dropping them into his brother’s mug. “Happy birthday.”

Dante’s face lit up as he grinned. “Whoa, somebody’s in a good mood.”

“Don’t push your luck, Dante,” Vergil said. He sat back in his chair and sipped his cocoa, the melody of the duet still running through his mind. Maybe sharing a birthday with Dante wasn’t that bad.

#dmcgenweek #devilmaycry #devil may cry #dante #vergil #eva #birthdays #music #dmc

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andrewmoocow · 5 years

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Gravity Soul chapter 12: Mabel’s Confession, A Rift Between Siblings? (originally posted on January 21, 2019)

AN: Well, this is going to be pretty painful for me to write. I mean, MABEL is my favorite Gravity Falls character, not going to lie. But I'm starting to get the hang of angst ever since I finished Secret Wars so I guess I have no choice. Anyway, now onto the eventual heartwrenching breakup.

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In the hellish landscape ruled by Kishin Cipher that once was the sleepy Oregon town of Gravity Falls, various ogres, giant bats, snakes, gargoyles and various other monsters ran amok wreaking havoc wherever they could while their new master towered above them partying in his Fearamid.

There was little hope of resistance as most of the townsfolk had been abducted & petrified by the Eyebats with the rest nowhere to be found. But today, that was all going to change.

"Keep moving everyone, Kishin Cipher could be watching us at any moment." Sid commanded his squadron as they infiltrated the Fearamid, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid detection. "We should be nearing his throne room at any moment. The monsters hanging out with him are too busy throwing a party to notice us, so we should be safe."

"So what's this guy's game?" a blonde-haired young man with a casual expression on his face asked. "Didn't you pay attention to the mission briefing Clay?" his partner, a black-haired fellow wearing glasses and a jacket with Death's face emblazoned on them, stated. "Kishin Cipher is actually Asura after he made a deal with a dream demon named Bill Cipher."

"We should be at the entrance right about now." Justin declared with his back against the wall turning his head to examine the satanic festivities. Various demons of all shapes and sizes laughed, danced, drank some bizarre refreshment and played a spin-the-bottle like game with a petrified townsperson.

"This is an utter nightmare." Tezca commented fearfully, a far cry from his typical humorous behavior. His simian partner Enrique tried to lighten the mood with some chattering, but was shushed by his Meister. "Shush Enrique, we gotta keep a low profile!"

"That's not all, look over there!" Mifune stated turning the group's attention to Kishin Cipher's throne. It seemed to be made out of stone but upon further inspection, that stone material was actually the terrified population of Gravity Falls pieced together to form it. "That is just terrible! What kind of monster would be sick enough to do this?!"

"Kishin Cipher, that's who." Djinn replied. Just then, a dark blue android marched past them with a cup of punch in hand. "The hell even is that thing?" Tsar wondered getting more nervous by the moment. "I don't know. But I got a plan!" an excitable soldier working under Sid declared marching out of their hiding spot to face the robot. "Gavin you moron!" Sid cried out. "You'll get yourself killed!"

"Don't worry boss, I watched way too much TV to figure this one out!" Gavin stated tapping the machine on the back. "Ex-squeeze me my good mechanical abomination!" he said to the automaton as it turned around to glare at him, green eyes glowing menacingly. "Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong!" Gavin politely greeted while making a series of bizarre hand signals, ending it with extending his open palm to the robot. "I think it's working."

Unfortunately he was wrong as the android quickly grabbed him by the wrist and raised him up for Kishin Cipher to see. "Master, we have an intruder!" the android announced in a British accent. The other beasts ceased their celebrations and stared at the man being held hostage. "I said the universal greeting, that always works!"

"Well well well, what have we here?" Kishin Cipher snidely asked before looking at the back of Gavin's uniform. "The DWMA, huh? Ooh, I'm really scared!" he shouted with a laugh. "C'mon out you guys, I won't bite! In fact, I'll probably swallow you whole!"

Suddenly Kishin Cipher was trapped in a guillotine, the blade hanging above him with Justin Law's face appearing as a reflection on its surface. "In the name of Lord Death, you shall be executed you beast!" he declared bringing the blade down when suddenly, Cipher let out an explosion that freed him from the young Death Scythe's grasp. "That the best you can do squirt?! I've seen twelve-year olds hit me harder than that!"

When Justin recovered from being blown back, part of his face was badly scarred and his left shoulder almost singed off. He groaned in pain grasping his shoulder as Kishin Cipher towered above him, ready for the finishing blow. "So brat, where is your god now?"

Justin replied by getting down on one knee and reciting a prayer. "O God who dost abide in the city of death, hear our prayers. Let thy holy name be righteousness." he muttered as his soul began getting larger. "Hear me O Lord...make me a servant of thy holy peace...I shall be a pillar of righteousness...a blade of faith...in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost..." He bounded high above Kishin Cipher and prepared to fire a mighty beam of light. "LAW-ABIDING SILVER GUN!"

The beam went straight to Kishin Cipher's neck but instead of decapitating him, reality warped around the Dream Kishin to divert the beam away from him and right through Justin's torso, causing him to fall down on the floor of the Fearamid hard. "You know kid, I quite like you. Can't believe someone actually came close to killing me!" he applauded sarcastically hovering over the wounded Justin as an Eyebat turned his bloodied form to stone. "Which is why I got a very special place for you on my throne!"

With an irritating cackle, Kishin Cipher slammed Justin on the back of the throne directly over his head. "Now then, anyone else want a round with me? Or are we all just chicken?" he challenged as Kaguya, White Rabbit, Moonlight and the Black Clown appeared at his beck and call.

"I just want to say, from the bottom of my heart, sorry for screwing this all up." Gavin sincerely apologized as he was petrified and added to the throne as well. "Well this has become FUBAR!" Dengu commented preparing to run away. "Indeed, we should retreat somewhere where he can't find us and wait for the Pines to come!" Zubaidah added making her escape as well when the Clowns blocked the way. "Or not."

"That's right gang, round them all up! I wanna send a message to old man Death!" Kishin Cipher announced as his minions surrounded the remaining spies. "Uh, K.C., we have a bit of a situation." Giriko announced to his master. "Okay, what is it Buzzsaw?" the overlord asked, his expression changing from sadistic to unamused. "There seems to be more intruders coming for us." the Demon Saw stated. "And I think you might recognize them."

Just as Giriko finished, a pterodactyl came flying in through the window behind the throne with a familiar werewolf & witch riding on its back. "You two?!" Kishin Cipher screamed in shock. "I believe now's the time we bring out the belt!" Free declared preparing his magic. "Wolf, wolves! Wolf, wolves!" he chanted. "Ice Bind!"

Ice began forming around Kishin Cipher's feet, its sheer weight trapping him on the ground. "Good one Free!" Eruka shouted as the pterosaur landed in front of Sid's group. "Holy crap, is that a pterodactyl?!" Tezca shouted in amazement. "I think that looks more like a pteranodon." Feodor replied. "Hey wait a minute, you are Medusa's goons, da?"

"We were." Eruka said stroking their flying steed's beak for a job well done. It was here that Sid began to take notice of the question mark shirt Free was now wearing. "I know that symbol! You wouldn't happen to know any strange hairless gopher manchildren?" the zombie asked. "Gophers? Don't think I ever met any gophers?" the Man with the Demon Eye answered. "Though I think that would be awesome!"

"He's talking about Soos Free! And yes, we know him and his friends, the Pines family." Eruka said. "They freed us from Medusa and we returned the favor by helping them save their friend and escape town."

"But isn't that against witch law?" Djinn wondered. "We don't got no time, let's make like the wind and begone!" Free commanded before they all saddled up on the pterodactyl and it flew out of the triangular opening in the front. "Now why didn't we enter through there?"

As the group retreated, Kishin Cipher became so furious that the ice imprisoning his feet rapidly melted and he literally exploded in anger. "THEY DARE RUN AWAY LIKE THAT?! NOT ON MY WATCH!" he screamed. "AFTER THEM!" At his command, the Henchmaniacs, the Four Madnesses & the Clowns flew off with an army of Eyebats behind them.

The pterosaur flew as fast as it could away from the Fearamid before the army of monsters finally caught up to them. "We're going to need to go long-range! Zubaidah, now!" Djinn ordered his Meister transforming into a small oil lamp with an ornate design. "Soul Resonance!"

When the belly dancer rubbed the lamp, out came a puff of smoke that formed into a genie folding his arms with a firm glare. Suddenly Kryptos fired a laserbeam that the genie punched away with a loud "ORA!", blinding one of the Eyebats. "ORA! ORA!" the genie continued screaming taking out more of the Eyebats. "ORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORAORA-ORA!"

Eventually when the Eyebats were all plucked off, the genie began setting his sights on Kishin Cipher's main minions. He started with the Henchmaniacs, punching out Xanthar, Amorphous Shape, Keyhole and Lavalz, making them scream like a crocodile bit them or they were shot off a ledge as they fell towards the forest.

In one desperate move, Teeth grabbed onto one of the pterodactyl's wings and bit down hard, causing the creature to lose balance and Djinn's lamp form to fall out of his Meister's hands. "Galland!" Zubaidah cried out for her weapon, but he was more accepting of his fate. "My dear, it has been an honor." he calmly thanked her before his fall was broken by a recovering Eyebat petrifying him as payback.

The pteranodon meanwhile made an emergency landing somewhere far away from the Dream Kishin's soldiers. "Aw, did the bad tooth man hurt you Princess Buttercup?" Free cooed to their steed. "Don't worry, a few kisses will take the ouches away!"

"You can cut it with the baby talk, it won't be long before they catch up to us." Mira interrupted tending to Buttercup's wound. "Think you might have spoke too soon!" Eruka cried looking up into the sky as the remaining beasts touched down on the ground to corner them. "Three down, and the rest of you to go!" the Madness of Envy snarled with a wide toothy grin. "Now which one goes first?"

"We shall hold them off, you go run for cover!" Mifune ordered the rest of the group as he, Tsar, Feodor, Tezca and Enrique prepared for battle. "And Sid, watch over Angela for me." the samurai said regretfully as he set his young witch companion down, as if he knew he wasn't going to make it.

With that, the rest of the party ran off away from the monsters while more of them appeared and the fates of the others left unknown.

"Mr. Sid, what's gonna happen to Mifune?" Angela asked the zombie. Sid was silent the whole way through as they fled.

Meanwhile back in Death City, the Pines twins were sitting in Class Crescent Moon while Stein gave another lecture. Mabel was aimlessly drawing pictures on her paper while Dipper was hard at work, his stacks of notes almost reaching the ceiling. "Mabel, can you pay attention please?"

"Aw come on Dipper, we've already heard most of this stuff from back in Gravity Falls!" Mabel replied. "Is that so? Tell us, what did Stein teach you?" a voice belonging to a young man wearing thick glasses who seemed to be bald except for a pair of horns on his head. "He taught us lots of cool stuff, like wavelengths and resonances and all that junk!" the sweater girl said. "Hey, hate to trail off but your hair looks kinda funny."

"For your information, they are my pillars!" their fellow student hotly declared. "Wait, pillars? Are you serious?" Wendy asked suddenly butting in. "I think we should all just keep quiet, including you Ox." Maka added. "Ox? That seems like a fitting name." Dipper remarked before the five of them were interrupted by Stein throwing a scalpel just above Mabel's head, cutting off a few strands of hair. "Whatever you were talking about, I suggest you finish and then get back to work."

"Very well then. The three of you meet me after class, where we shall settle things." Ox declared returning to note taking. The twins nodded in agreement, eager to test their skills against an established Meister like him. Wendy on the other hand just looked on in confusion just wondering what she got herself into.

"So you guys are gonna fight Ox?" Black Star gasped after class. "You guys have your work cut out for you, he's one of the top students of our class!"

"Yeah, all because he got mad at Mabel for insulting his hair." Dipper answered. "I'm sorry guys, just thought I could point that out!" his sister added. "And by the way, those pictures I was drawing during class were of cool battle outfits for all of us." With a grin, she pulled out that paper with all her designs on it.

"Am I wearing a ninja suit?" Dipper wondered. "Loving the flannel skirt on me!" Wendy added. "You really got a knack for designing kid! Want some help making those?" Liz offered. "Sure, the more the merrier you guys!" the younger girl gratefully replied. "And I'll come along as well. Trust me, you're gonna need someone with a sense of fashion like mine." Pacifica interjected. "All right, fashion team is a go!"

After a long montage of clothes-designing, the combat uniforms were completed and ready to be modeled. "Okay gang, you all ready?" Mabel asked to Dipper & Wendy while they were inside a pair of changing booths. "I don't know sis. Hate to admit it, but our outfits look kinda ridiculous in real life." Dipper confessed. "I mean, my suit is just a bit too skintight and what's the point of this scarf?"

"Dude, this is Mabel we're talking about. I'm sure these will look good in action." Wendy answered. "Well, here goes nothing."

Finally stepping out of the booth, Wendy was now clad in a pine green high collar halter top with a pair of black straps crossing over her chest with a snowflake symbol connecting in the middle. Beneath the red flannel skirt that went down to her knees were a pair of black shorts with matching thigh-high stockings to go with her regular boots. She also had an orange over-shirt that opened to reveal her snowflake badge and her hair was in a ponytail. "Dude, this is killer!"

Dipper finally relented and stepped out as well, revealing a dark blue ninja suit with a white pine tree symbol on the chest, a red scarf covering his mouth, black boots and Excalibur's custom scabbard resting on his back. "This isn't as bad as I thought I would be."

"They do look quite good on you." Death the Kid commented. "I agree! The clothes do bring out your respective personalities." Tsubaki added. "And I've already made a uniform for myself! Wait here everyone!" Mabel stated before she ran off. After a few more minutes, she returned wearing a magenta top with black string holding it together, a dark pink undershirt, pink belt, purple skirt with her famous shooting star pattern, white stockings and black boots. Overall, it was a fancier version of her usual attire.

"You think a scythe would go well with this look?" Mabel asked pulling at her skirt. "Aw who cares? I did a pretty good job on it anyway!"

"Now then, let's settle things with that Ox guy." Dipper declared sheathing Excalibur. "You ready Excalibur?" he asked his sword. "FOOL! Of course I'm ready boy, whether you wear a ridiculous outfit or not!" Excalibur declared, much to the boy's embarrassment.

Later that day outside of the academy's entrance, the fight was about to begin with Ford, Stein, Spirit, Marie & Azusa present as per school rules and the other Mystery Meisters spectating. On one side were Dipper, Mabel & Wendy in their new combat uniforms.

On the other side was Ox along with another black-haired student wearing a red-tinted visor & a permanent frown. The other Meister-Weapon teams with the two boys was a black male with two much smaller youths dressed in matching overalls with colored caps standing below him and a pink haired girl in a sailor uniform standing beside a similarly dressed brunette lass.

"Who are all those other guys with Ox?" Wendy asked. "Those are some of our other classmates." Maka answered. "That's Ox's weapon Harvar D. Eclair right next to him, then there's Kilik Rung & his twin weapons Fire and Thunder, and finally Kim & her weapon Jackie."

"I don't know about this Ox. All this because one of the new guys insulted your pillars?" Harvar commented. "I know this may seem petty my friends, but I feel I have been dealt a great injustice." Ox stated. "Harvar's right, we should just call this off." Kilik agreed. "But then again, they could use some training."

"So which one of us should go first?" Mabel asked. "We could draw straws, pull out a wheel to spin or maybe rock-paper-scissors." she suggested. "Let's go with rock-paper-scissors." her brother declared pounding his fist into his palm and the girls did the same before tossing their hands out while chanting "ROCK PAPER SCISSORS!"

The trio's game of roshambo began as the three continued chanting, much to the confusion of the audience. "Are they for real?" Kim deadpanned staring blankly at their three opponents. "Whatever, I call dibs on the one with the flannel skirt."

"I shall challenge the girl with the braces." Kilik replied. "Guess that leaves me with Dipper." Ox stated as the game ended with Dipper winning out. "Yes, I get to go first!" he cried in excitement before he prepared for battle. "So then, you ready Ox?"

"You bet I'm ready." his opponent stated as Harvar transformed into a spear with a lighting bolt shaped tip in his hands. "Let the battle between Dipper Pines and Ox Ford & Harvar D. Eclair begin!" Azusa announced. Within seconds, the two went from staring each other down to charging with battle cries as their weapons clashed. "For someone who's new to being a Meister, you aren't too bad!" Ox commented.

"And I see you're talented at it!" Dipper replied. "But the only difference, my weapon is the strongest in the world!" he boasted, much to Ox's surprise. "Wait, you mean your sword is..." It wasn't long before the pillar boy put on the Excalibur face.

"Do not let your hatred of Excalibur distract you Ox! Find an opening and strike!" Harvar exclaimed. "Try using anything metal on his person as an electrical conduit!"

"Okay, you do realize that explaining your strategies in front of an opponent is a bad idea, right?" Dipper remarked being pushed back by the Lightning King. "In that case, here's some of my own!" Within seconds, the boy disappeared & reappeared behind his opponent, giving his a mighty jab in the back. The two clashed once more to the point of exhaustion and they panted heavily, taking a knee.

"You're wide open!" Ox shouted and he & Harvar declared "LET'S GO, SOUL RESONANCE!" in unison, turning the blade into a powerful cutting tool that went at Dipper at the speed of light, but the boy was quick and leaped upward, preparing one final attack. "HERO THE ATOMIC!"

With a mighty zoom, Excalibur made contact with Ox causing him to explode and knocking him to the ground. "Ox Ford and Harvar D. Eclair are no longer able to fight, marking Dipper Pines as the winner of the match!" Asuza announced gesturing to the aforementioned victor. The young detective jumped for joy in celebration before he noticed Ox struggling to get up, and offered his hand. "You fought well Ox. Sorry about what we said about your hair."

"Apology accepted." Ox replied taking the Pines brother's hand. "But how are you able to wield Excalibur and not get so pissed off by him?" he asked. "Trust me, I've dealt with a lot of people like him." Dipper said slinging the Holy Sword over his shoulder. "Okay, who wants to go next?"

"I'll take a shot." Wendy accepted getting into a fighting stance with her left hand holding her axe behind her and her right in front. "You ready Jackie?" Kim said to her weapon as she transformed into a lantern. "You bet I am Kim!"

"Let the battle between Wendy Corduroy and Kim Diehl & Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupre begin!" Ford declaring taking his turn as referee before Kim made her first move, pulling a metal bar with a chain attached to it out of the lamp and taking herself sky-high like she were riding a broomstick.

"Damn, she's got a good advantage!" Wendy muttered trying to think of a way to bring her back down to the ground. She then looked at her axe and smirked, tossing it at the Meister hoping to send her crashing. But suddenly Kim made the flames spouting out of her weapon erupt, knocking the axe back to its owner and hitting Wendy on the arm. "Someone's playing dirty!"

"Quick, while she's down!" Jackie exclaimed as her Meister returned to the ground. As quick as the girl could run, she whipped out her lantern and used it as a flamethrower on Wendy, causing her to start screaming like crazy and rolling around to put out the fire. "Wendy Corduroy is no longer able to fight, making Kim Diehl & Jacqueline O'Lantern the winners!" Ford announced. "Are you okay there Wendy?!" Dipper called out to his teenage friend. "I'm fine everyone, just a few probably/hopefully first-degree burns."

"I think I can help with that. Just stay still for a bit." Kim said putting her hands on her opponent's arm. "Are you really sure about this Kim, especially in front of academy staff?" her weapon fretted. However the Lantern Meister didn't listen as she began to chant. "Tanucoon, Raccoon-coon, Ponpon, Ponkitanu."

Within seconds, Wendy's burns vanished and she was completely back to normal. "Whoa, what did you just do?!" she exclaimed. "Are you a-"

"Witch, I know." Kim stated resignedly. "Aha, she was right!" Ford exclaimed triumphantly. "That's one witch in hiding down, now who else could there be? I'm getting mighty suspicious of those two ladies from Chu-" Ford then realized everyone glaring at him before he fell silent. "Terribly sorry."

"It's all right if you're a Witch or not Kim, cause you're still our friend." Maka stated warmly. "Okay peoples, let's get the final round over with!" Mabel exclaimed. "I suppose you might be the last guy?" she asked Kilik and his twin weapons. "Indeed I am. I wish you good luck Mabel." Kilik answered arming himself. "Let the final round between Mabel Pines and Kilik Rung & his Pots begin!" Marie announced.

"Okay, she doesn't seem like much. Unlike her brother, she doesn't seem to have a weapon besides that grappling hook of hers." Kilik examined his brightly-colored foe while she aimlessly twirled a bit of her hair. "This could perhaps be an easy match."

"Heads up!" Mabel called firing a pair of Nyarf darts at Kilik's glasses, blinding him. "What the?!" the Pot Meister exclaimed taking the darts off his eyewear to find Mabel spinning a pair of yo-yos around before she started playing with them like a pair of clackers.

"That was only a wakeup call, my next trick ain't gonna go easy on you! This is what I call my Yo-Yo Volley! HWAH!" However when Mabel tossed them in the air, they instead clashed with her head causing her to exclaim "OH NO!"

"What is up with her?" Sid exclaimed in awe of the girl's perceived foolishness. "This must be her preferred fighting style, making herself look childish to distract her opponents and going in for the kill!" Stein suggested. "That is pretty accurate." Soos responded as Kilik became more befuddled at his opponent's antics.

"Is-is there anything else you got for me?" Kilik asked before Mabel rapidly stuck a sweater over his head while shouting "SWEATER TOWN!", blinding him once more. "How does she even function?!" the Dominican boy exclaimed taking it off and preparing a Soul Resonance with his Pots. Jumping up into the air, Kilik prepared a powerful vertical strike with the left Pot now brimming with electricity.

But Mabel was quick and simply ran away from the Meister readying her grappling hook. "GRAPPLING HOOK!" she shouted hooking to his shirt and sending herself flying towards him. Kilik soon noticed the girl and slapped it away, causing her to fall down. "Still got one more shot!" she struggled to get one last attack in & fired her hook once more, managing to grab Kilik's glasses and snatch them off his face. "I can't see! I can't see!"

Finally the match was over as Mabel touched down to the ground while Kilik landed flat on his face. "Kilik Rung, Pot of Fire and Pot of Thunder are no longer able to fight, making Mabel Pines the winner!" Marie declared. "And with two wins under their belt, Dipper's team is victorious!"

"Woo, we did it!" Wendy celebrated. "We all did great out there, didn't we?" Dipper said giving his sister a high-five. "And you were pretty good too you guys." Mabel added to the three Meisters. "Thank you very much, though you still have a lot of training to do." Kim replied. "And you know what would make great training?!" Black Star suddenly chirped in. "Basketball!"

"That's a great idea Black Star, an opportunity to hone our coordination and reflexes." Ford agreed putting a hand on the ninja's shoulder. "However, I get to make the first shot. Are we clear?"

"Yes Mr. Pines." the kids chorused. "Come with us, we'll show you to the basketball court." Maka stated leading the Pines twins to their usual court.

"Okay dudes, time for some b-ball!" Soos announced at Death City's local basketball court as everyone got ready to play while Stein, Spirit, Marie and McGucket sat on the sidelines. "Okay as we promised everyone, I get the first shot. Capishe?" Ford reminded them dribbling the ball. "Good. Now heads up!"

He tossed the ball at Black Star who immediately made a break for the hoop. However Dipper was even faster and blocked the ninja before he passed it to Wendy. "Hey, I'm open!" Pacifica cried getting in Crona's path.

"It's times like there that make me long for something like the old days, wouldn't you two agree?" Spirit sighed nostalgically longing for anything similar to times long past. "Yeah, makes me wish I were a student again, where I wasn't as concerned about my age." Marie responded. "Speaking of which Stein, remember back when you would beat the snot out of anyone regardless of who they are?"

"Don't remind me." Stein stoically answered preparing to leave and taking a smoke. "Poor little Georgie, that boy simply couldn't keep hold on any longer. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to do some more important business. Catch you later."

Meanwhile the game was still in full swing with the basketball now in Mabel's hands. "Just try and get me you guys!" she challenged hoisting it over her head. "Now Mabel, dunk it!" Dipper shouted to his sister and she complied, tossing it at the hoop. But unfortunately it hit the backboard instead and whizzed toward the girl, much to her displeasure. "Oh crud."

With a mighty slam, Mabel's face made contact with the ball and she was out cold. "My word, Mabel!" Ford exclaimed as everyone stopped what they were doing to check the girl out. "Is she okay?" Tsubaki asked worried for the younger lass. "She'll be alright, just taking a dooze." McGucket stated feeling her pulse. "Has Mabel ever played basketball before?" Liz pondered. "No, I don't really think so." Dipper said. "She mostly just watches the games for the players, if you know what I mean."

While everyone was talking, Mabel continued to slumber with a large bruise on her cheek from the impact of the ball. But what she didn't expect was that this coma would change her forever.

When Mabel opened her eyes, she couldn't find her family and friends anywhere. In fact, she wasn't in Death City at all, rather in a small room inhabited only by a few chairs and a table. One of these chairs in particular was being sat on by a rather familiar being with his hands folded and head turned downward mumbling to himself "Vklqljdpl lv qrw zkdw kh vhhpv. Vklqljdpl lv qrw zkdw kh vhhpv."

"Uh, excuse me gibberish man, but where am I?" Mabel wondered looking around the room before she stared at an imitation of Michelangelo's David with Bill as the statue's head. "And why does that statue of the naked man have Bill's face on it?" Suddenly the statue became offended and came to life to shout at her. "Hey for your information pintsize, I am a work of art that looks like a naked man!"

"Vklqljdpl lv qrw zkdw kh vhhpv." the figure in the chair garbled one last time before he eerily looked up at Mabel, revealing himself to be none other than Kishin Cipher. "Why hello there Shooting Star." he politely greeted her with an equally eerie grin. "How nice of you to stop by for a chat. Have a seat my dear."

The unoccupied chair then became sentient and scooped up Mabel making her sit on it before it became a normal chair once more. "Could I interest you in some jelly babies?" he offered the girl a bowl of literal miniature infants made out of jelly that began crying loudly to Mabel's disgust. "I see you're not hungry right now kid, especially since you're now unconscious."

"Speaking of which, where am I and how did you get in my head?!" Mabel cried trying to flee but instead had numerous belts holding her down. "Oh I have my ways my sweetest Mabel." Kishin Cipher stated bringing their chairs closer together so that he could mockingly pinch her cheek. "Thing is, I'm not really here at all! And no I don't mean like this is a dream, I am simply projecting myself into your thoughts."

"Okay, you gotta stop that!" Mabel snapped taking the Dream Kishin's hand away from her face. "Oh you little starlight, never change! In fact, you kinda remind me of my own sibling." Kishin Cipher said. "Ah, I remember my baby brother Will fondly. A total square and a crybaby too. Tis a shame I had to burn him alive along with the rest of the second dimension."

"What are you implying?" the sweater girl asked nervously, fearing what he was going to say. Kishin Cipher simply grinned and gave his answer. "Do Pine Tree and Sixer know yet?"

"About what?"

"About the rift."

Suddenly the lights shorted out leaving the two completely in the dark. When they came back on, Mabel was now in a movie theater surrounded by clones of Kishin Cipher filling the seats, with two more atop a balcony. "Gotta say, we got a full house here tonight!" the first clone on the balcony remarked. "Doesn't seem like it, it's only one guy!" the second replied before they laughed loudly.

"What are we even doing here?" Mabel asked once again trying to escape. "Stay in your seat and be quiet during the movie you!" a Kishin Cipher dressed as an usher commanded shining his flashlight to make her stay seated. Finally the movie began, which turned out to be a B-movie style recap of the buildup to Weirdmageddon.

"Wiggity wiggity what's up Mabel, you would not believe how that big-nosed idiot grandpa forced me to leave my family behind and become just like him!" a more radical version of Dipper announced on the big screen stepping into the scene. "What?! You're telling me you'd rather pursue your dreams than return home with your insanely selfish sister!?" a unicorn that was supposedly playing Mabel shouted, but the real Mabel was not amused. "That is not a good choice of actor and an even worse impression of me."

"But not inaccurate! DOHOHOHO!" the Kishin Cipher clones on the balcony chortled before the main Kishin Cipher fired a blast that destroyed them and the balcony with them. "Why would you say she's a horrible choice?! Celestabellelabethabelle utterly nails the part with how horrendous she is, just like you!" K.C shouted. "Now keep quiet!"

"Yo take a chill pill sis, I'm only following my dream of being a closeted dick of a nerd! Not everything has to be about you brah!" movie Dipper argued. "It should be, I love everyone and they should love me back despite the fact I treat them like garbage!" movie Mabel shouted back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to deliberately take the wrong backpack and cause the end of the world! Catch you later!"

"So, what do you think so far tin-teeth?" Kishin Cipher asked his mortal companion. "Have your eyes been opened yet?"

"Okay, maybe I can be a bit selfish but how you portray me here is totally not true!" Mabel critiqued. "I most definitely don't treat the people I love like trash!"

"Oh really, then think about all the "good times" you had with your brother!" Kishin Cipher angrily stated folding his arms in disgust. "Let's see, making fun of his height, manipulating him to give up all his romantic advances to fulfill your own desires, ignoring him in favor of some creep who makes out with puppets, and last but not least handing over the one thing that would ensure my dominance over the entire universe! Speaking of which, the best part should be coming up right about now."

"Oh woe is me! I have been ostracized for completely justifiable reasons!" the movie Mabel began crying in the forest. "If only there was some way to make summer last forever without the consent of everyone else!" Suddenly an actor playing Bill dressed in an insanely poorly made disguise that was literally just the time traveler Blendin Blandin with a mustache appeared. "Hello, my name is TotallynotBillCipher, and I'm here to avoid getting blamed for intentionally bringing about the end of the world!"

"That director sure picked the right guy to play that handsome devil!" Kishin Cipher praised the portrayal of Bill. "And I should know, the director is literally half of me!" he added as the flick went on. "Why hello there little girl, what can TotallynotBillCipher do for you?"

"Oh I just wish someone could come along and help me not accept the consequences of my actions!" Celestabellelabethabelle complained to TotallynotBillCipher. "I know how! Just give me that rift and I'll show you something really cool!" the other actor offered. "Okay, here is the rift that my brother was forced to not inform me about, now go off and destroy everything!"

"Yay, victory is mine! And I have you to thank for it Mabel, my new god of destruction!" TotallynotBillCipher declared shedding his disguise to reveal a horrendous CGI model of the triangle himself before Celestabellelabethabelle was beaten over the head with a sledgehammer, simulating the creation of Mabel's prison bubble. "Don't worry boys and girls, we only used a stunt double who is probably gonna spend centuries in the hospital! That's all folks, and don't forget to drink more Ovaltine!"

The film finally ended with rounds of applause all over. It was clear they were giving praise to it all except for Mabel who started booing, which ceased the cheering and caused the Kishin Ciphers to glare at her. "Hey, this person has a completely different opinion about this masterpiece from us! Let's mercilessly cyberbully her into changing her mind!"

"Yeah, I bet someone paid her to boo it!" another clone agreed which caused the unanimous praise towards the film to a full-blown riot against Mabel that chased her out the theater. "I fail to see how this is supposed to make me realize I wasn't a good person!"

"Are you really that blind squirt?!" Kishin Cipher hollered. "Perhaps you could use a familiar face to convince you." With a snap of his fingers, the angry mob vanished and in their place was an exact double of Mabel, only her hair tufts were pointier, her regular sweater was powder blue with Bill's symbol on it, sharper teeth and an overall inhumanly lankier figure. "Anti-Mabel?!"

"In the flesh my loathsome copy." Anti-Mabel declared. "Did you really think I was gone for good? Well as it turns out I've been drifting throughout the mindscape plotting my revenge which is where Kishin Cipher discovered me while he was gathering forces for his revenge. And he gave me an offer I most definitely couldn't refuse!"

"And that would be?" the good Mabel wondered before a third eye appeared on her evil counterpart's forehead. "Power in exchange for helping me with revenge on you. And that power?" Anti-Mabel stated. "Why making me into a Kishin of course!"

"Wait, is that why Asura has that weirdo third eye?" Mabel continued asking. "I always kinda thought it was become of some enlightenment nonsense." But suddenly before she could ask anymore, Kishin Cipher made her mouth disappear. "Now then prickly muffin, my newest minion here is gonna be ridin' shotgun for a bit so I want you to keep your mouth shut! Unless it's the words 'I gave the rift to the insanely handsome and intelligent Bill Cipher. I hope you can forgive me.' Understood?!"

The mouthless Pines sister shook her head which brought a smile to the two's faces. "Attagirl, you're so obedient when under pressure." Anti-Mabel grinned. "Whoa, let's not go there braceface!" Kishin Cipher exclaimed making his eyes all screwy and pulling on an imaginary tie before he returned to normal and spawned a basketball in his hand. "Happy trails Shooting Star."

With a single slamdunk, Mabel was knocked to the ground once more and finally returned to the conscious realm.

"Hey, I think she's waking up!" the familiar voice of Dipper exclaimed hopefully as his sister slowly awoken. "Oh thank goodness you're alright!" he added hugging Mabel. "Thanks Dipper."

"You know, maybe you should just sit the rest of the game out." Ford suggested sitting his great-niece down on the bench. "And maybe we can get an ice pack for you when we get home too."

"Yeah yeah, speaking of home," Mabel said finally about to confess. "there's something that I've wanted to say for ages. Remember when the rift cracked in your backpack Dipper?" she asked. "Yeah, you were still kinda to blame for it but it was just an accident. No harm no foul." her brother stated. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, that's not the whole story." the little girl revealed. "When I got super torn up about you potentially staying in Gravity Falls when the summer ended to be Ford's apprentice, I accidentally took the wrong backpack that conveniently had that rift thingy you two were all hush-hush about."

"How did she know?" Ford gasped in shock. "Wait, a rift? What's going on?" Maka wondered just as puzzled. "Anyway, when I wished for summer to last forever in came a chubby time-traveler Dipper & I met once who said he can use it to do so. But it turned out he was actually possessed by Bill."

"Meaning..." Dipper pressed on. "I gave the rift to the insanely handsome and intelligent Bill Cipher." Mabel finally revealed. "I hope you can forgive me."

"It's fine Mabel." Dipper said quietly, having now learned of what really caused Weirdmageddon. "Phew, glad to resolve that after so long!" Mabel sighed in relief. "Now then, who wants to 1v1 m-"

"I don't forgive you."

"W-w-what?"

The atmosphere of the basketball court soon turned dark as soon as Dipper said those four fateful words. Everyone was at a complete loss over what just happened. Even Soos dropped his usual jolly nature as his blood ran cold. "Oh no."

"I said I don't forgive you. Listen Mabel, I know you can be selfish at times but this is the last straw." Dipper continued, his voice remaining tranquil despite his anger. "You deliberately endangered the lives of millions of people not just across the world, but the whole universe as well, just because you wanted to stay an annoying little brat."

"Now settle down, we can just talk it out and-" Tsubaki tried to calm everyone down before she was interrupted. "We are talking this out, and we don't want any interruptions." Dipper coldly remarked returning to his sister. "You really think that you expect to be rewarded after all the horrible things you've done to the people you claim to care about? If it weren't for you, I could've had the perfect summer with a cool girlfriend and apprenticeship! But you didn't want me to be happy or chase my dreams, you only want what makes you happy like forcing me to screw with time so that you can win a stupid pig, helping you pursue a hopeless crush or making me give up your future!"

"Please Dipper, cease this insulting of your sister at once!" Ford scolded the younger boy. "This is between siblings Ford, go find your own to call out!" Dipper shouted harshly, stopping the grunkle in his tracks and bringing tears to his eyes. "I know you're angry Dipper, but please don't take this out on your family!" Mabel exclaimed. "Besides you're one to talk for me being selfish! Remember Summerween or when you were jealous of me being taller than you?!"

"Okay, you're right on those but at least they didn't lead me to intentionally hand over the one thing that Bill wanted to use to destroy the universe!" Dipper screamed hotly. "Okay, you must break it up immediately!" Tsubaki ordered. "You're better than this Tsubaki, don't side with someone who'll take you for granted like Mabel!" the boy continued ranting. "Well then stop making everyone go against me!" Mabel replied just as furious. "You'll only abandon them because you love ditching the ones who care about you!"

"We aren't taking sides, we just want you to resolve this peacefully!" Kid shouted. "But how can we..." the twins said in unison. "WHEN YOU'RE BENT ON RUINING MY LIFE?!"

All was silent in the court once more until Dipper made one last declaration. "For someone who claims to be a good person, you sure are no better than Bill."

"I was going to say the same to you." Mabel choked before she ran off crying. "Mabel, please come back! I'm sorry for what I said, I was just blind!" her brother exclaimed giving chase. "Please just listen!"

Again the basketball court was deathly calm, everybody remaining staring in disbelief over what just occurred. It was only that the silence broke when Soos said two words he never thought he would say. "Holy shit."

"Wait, did Dipper say 'screw with time'? What did you do last summer?!" Maka exclaimed. The author remained silent for a few more moments to collect his thoughts, no doubt believing he was the only one at fault for making Dipper keep the rift's existence between the two of them, before he sighed.

"I think it's time we had a talk." He, Soos and Wendy sat down on the bench as the DWMA kids gathered around them like grandchildren excited to hear stories from their grandpa. "Now our story begins like most stories do with an attractive youth dreaming of more. This one in particular is about a strapping young genius and his perpetual motion machine."

"I'm truly sorry Mr. Pines, but what just transpired reminds me. I must have a word with my father about something." Kid said racing back to the academy. "What's he running off for?" Crona wondered. "That's another story entirely," Ford answered. "but for now, let's focus on this one."

"Just listen Mabel, we both have every right to get mad!" Dipper exclaimed as he lost track of Mabel more and more. Eventually when he ran out of breath, he stopped in the middle of the street and sat on some steps to silently cry over the ruination of their bond. Suddenly a door opened followed by a familiar voice. "Something the matter Dipper?"

"Oh, hello Professor Stein!" Dipper hurriedly exclaimed rising to his feet, getting a good look at his current location, a rather blocky grey-colored building decorated with stitches and arrows. "How did I get so far away from the city?" he wondered to himself before turning to the mad scientist. "Uh, is this your place sir?"

"Why yes, it's my lab." Stein answered throwing away a burnt out cigarette. "Would you like to come in?" he offered the lad. "Why of course doctor, your lab must seem really cool!" Dipper excitedly accepted following Stein inside. "Thank you Dipper. And please, just call me Frank."

The interior of the lab looked very ominous representing the Meister's emotionless love of science but also seemed a bit homely at the same time with sofas and a coffee table. But the most peculiar furnishing was a pair of disembodied hands being pickled inside a jar labeled "George R", much to Dipper's confusion as he picked up the jar. "Uh, who's George?"

"Don't touch, don't ask." Stein coldly ordered him taking the jar away. "Understand?" Dipper wordlessly nodded before he laid down on the nearby couch. "Now tell me, what is happening between you and Mabel?" the scientist asked displaying a surprisingly warm, even fatherly nature while sitting on the couch across. "I've heard what you said from inside when you found my lab. Is something the matter?"

With a deep sigh, Dipper began his story. "It all started late last summer a few days before our birthday on August 31st. After I saved Ford from an abandoned alien spaceship, he offered to make me his apprentice when the summer was over, but that meant leaving Mabel behind. It was absolutely suffocating to see her so sad like that. But then everything changed with that giant X in the sky that marked the beginning of Weirdmageddon."

"So it's like when that event began while we were in Gravity Falls rescuing Ms. Northwest." Stein commented. "I suppose judging by how panicked you were, Mabel didn't truly reveal what happened until today?"

"Yep. Turns out that when Ford returned to our universe through a portal he built that Stan used, the creation of a dimensional rift came with." Dipper continued. "He made me promise that I would not talk to anyone else about it except for him, not even Mabel. But now that proved to be our undoing and here we are."

"I see." Franken stated turning his screw. "You know Dipper, you kind of remind me of myself when I was a boy. Clever, determined, hungry for answers. But unlike you, I was a bit unstable in my search which often lead me to maim my fellow students. And yes, that is indeed where those hands came from."

"They were from that George guy, right?" Dipper asked. "Indeed, but thankfully he's still alive and with a pair of prosthetics that I helped build." Stein answered. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that while our mistakes can define us from time to time, they can also help us grow as human beings. I should know because like your family, I've made a few rash decisions involving yellow-colored manipulators myself."

"You're talking about Medusa, right?" Dipper continued. "Indeed. She actually beckoned me to side with her using my weakness of madness." Stein explained. "Thankfully I was able to come back thanks to Maka and Marie, but hearing what happened between you and Mabel just can't stop reminding me of that time."

"You know, you actually aren't as nuts as you claim to be." the boy remarked rising from his spot on the couch. "Maybe you've got a few screws loose, no pun intended, but when it all comes down to it, you're a surprisingly understanding guy."

"Thank you Dipper, and good to see a fellow genius sit down with me for once without fearing for his life." Frank replied tousling his hair. "Hey speaking of which, where did that big screw on your head come from? And how did you get all those stitches too?" Dipper wondered to which Stein replied with a sinister snicker. "Now that's a funny story."

Meanwhile with Death the Kid, he was set on asking his father about the connection the two of them shared with Asura. Marching toward the Death Room, he opened the door and went through the guillotine lined path to find Lord Death standing in front of his mirror with Eibon of all people next to him, even though they told the Sorcerer yesterday to stay down in the Secret Vault.

"Do you think he's learned about you-know-what yet?" Eibon asked his old friend. "I am not sure Eibon, but I dread the lad's reaction to it once he finds us." Death responded. "It's like you said, why must there be so many secrets?"

Suddenly Eibon noticed Death's son right in front of the two with his arms crossed. "Uh, my friend?" he stated. "What is it now Eibon?" the Shinigami asked before he realized who had walked in on them. "He's right in front of us, isn't he?"

"Indeed I am father." Kid answered coldly. "Is it true Asura is my brother?" he asked. "And if so, why did you keep this from me for ages?"

"So it's come to this." Death muttered defeatedly. "Indeed, Asura is your brother, created from a bit of myself just like you. But since he turned into such a reprehensible being, I couldn't bear to let you know that you were related to an embodiment of evil."

"And just as importantly, how did you leave the Vault when we specifically told you to stay down there Eibon?" Kid said turning to the aforementioned Sorcerer. "I simply couldn't stay down there any longer. I had to learn what had happened while I was away plus it was awfully dusty in there." Eibon explained. "I am terribly sorry for disobeying you."

"And I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you for eight hundred years. I do hope you can forgive us, especially me." Death stated miserably just as he felt his son hug him. "I'm sorry for not knowing any better father. Though I will accept this family secret more maturely than someone else I know."

"Thank you Kid for understanding." Death responded hugging the younger Death God back. "Wait, who is that someone else who isn't being mature?" he asked. "It's about the Pines twins."

Speaking of the Pines, Ford was rushing through the Academy halls in search of Mabel, thoughts about how the argument between her and Dipper was basically his fault for swearing Dipper to keep the rift a secret from everyone.

"I was an utter fool to make Dipper promise me! No, I was a fool to even build the portal in the first place!" the polydactyl muttered to himself suddenly skidding to a stop. "Whoa mama! I mean, excuse me miss but could you please tell me where my great-niece is?" he asked a short blonde woman with rather bizarre facial features. "She's about yay-high, mouth full of braces, colorful sweater, tears in her eyes after she was deemed worse than our family's arch-enemy by her own brother?"

"I think I may have seen someone like that." Auntie answered. "She probably went thataway." she revealed pointing to her right. "Thank you so much madame!" Ford exclaimed rushing to that direction, desperate to comfort the younger girl but was too blind to realize he had ran into a familiar woman and their glasses landed on the floor. "Can you watch where you're going miss?!"

"Why don't you watch where you're going? Now where are my glasses?!" the woman exclaimed grabbing Ford's glasses while he grabbed the woman's, and when he put them on he found Azusa right in front of him wearing his glasses. "Well this is awkward." Azusa commented. "Now can I have my glasses back?"

"Terribly sorry, as much I'd hate to say it." Ford apologized taking back his eyewear. "So, what were you up to?" he glowered at the East Asian Death Scythe. "That should be none of your business. How about you?" Yumi asked just as miffed. "I'm simply looking for Mabel. Have you seen her come by lately?" the author inquired. "I did. She was awfully miserable over something relating to her brother so Joe and I led her to the overnight rooms."

"Good, now where are those rooms?" Ford continued, his nervousness alleviating before Azusa made the big reveal. "You wouldn't miss them, they look like a dungeon."

"A WHAT?!" the author shouted as his concern turned to anger at the Death Scythe.

"So you're telling me these so-called overnight rooms is a goddamn dungeon?!" Ford ranted loudly while being led through the DWMA's underground by Azusa and Joe Buttakaki. "Chill out Mr. Pines, you're getting it wrong!" Joe tried to calm his nerves. "The dungeon is further down with a few torture rooms. Thankfully we barely use those."

"Thank you for your kindness Joe, but that doesn't change the fact that Mabel is so depressed, she locked herself in a flipping prison!" Ford shouted as they reached one of the overnight rooms where they could hear Mabel quietly sobbing while curled up into a ball. "M-Mabel, may I come in?"

Mabel replied with a faint groan before Ford stepped in. "Listen sweetheart, I know you may think you're to blame for what happened last summer, but I'd say the same to myself as well. If it were me instead, I would be just as gullible as you were." he calmly said stroking her hair. "Just please show me your smile again so that I can help you and Dipper make amends."

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Mabel finally spoke up in a shockingly more callous tone. "You're actually caring for your family! But then again, old Pine Tree is beyond saving anyway."

"That isn't the Mabel I know! It can only be-" Ford exclaimed before Mabel rose up and turned around, revealing sharp teeth and the faintest third eye on her forehead. "Long time no see Stanford. It's me, Anti-Mabel!" Anti-Mabel cheerfully greeted him. "Did you really think I was gone forever?"

"How did you come back, and how are you possessing your good self?!" the six-fingered man asked terrified. "You can thank Kishin Cipher for that wrinkles! When he found me drifting through the mindscape plotting my revenge after I was defeated by you and my alternate selves, he made me more powerful than ever! Once I get rid of all of you, I can steal that Kishin soul for him and be paid handsomely!"

"I won't let you Anti-Mabel!" the old man shouted whipping out a laser pistol. "And what Kishin soul are you talking about?" he asked. "Lord Death actually keeps one amongst the crosses in his-" Joe began before Azusa shut him up. "Can you not Joe?"

"Oh come now Sixer, you wouldn't hurt your own family would you?" the evil Mabel said trying to get Ford to surrender. "My foolish other me has already suffered enough from her brother, but now another member of her family decides to ruin her life! It's times like these where Stanley of all people seems like the only Pines that could qualify as a good person."

"Azusa, Joe, get everyone possible and meet me in the Death Room." Ford lividly muttered, his hands twitching before dropping his firearm and reeled his arm back while the two ran away. "Oh look at that, I was right." were the last words Anti-Mabel said before Ford's fist gave her an overtly friendly greeting.

With the ting of a wineglass, the meeting in the Death Room began. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice." Ford announced to an audience of the remaining Mystery Meisters, Marie, Azusa, Joe, Eibon, among others while Lord Death stood next to him. "Today the reason I've gathered everyone here is because we have a new crisis on our hands."

He picked up the unconscious body of his great-niece and held it high, revealing the bruise mark on her face. "Mabel here has come under the control of an evil version of herself from another dimension that has allied with Kishin Cipher. Although I have put her to sleep, as much as I hated to, she stated her motives of entering the Death Room to retrieve the soul of Asura."

"Are you sure about that?" Dipper snarked standing next to Stein. "I bet she's only faking it to earn our sympathy." He was then ordered to shush by the Meister. "Anyway, although it may seem there's no way to rescue her, we actually do know of a method to do so." Ford continued. "We must go inside her mind itself and stop the source before it can get any worse."

"Question!" an innocent-looking young girl with mahogany brown hair chimed in with a raise of her hand. "Yes young lady?" Ford said preparing for any questions. "Are we like going to dissect her or something?" the girl asked, much to everyone's confusion. "No we aren't! I think." another girl with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair featuring a headband answered. "What are we going to do sir?"

"Pardon me for being rude, but how does going inside her mind equal dissection?!" Ford exclaimed irritatedly. "Sorry mister, don't mind Meme! She's just a bit out there." yet another girl with indigo eyes apologized for her. Stanford just turned to Death and asked "Let me guess, are they not in the EAT class?"

"Yessir, NOT class." Death answered. "Okay, would anyone like to take the floor for me?" Ford offered to his audience, and they answered by turning to Dipper. The boy just sighed and stepped to his great-uncle's side. "What we need to do is recite a certain incantation that will allow us entry into Mabel's mindscape. But since Bill is already inside it, there's no doubt he's waiting for us. So we need to suit up."

"We can use Mabel's drawings!" Patty exclaimed. "They are meant to be combat uniforms after all." she suggested and everyone agreed.

"Come to think of it, this reminds me of a plan Sid's been thinking of before he left called the Spartoi." Stein revealed. "A group of some of Death Weapon Meister Academy's most gifted students, among others. No offense to Mr. Hero or the girls of the NOT class."

"None taken." the aforementioned students responded. "But if we want to stop Kishin Cipher once and for all, all of the Pines must play an important role." Stein continued. "Now then, time to suit up."

Another montage of clothes-making later, the rest of the Mystery Meisters now had their own combat outfits.

Ford wore a light-colored buttonless shirt, simple khakis, a belt buckle with a cat symbol on it and a white coat bearing a six-fingered hand on the back.

Soos was now clad in tan overalls with a question mark on the front pocket, a black undershirt and wore his cap backwards.

Pacifica retained her black leggings & cream boots, but in place of her usual attire was a purple dress with a pink button-up frilled shirt that had llama fur cuffs and went down to a white sash.

Gideon had on a baby blue martial arts uniform and a dark blue undershirt with his pentagram symbol stitched onto the left sleeve.

And finally, McGucket wore a white-lined brown & black suit and a pair of green-tinted goggles.

The EAT students, except Hero, all had similarly colored uniforms of blue and white while the NOT girls had their regular clothing on.

"This is it everyone, our last foe before returning home." Soos declared lighting nine candles. "One question, how do we get into Mabel's head? I mean, we can't put our hands on her head at the same time, then there wouldn't be enough room!"

"I got an idea. Why don't one group go in first and then everyone else comes in as reinforcements?" Pacifica suggested. "Good idea there Pacifica." Maka agreed. "Now let's go over who will go first. Dipper, Pacifica, Mr. Pines, Kid, Black Star, Soos, Wendy and Crona will be the first team. Kilik, Ox, Kim and Hero are the second. And finally Gideon, Blair, Stein, Mr. McGucket and the NOT class are the third one."

"Nice idea Bishop 2." Soos complimented to the Scythe Meister's surprise. "Uh, what did you just call me?" Maka asked. "It's your codename dude. We all gotta have cool codenames if we're going on this risky mission. For example, our team is themed after chess, Ox's has a playing card theme and Gideon's is for Arcana."

"I'm not sure if I was told about this earlier, but carry on." Ox commented bluntly. "Well, see you all later." he added as Ford began the ritual. "Now, are we all mentally prepared for this?" he challenged to his teammates. "Make sure you have weapons by your side."

With a resigned sigh, Maka chose her father to be her temporary weapon until Soul was saved. Likewise, Ford and Azusa shared a tense glare before she became his temporary weapon. "Now that everyone's prepared, well; hope our sanities are intact before we fight Bill." He pressed his hand on Mabel's forehead and the others followed before the scientist began chanting. "Videntis omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus."

Ford continued chanting which caused everyone's eyes to glow a bright blue. "Habeus corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus! Magister mentium magister mentium magister mentium!" In a bright azure flash, the group fell asleep, meaning they have finally entered Mabel's mind.

Dipper slowly opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar place. This was none other than Mabel's accursed dream world of Mabeland. "Oh God, not this place again." he moaned before the others got up. "What the hell is this weirdo place? Are we sure this is Mabel's head?" Black Star wondered brushing the back of his head. "Maybe we should ask that black and white person over there."

The team tiptoed towards a monochrome version of Mabel wearing a suit patterned sweater. "There is another dimension, beyond that which is known to man." the Mabel explained. "A dimension not only of sight and sound; but of mind as well. Your next stop, a land of both shadow & substance, of things and ideas. I will be your guide as you cross into: Neo Mabeland."

The monochrome Mabel pulled back a curtain to reveal the Mabeland that Dipper, Wendy and Soos knew, but it was more devastated & gloomy reflecting Mabel's current mindset and Anti-Mabel's dominance over her. "To your left is what was once dubbed Bubblegum Alley, formerly a place of childlike wonder similar to the rest of Mabeland." she narrated. "Now it is a shell of its former self, following a mental coup d'etat performed by an evil Mabel under orders from a certain someone."

"Okay, can someone explain what Mabel's doing here when she should be held captive?" Liz commented. "I am not the Mabel you should recognize, but rather a Mabel formed from her own subconscious that shall serve as your guide through this world. You may call me Twilight Mabel."

"Isn't that kind of like in that old show?" Crona asked. "Indeed it is Crona. Now then, follow me." Twilight Mabel replied leading the others on their path. "This place was once a paradise of color and fun, that is until a certain someone took things too far when secrets were revealed."

"Can you blame me? Mabel full-on intentionally caused the end of the-" Dipper shouted before Pacifica smacked him in the face. "Okay, that's got to stop Dipper!" she interrupted him. "I know you're super pissed about what she did, but who cares?! If you or Ford were in her shoes, chances are the exact same thing would happen!"

"But she had no idea what it was yet handed it over anyway!" Dipper defended himself. "Well, that's pretty much my fault." Ford confessed. "If only I weren't so secretive and untrusting of others back then."

"Yes indeed, the power of trust can be a double-edged sword." Twilight Mabel interrupted. "On one hand it feels good to be trusted, but on the other-"

"SHUT YOUR DAMN NARRATING ALREADY!" Black Star screamed smacking Twilight Mabel on the back of her head. "I am only trying to assist you my friends, and give some important life lessons in a very mentally scarring fashion." she calmly stated. "This Mabel's right, what matters now is finding our Mabel." Spirit stated. "So where to?"

"I believe your first step should be following me." Twilight Mabel replied. "Step right this way toward the ice cream beach." she announced walking towards a seemingly normal beach where a group of cartoonish dogs stood with their backs turned to the group and arms spread out over a sea of orange juice.

The heroes just stared silently in wonder at their current surroundings, contemplating how a little girl's broken heart would affect her this much. Then suddenly they heard a loud moan. "What was that?!" Pacifica shouted pulling out a basic spear. The troop frantically looked around the shore fearing that enemies might be coming. Luckily, none were coming from behind them, but rather rising from the orange water.

"Are those supposed to be from Mabel's imagination?" Tsubaki wondered gazing upon the monsters that took the shape of cuddly animals and many odd beings, led by the being Dipper had dreaded the most ever since he first stepped foot. "Yo, what up brahs! It's me, the new and improved Dippy Fresh!"

"W-what even is that?!" Kid exclaimed resisting the urge to laugh. "I'm Dipper's superior and more supportive counterpart assigned by my master to protect her at all costs." Dippy Fresh stated summoning an exact replica of Excalibur. "FOOL! My power can be imitated, but never completely duplicated!" the real Excalibur cried out in defiance. "Come at us with everything you've got imposter!"

"Sure thing old guy!" Dippy Fresh declared summoning more monsters crafted from Mabel's mind to his aid. "You just had to open that big nonexistent mouth of yours, didn't you?" Dipper groaned sighing. "I think we might need reinforcements!"

"You mean contacting Death? Which one of us brought a mirror?" Black Star wondered before the rest of the team shrugged. "Dammit, we're gonna need a good reflective surface to use!" he muttered. "Or we could use my Shinigami powers," Kid suggested. "but I'm quite preoccupied right now!"

"I think I know how." Dipper said glaring at his radical counterpart who was already waiting for a battle. "Come on lamebrain, I'm waiting!" he called out casually spinning his sword around. His smug attitude was soon immediately broken when Dipper came charging and their blades clashed. "Tell me where my sister is, or else!"

"Fat chance dude! Why would she ever want to see you again after all you've done?!" Dippy chided backflipping away and firing a black beam from his blade. Dipper on the other hand sliced it in two and sent its halves flying towards the nearest beasts. "I may have screwed up on that part, but I can learn! And she can learn too!"

"Learning's for chumps anyway!" Dippy Fresh shouted with a smug grin continuing to seemingly gain the upper hand. "Why can't more people wear their hats backwards, say outdated catchphrases and disrespect authority like me?"

"You know what, you're right." Dipper agreed with his mirror self. "WHY CAN'T MORE PEOPLE LIKE YOU HAVE THEIR HEADS BACKWARDS?!" With a single stab through his mouth, Dippy Fresh's overconfidence became as broken as his neck as Dipper skewered his sword through and twisted his head in a perfect rotation, ending him once and for all. "Must've been dark times, those 90s."

Dipper picked up his fallen dream version's visor and let out a puff of air on it, fogging up the lenses and allowing him to contact Death. "42-42-564, use this to knock on Death's door." he chanted causing Lord Death to appear on the lenses. "Hey Lord Death."

"Howdy and hello my boy!" the Shinigami cheerfully greeted. "Whoa, what happened here? Did you manage to locate Mabel yet?" he asked. "No, we're currently outnumbered by a bunch of monsters that have been summoned, and we need help! Send in everyone!"

"Which ones?" Death responded. "EVERYONE!" the boy screamed out startling the headmaster of the Academy. "Okey dokie then, the rest will be here in a jiffy!" The message cut off just as a shadowy tendril emerging from Dippy Fresh's arm snatched the visor from Dipper's hands and smashed it. "Uh uh uh lamer!"

Dippy Fresh let out a ghastly laugh while his eyes turned blood red, his skin white as bone and his radical attire being replaced with rags. "Not cool how you broke my neck there dude!" he shouted in a menacing deeper voice. "Now let's see how YOU made me feel!"

"You leave him alone!" Ox cried out dropping from above to impale Dippy Fresh with his spear. Kilik & the Pots, Kim & Jackie, Hero & Mai, Gideon, Blair, McGucket, Stein & Marie and the NOT girls soon followed. "Knew you would all come through!" Dipper cheered. "Anything for you kid!" McGucket exclaimed. "So what's all this?"

"We're going to need someone to cover for us while we find Mabel! Are you all willing to help?" Ford explained. "Will do Mr. Pines!" Tsugumi said as she and her three Meisters Meme, Anya & Ao saluted. "Good! I got a new plan!" Dipper announced. "Queen, Bishops 1 & 2, Rook, Knight, Pawns 1, 2 & 3, Jack, Deuce, Ace, Chariot, Empress, Hermit & Hierophant are all coming with me! That tower over there is where I found Mabel last time, so she must be there!"

"I knew those codenames would become a thing!" Soos cheered before their group raced toward a sandcastle while Dippy Fresh reemerged. "No no no, they can't reach the real Mabel!" he shouted angrily. "Xyler, Craz, after them!"

A pair of knights in rusted black armor nodded to their master before giving pursuit, preparing their weapons to kill. The heroes continued racing toward their destination when the knights attacked. "None shall pass bro!" the first knight declared and the second added "Stand down or face our awesome wrath!"

"You really aren't making yourselves look threatening when you're speaking like surfer dudes." Stein remarked smashing their helmets to pieces with Marie's hammer form, revealing a duo of brightly-colored radical young men underneath, one with blue hair while the other was a blonde with a tan. "Xyler and Craz?" Dipper exclaimed. "Don't tell me Kishin Cipher has you under his control too!"

"Kinda brah, we were just LARPing when that evil Mabel jazzed on in and took over." Xyler explained. "But now that you guys are here, we can help you save Mabel!" Craz added. "Actually, this is our mission alone." Wendy politely refused. "But you guys can help out by taking out the monsters chasing after us!"

"Sounds good to us dude!" the dream boy duo shouted picking up a skateboard and a keytar to fight with while the group continued onward. When they finally reached the top of the tower, Mabel stood with her back turned. "Mabel, it's us. We're here to rescue you." Dipper assured putting a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything. Think you could forgive me?"

"LOL, forgiveness is for dorks! Everyone loves me because they think I'm silly!" Mabel exclaimed squishing her cheeks. "That's not Mabel!" Ford shouted pointing Azusa at the girl. "Yeah, she can be kinda silly, but I'm pretty sure she would never say forgiveness is for dorks." Pacifica added.

"Naw bros, this is totally what Mabel is like!" Dippy Fresh declared suddenly behind them while performing a goofy dance. "You just have to accept it and-"

"I would let you finish, but YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!" Dipper finally snapped performing a mighty slash that interrupted his 90s self's free-to-play game-esque jig and sent him falling to the ground below. "Now as for you."

"Oops, looks like my cover's been blown!" Anti-Mabel chirped dropping the act and revealing the real Mabel inside a cage. "You think you're so much smarter, but you'll never be as mature as I am!"

"So is your definition of mature being a really annoying sadist?" Maka snarked preparing Spirit for a battle. "Yeah, kinda." Anti-Mabel hissed before she summoned a large stuffed cat dressed as a judge behind her. "Behold my partner Judge Kitty Kitty Meow Meow Face-Shwartztein! And of course, he shall judge you!"

"Yer all guilty!" the cat shouted pounding his tiny gavel and made them lose their footing. "Court is now in session! And the crime: disrespecting our new lord & master and your own sister as well!"

"STOP SAYING THAT!" Dipper screamed stabbing Anti-Mabel with Excalibur. "Can we just put this blaming to rest and let us have Mabel already?!" The boy was on the verge of tears, both from irritation over the inhabitants of Neo-Mabeland and regret from yelling at her earlier. "I promise, the two of us can be siblings and never fight again! We can patch things up, I'm sure of it! Just please, please...give me back my sister."

There was dead silence in the area before Anti-Mabel let out a hoarse, high-pitched, hateful laugh and wiped a tear from her eye. "Gotta say Pine Tree, you are pretty stupid when emotional!" she sighed. "Maybe a little knock on the head will fix things." The feline judge over her readied his gavel for the final blow. Dipper closed his eyes in acceptance of his fate as the hammer just about reached his face.

Until Twilight Mabel, Maka and Spirit blocked it. The weapons struggled against each other as the regretful brother opened his eyes in shock. "Go, save Mabel! We'll take it from here!" Maka urged him. "But what about you guys?!" Dipper asked. "It's okay. She's family, and families always protect each other." Twilight Mabel assured with a grin.

"How could you Twilight Mabel?! I thought Mabels had to stick together!" Anti-Mabel shouted in disbelief. "I think the proper term would be 'Family sticks together.' Don't you have one of your own in your world?" Twilight Mabel coldly inquired. "Of course I did! They were all a bunch of fools anyway." the other Mabel answered. "An incorrigible flirt, a charity obsessed hippie, a wannabe video star & part-time DJ and the first pig to ever be arrested for armed robbery! They were all just as anti-lovable as I am, and I will make sure that I prove love is nothing but for losers!"

"Are you truly sure about that?" Spirit stated. "I'm definitely a pervert who lost his wife because of it, not gonna lie, but I know that deep down my sweet baby girl still loves me! Even with our differences, there's no doubt that I will stick by Maka every step of the way no matter what!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Anti-Mabel retaliated with a negative-colored rainbow that swept Maka & Twilight Mabel off their feet. What she didn't account for was Dipper trying to unlock the cage his real sister was trapped in. "Uh, anyone got a lock pick?"

"I think Ragnarok can help." Crona stated confidently while his Black Blood partner sprouted from out his vest. "This'll be easy-peesy!" Ragnarok declared musing over the cage door before he decided to up and rip the door off, tossing Mabel out with it.

The girl slowly got up before her brother quickly embraced her while bursting into tears. "I am so sorry Mabel! I'm sorry I got so mad, that I said you were no better than Bill, and that I basically got you into this mess! Please just forgive me already! It's okay if you don't, because I'm really stu-"

Mabel shushed him with her trademark tin grin. "Oh quit it bro. You were pretty stupid, but I was too." she whispered hugging him tight. "We can be stupid together."

"Thank you Mabel, I really needed that." Dipper stated as they broke and wiped off his tears. "Awkward sibling hug?" he offered spreading out his arms. "Stupid sibling hug." the sweater girl replied and they finally embraced after so long, with a casual "Pat pat." added in as well.

"Kids!" Ford cried rushing up to hug them. "I am so glad you decided to be stupid together! Now we can-" He was interrupted by Anti-Mabel striking him in the back. He dropped the kids and was brought to his knees, writhing in agony. "We can't...let you win."

"Stanford!" Azusa shouted using her wavelength to guard her current Meister. "Azusa, you saved me." the polydactyl gasped in wonder. "We may have our differences, but one thing's for certain." Yumi declared. "The kids can never be harmed on our watch."

The two, alongside Stein dual-wielding Marie & Spirit, charged at Anti-Mabel ready to defend the children even if it costed them their lives. "If you think teamwork can help you, then so be it!" the anti-lovable Mabel challenged before Shwartzstein merged with her, forming a feral pink cat creature with another eye atop its forehead.

The only sounds coming out of Anti-Mabel's mouth now were loud roars while bearing its grappling hook claws. It lunged at the adults ready to maul them before the Pines twins came to their defense, both wielding Excalibur. "Leave our friends alone!"

"So it's just down to the Pines family now?" the empowered Anti-Mabel snarled. "I can accept that. Just need the rest of the pieces off the board!" With a single swipe of her hand, the rest of the Mystery Meisters were blasted out of the tower, destroying the walls and leaving only Dipper, Mabel & Ford behind. "Come and face me you three! Or are you just going to stay there frightened?"

"You can't scare us any longer!" Ford growled readying his fists in lieu of Azusa before his great-nephew & niece stopped him. "Rest Grunkle Ford, and bring back the others." Dipper commanded him. "We'll take Anti-Mabel from here." Mabel added. "And mark my words, we'll finish this and go home."

Ford simply nodded and raced downstairs while the twins readied themselves. "Oh just cut it! We all know they'll just die anyway no matter what you'll do, and you won't even care!" Anti-Mabel snapped. The twins however gave no response while holding Excalibur together. "Can't say we blame you Anti-Mabel."

The evil Mabel raised a brow in both confusion and fear. "We can be stupid, we can be silly, heck! We can be selfish too!" the prime Mabel declared. "But we're still kids. Well, only post-preteens but you get our point."

"There's still time for us to grow, to change." Dipper added. "And there's still time for us to stop you, save the universe and our loved ones. People can make really big mistakes, but we can't let them define us for the rest of our lives."

"They can help us develop our lives." Mabel concluded while they glimmered with Excalibur's energy. "In other words, it's finally time for us to grow up."

With a mad dash towards Anti-Mabel, the twins shined brighter than they could ever imagine and they finally stabbed her in the chest.

"FAAAAAAMILY FIIIIINISHEEEEERRRRR!"

Anti-Mabel's jaw dropped in complete and utter fear as the Holy Sword's blade slowly dragged itself upwards toward her head. She barely had enough time to scream out loud when it sliced her in half and the resulting explosion consumed her. "NO! NOOOOOO!"

"We...we did it." Dipper gasped for breath. "Yeah. Guess we did." Mabel added before they fell to the ground. Luckily for them, there was no one else except for all their friends when they finally landed. "KIDS!" Ford cried out picking them up off the sand. "Are you two all right? Exhale once if yes!"

"Don't be such a worrywart Ford, we're fine." Mabel stated reassuringly. "Yeah, we stopped Anti-Mabel, saved Mabel and our family bond is stronger than ever." Dipper added. "Indeed it was children." Excalibur commented. "But this can be seen as only the final exam! With her out of the way, our next target should be none other than Kishin Cipher!"

"Excalibur is right. And I shall be behind you every step of the way." Twilight Mabel responded as Mabeland began to fade away. "Well, guess this is goodbye." Dipper bade farewell to their guide Mabel. "Thank you for helping us find my sister."

"You are very welcome my alternative brother." Twilight Mabel smiled before she began to fade to white as well. "We all shall meet again someday, in the magical world of Mabeland."

Mabel moaned as she opened her eyes and before her was a bright blue sky. "What happened? Where am I?" she groaned rubbing her head and turned around to see her friends' smiling faces. "Everyone."

"You're safe here Mabel. With us." Dipper declared hugging his twin one last time. "And you know who won't be safe?"

"Right." Mabel replied gazing at Lord Death's mirror. "Kishin Cipher."

"Bon voyage children. And when you find Stanley, tell him I said hello!" Death said turning his mirror into a portal. "But what about you?" Ford asked. "You probably can't come with us, so how can it be possible?"

"Oh I have my ways Stanford." Death stated. "Now off you go everyone! Go and save the world!" The Mystery Meisters, plus their six new allies, climbed into the mirror portal that would lead them to Gravity Falls, leaving Dipper and Mabel as the only ones left.

"Ready to head into the unknown?"

"Nope. But let's do it."

With that, the twins disappeared into the portal leaving only Death, Eibon and Joe behind in the Death Room. "Joe, Eibon!"

"Yes Lord Death?" the two responded willing to follow any command he gave them.

"Let's roll up our sleeves and get to work!"

IT! IS! FINISHED! After so long, Chapter 12 is finally completed! And I'm just so happy to finally get this over with since I have been writing it since November. Hopefully it was all worth it my loyal fans and I hope to see you next time on the penultimate chapter of Gravity Soul! But first, a little word from Twilight Mabel.

"It's amazing how far our heroes have come." Twilight Mabel commented. "What started as teaming up against an Eyebat to saving the universe from the combined forces of their greatest foes. It makes me so proud of our characters for developing so much, our author for staying so dedicated to his tales and you, the audience for staying by all the-"

Suddenly a pair of bandages wrapped around Twilight Mabel's mouth as Kishin Cipher came into view. "So Pine Tree, Shooting Star and their little pilgrimage are coming back huh? Adorable!" he grinned strangling the narrating Mabel to death before he glared at the readers. "Be sure to come back next time for my grand return to the story! And remember, I'M ALWAYS WATCHING YOU!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

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paulhudd · 4 years

Text

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt.Five: Hooray for Hollywood

[Story so far: Malky and Brooster have been hired by veteran Irish comedian and international movie star, Oliver Laphen (or Ollie Laffin, as he was known in his 1930s hey-day) to investigate the activities of an alleged ‘poltergeist’ at Pagham House, his stately home in Kildare (Malky was reluctant, but Zindy was insistent: the money is needed to pay for the refurbishing of Odin’s Inn). Once they get there, Broo quickly discovers that there is nothing to see -- literally -- the house and its grounds are devoid of atmosphere: no ghosts, no echoes of the past -- no wildlife! In other words, it existed in a spiritual vacuum. Then there’s the arrival of Laphen’s grandson, Kris, visiting from America; he has a dark aura about him that renders Broo’s extrasensory powers inoperable and saps his strength, but most disturbing of all, his psychic link with Malky is broken; there’s nothing he can do until they leave. Laphen turns out to be an elderly, misanthropic inebriate, and as they sit down to dinner, he tries to provoke his visiting grandson with a spiteful harangue designed to embarrass and humiliate; but Kris, a young, laid-back Californian, doesn’t take the bait and laughs-off every slur...]

Slouched, sloshed, sloppy and louche, Laphen reclined in his throne-like, red-velvet-lined, high-backed dining-chair with (what Malky assumed was) the Laphen coat of arms embroidered on the velvet-headrest (two rampant pigs wearing little bowler hats supporting a four-leaf shamrock emblazoned with the the motto Laphen All the Way to the Bank). Still unshaven, he had nonetheless been scrubbed-up (probably by Herbie), his receding hair backcombed, slicked-down and darkened with oil. Typically, he was dressed to distress -- a turquoise smoking-jacket two sizes too big, canary-yellow Bermuda shorts, knee-length green-&-white striped rugby socks and a pair of well-worn purple flip-flops; it was an ensemble that lent credence to his reputation as the worst dressed man in Hollywood. Wine-glass in one hand, bulbous cheroot in the other, the pale light from an ornate candelabra casting a shadow across his face making his trademark dimpled-grin look positively demonic, he held court like an odious goblin king, drinking himself stupid and mercilessly goading his young grandson, while Herbie, eating at the other end of the table, stared straight ahead and pretended he wasn't listening. Up until now, Laphen’s intended target seemed utterly immune to every jibe. Kris ate heartily and slowly, deflecting the brickbats without losing it and sticking his fork in his grandfather’s eye; a course of action, in Malky’s opinion, that would be entirely permissible in the circumstances.

“... then you were in that pop group, what was it called, Satan’s Pooves?” Laphen sneered, looking for something to crack Kris’ resolve.

“Ha-ha-ha-hah, Lucifer’s Hooves,” Kris corrected him, tittering, turning to Malky and explaining with unshakable chirpiness, “it was a garage-band I formed in high school,” he joked, “we never got outta the garage!”

“Then there was the time you tried to start your own magazine...?” said Laphen, trying desperately to touch a nerve.

“It was a hobby! I was 10!” Kris snorted.

Laphen got all Noel Coward with a little bit of Gielgud thrown in for good measure, “What I’m getting at is this, Kristof: you’re not a renaissance man, you’re an interminable amateur -- a dilettante, a poseur – you flit from one thing to another, looking for something to get you noticed– and when it doesn’t work you move on to the next thing. You don’t care what medium you exploit to achieve your goal: celebrity. That’s Art for Fame’s Sake. That’s profane.” He sat back and continued in his usual, sarcastic tone, “This is where you and I differ, boy. I got famous cos I have Talent. When I do something I give it my all – no matter what piece of shit they put me in - I shine cos I’m true to meself and my craft. That’s how I knew I would always succeed in everything I did: because I have the unshakeable self-belief that only God-given Talent provides. That’s why I can’t take you or your silly movie seriously. It’s just the latest in a long line of look-at-me projects designed to propel you into the limelight. Pass the parmesan mill, would you...”

Kris passed the mill and snorted with laughter, explaining, “That’s what those teenage years are for, gramps, trial and error and making career choices. I’m going to be director. I’ve already made a successful documentary for a for a Film School assignment. In fact it won an award -- an award presented to me by Clint Eastwood who said I was an ‘outstanding young talent with a very bright future’... More pasta...?”

Malky looked up from his bolognese and grinned through a mouthful of meatballs. You tell him, boy.

Then, after a few seconds’ pause came the poisonous riposte aimed squarely below the belt: “Your mother made a documentary too, didn’t she? What was it called, now...? Oh yes, Annie Bell Does Bel Air! I’m pretty sure it was a documentary, it looked real enough...?”

Ouch. Malky’s grin vanished. He’d heard about Kris’ mother’s fall from grace and it was quite an unsavoury story. What a bastard! Quare Geg my arse. If I was 8-years-old sitting in the pictures laughing my head off and you told me I’d be sitting at the great man’s table 40-odd years later hating him with every fibre of my being, I’d’ve said you were mad. And yet, here I am, trying to decide what kind of murder would cause him the most pain...

This thought failed to reach Broo’s brain. He lay in a darkened corner –- as far away as he could get from the grandson -- ate his liver and kidneys and did his best to ignore the noise pollution at the other end of the room. The grandson had insisted on candlelight: “this house wasn't built with electricity in mind, dudes!” and the magnolian-gloom of the candelabras undulated with each ripple of the flames, making the chandeliers glisten like stars in the darkness high above the table, giving everything a dream-like quality. But aside from the boy’s debilitating aura and the all-too-human tension created by Laphen’s incessant needling, there was no real atmosphere here. They’d seen most of the house by now, and it was the same no matter where they went: nothing. Every noise was explicable; every shadow accounted for; the ambiance static and uncommonly hollow.

“Everythin’ all right, Mr Calvert?” asked Herbie, rousing Malky from his daydream.

“This is the best bolognese sauce I’ve ever tasted!” said Malky, with a what-the-hell-am-I-doing here look.

“Fanks very much, Mr Calvert. It’s jas somefink I rassle-ap in an ‘urry,” said the big man, shaking his head, with a what-can-you-do-it’s-always-like-this-shrug of his shoulders. Clad in a sober charcoal two-piece suit and regimental tie, Herbie maintained a dignified silence despite of the slew of bile coming from the top of the table. Occasionally though, Malky glimpsed little cracks in the façade; he’d roll his eyes skyward or shake his head slightly when something particularly hurtful was said, but by-and-large, he was inscrutable. Poor sod. Malky was well aware that Laphen’s jibes were meant for the old retainer as much as the boy: every time Ollie takes a shot at Kris, it’s Herbie who takes the bullet.

Laphen’s tirade went on, “... Is it any wonder your mother turned out to be such a dead loss when she wuz reared by a woman the tabloids dubbed ‘The Worst Mother in Hollywood’?! Stupid bloody Danish cow. No, sorry, that’s an insult to cattle –- they nurture their calves -- they don’t let them play beside unsupervised swimming pools. Shoes, now. She knows about shoes. Beyond that, she has the IQ of a dog turd.”

Kris came straight back and trilled, “Grandma? Grandma is so-oo happy these days. She’s busy with her charities, she’s in love with a younger man who thinks the world of her and, you-know-what?” he turned and winked at Herbie, “he never beats-on-her, or locks her in her room, or throws her clothes out of the window...”

“I wish I’d thrown her out of the window,” grumbled Laphen.

“Didn't you throw No.3 out of a window?”

“That was No.4. And it wasn't a window, it was a moving car.”

“I stand corrected.”

“Funnily enough, so does she.”

Malky yawned noisily. Herbie continued to stare into the middle distance.

“... So, your mother is still sober is she?” Laphen asked, feigning concern.

“Oh yes, you’ll be simply thrilled to learn your darling little Annelise is straight ‘n sober and of sound mind – she’s been running a woman’s shelter in the Valley for a couple of years now. We’re all very proud of her. She told me to pass on her regards...” he looked up as if trying to remember, “No, wait - her exact words were: ‘tell that vile old goat to hurry-up and die!’”

Malky had to stifle a laugh.

Laphen bristled, “Aye, well, you can tell that cheeky bitch she won’t get a brown penny from me when I do pop me clogs! I disinherited her when she was done for hooerin’! Anyway, sober or not – at heart she’ll always be a ditzy f**k up who bounces from one crisis to another with her knickers round her ankles!”

Herbie put down his cutlery, dabbed the corners of his mouth, cleared his throat and made sure they knew he was ready to step in. Malky gazed longingly at the decanter of brandy on the table, and for the first time in three years, entertained thoughts of jumping off the wagon and jumping into a refreshing pool of blissful oblivion... until Broo, intuitively aware of what Malky was thinking, let out a little growl to say knock it off!

Kris watched the old man pour another glass and asked in an earnest tone, “How many bottles have you had today, gramps?”

“F**k off,” grunted Laphen. “I’m very rich, very successful, I’ve worked very hard all my life and I’ve earned the right to do whatever-the-f**k-I-like.”

“Even if it kills you?” Kris replied; then after a split-second’s thought, he retracted, “Waitaminnit - open another bottle! Go on - drink up! I’ll get another case from the cellar!”

Laphen sipped his drink, sucked on his cheroot and snickered defiantly.

Suddenly, Kris turned to his right and asked in a haughty voice laced with suspicion, “Forgive me for asking, Mr Calvert, but what exactly is it you do?”

Broo snorted, Oh, this’ll be good. What do you do, Malcolm?

Malky didn’t have time to reply – Laphen was in like a shot, “I told you! He’s a plumber! He’s here to mend the boiler, OK?! Leave him alone.”

Kris winked at Malky, turned back to Laphen and said, “... and since when does the Mighty Oliver Laphen invite humble tradesmen - and their dogs - to join him for dinner? I mean, you make your lawyers eat in the kitchen with the staff -- so what gives?!” He turned back to Malky and spoke in his normal, friendly voice, “I don’t wish to cause offence to you or your dog, Mr Calvert, but when it comes to the hoi polloi -- and their pets -- my grandfather isn't known for his hospitality...?”

Again, before Malky could reply, Laphen sat forward, snapped his fingers repeatedly and took back the conversation, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Nevermind him -- tell me, boy -- who’s this backer ye’ve got? Who’s the eejit daft enough to invest their cash in yer silly wee horror picture?” He smiled smugly and winked at Malky as if to say – wait til you hear this!

Again, Malky was about to say something when Kris took the words right out of his mouth, “Oh, stop acting like a total asshole, Ollie, you’re not funny.” And yet, despite this spirited response, Malky noticed the boy flinch when the movie was mentioned. And so had Laphen. He laughed, threw back his head, blew a smoke-ring into the air and let it drift above his head like a wispy-white halo, “Asshole or not, I didn’t get to sit in the big chair without bein’ thorough. So c’mon now, who’s your Generous Benefactor?”

Putting his elbows on the table and hunching his shoulders, Kris sipped his water, looked down at his empty plate and said “I’ll tell you when you’re sober.”

Alas, the old man was intent; he sat forward in his seat, put his elbows on the table, rested his chin on his hands and enquired in faux-earnest voice, “Och, c’mon laddie, If you want to film here you’ll have to tell me sometime.” He turned and informed his faithful retainer, “See Herbie, he wants my permission to bring a feckin film-crew through here! He wants me to let a bunch of arse-scratchin’ techies to tramp on my polished floors in their hobnail boots, stub their fags out on my Persian rugs and knock lumps outta my Queen Anne furniture with their equipment –- not to mention drivin’ their trucks and trailers all over my award-winning lawns!!”

Herbie continued to stare ahead.

Kris, sounding a wee bit stressed, assured him, “The crew will be very discreet and I will take personal responsibility for any...”

“So, who’s the backer?”

Kris looked him in the eye, “Are you going to let us to film here?”

“We’ll see. Depends who I’m dealing with,” said Laphen, taking a long drag on his cigar, looking very pleased with himself that he had Kris on the back foot. “So tell me, who is it?”

After a long pause and a drink of water, Kris answered in a weak voice, “Guy Gosling...”

“Guy Gosling?! The silly twat who pissed himself on live TV?!” Laphen cried, banging both fists on the table and bouncing on his cushion like a tickled imp, “You’re f**king shittin’ me!”

The boy’s voice cracked as he yelled back, “See – I knew how you’d react! You’re such a predictable old shit, Ollie!”

“He’s using’ you to revive his career! No wonder he agreed to it -- nobody with any sense will touch him!”

Kris was losing it now, his freckled cheeks aflame, “You don’t know what you’re talking about - he’s still got a lotta respect in Hollywood!”

It didn’t matter what he said, Laphen was on a roll, “Let me see now...” he sat back, tilted his head and made a show of caressing his brow, as if trawling his memory for the appropriate anecdote. “Aye - that’s right, I made a movie with him 7 or 8 years ago. Some god-awful-big-budget-science-fiction-bollox where I played an intergalactic priest who gives him the Last Rites in the final scene. I was just there to add a bit of gravitas – 3 million for half-a-day’s work, I think it was...?” he looked to Herbie for confirmation.

Still staring into space, Herbie perfunctorily supplied the information, “A million a day for free days. And a cut of the box-office. And a car. Can’t ‘member which one. Maserati, I fink.”

“Hear that? 3 million and a classic sports-car to add to my collection, all for 3 days work,” Laphen turned to Malky, “it was only supposed to be one day but it became 3 when Gosling kept us all hanging around while he meticulously explored all the various ways he might kick-the-bucket! He was ditherin’-on about death-throes and whether or not he should close his eyes... By day three I just wanted throttle him: ‘DIE YOU F**ER!! DIE!!’ Cuz he’s one of those Method Actors, ain't he? I hate Method Actors.” He turned to Kris, “especially Method Actors who get famous overnight and keep you waiting on-set for hours -- then -- when they finally haul their skinny arses outta their trailer, they proceed to tell the director how to do his job!” Laphen paused then resumed in a more sober tone, “Well, what goes around comes around. He ain't got a friend in the industry now, no matter what you’ve heard.”

“He’s learned from his mistakes!” yelled Kris, desperately, “He’s committed to the project! It’s been 2 years since the pissing incident! He deserves a second chance!”

“He wants a comeback vehicle!” Laphen cried.

“The publicity will be good for us – it’ll create a buzz!”

“Aye - like flies round shite!” Laphen cracked. “Lissen, the knives are out for ‘im! The press will stitch-ye-up whether the movie is good or not! You shoulda went with a total unknown ye stupid wee shite, at least ye would've had half-a-chance!”

Herbie was watching them intently now. Broo shrank back when he saw the aura around the boy surge and almost obscure him when he screamed “F**K YOU!” and banged his fist on the table.

It only made Laphen cackle louder.

At last, Herbie cleared his throat loudly and said, “Gentlemen, please.” That seemed to do the trick. They relented, backed down and grumbled into their drinks. There was a minute of silence until Kris once again turned his attention to their guest. Nodding toward Brooster sitting in the corner, he enquired, “Does your dog usually accompany you when you mend a boiler, Mr Calvert?”

Again, before Malky could answer, Laphen’s shit-eating grin disappeared, “I told you to leave him alone!” he snapped, “it’s none of yer business!”

“Did I miss a meeting?” Kris asked Herbie, “a plumber with a three-legged dog? Doesn't this seem kinda weird to you...?”

That’s it. Malky slammed down his cutlery, stood up and gave out, “Right! I’ve had enough o’ this shite – we’re outta here!”

Herbie reached out, “Wait Mr Calvert, please...”

But Malky was resolute, “Sorry Herbie, but this isn't on! When I agreed to come here I didn’t expect to have to listen quietly while this pissed-up oul’ fart abuses his grandkid!” He took the cheque from his back pocket and slapped it down on the table, “Ye can keep yer money, Mr Laphen! Enjoy what’s left of your life!”

“Sit down, Mr Calvert!” yelled Laphen.

Malky expressed himself by presenting his middle finger as he walked to the door, “C’mon Broo. We’re leavin’.”

“I’ll double your fee!” Laphen shouted, pointing at the cheque on the table.

Malky stopped and sniggered derisively, “You can’t buy me! This isn't worth the aggravation!” Shite. I hope Zindy’ll understand...

Befuddled, Kris’ head swivelled from side-to-side as he looked from one to the other, “Whaddya mean: ’You’ll double his fee’? What’s going on here? Plumbers are a dime a dozen... What is he, some kinda super-plumber...?”

“I AM NOTA F**KING PLUMBER!” yelled Malky, shaking his fists.

Suddenly, Brooster barked loudly: QUIET!!

The fracas abruptly ceased. The men turned to see the old dog growling in the corner, eyes glistening like sparkling orbs in the shadows.

“What’s the m-matter with ‘im?” Laphen stammered in a shaky voice, as he looked up into the darkness. “Does h-he s-see s-somethin’...?”

Malky put a finger to his lips, “Shhh! He hears somethin’.”

“What the hell is going on here, people?!” shouted Kris.

“Shut up and lissen!” Laphen hissed.

Ears pricked, eyes wide, paying no attention to the rest of the room, Broo hobbled around in a circle looking upward, straining to hear. The voices were confused and shrill, like children arguing... only this time they weren’t in his head; the sounds were audible, not telepathic.

“Hear that?!” whispered Malky.

Herbie heard it too, “It sounds like kids... kids shrieking...?”

Kris cocked an ear for a moment, then murmured, “Hey... yeah!”

Laphen stared at the ceiling, “It-it’s comin’ from the room above... The t-Trophy Room...” he croaked, the rim of his glass clicking against his dentures.

Herbie took out his walkie-talkie and summoned security.

...

... at that very moment (18:50 EST), approximately 3400 miles away, at a gas station on the outskirts of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: What is that smell? Emil’s eyes were stinging and streaming.

A youthful voice called-out, “Sir! Hey - whoa! Excuse me – sir – c’mon, man, what’re you doin’?”

Then, in a moment of clarity, his senses emerged from the murky darkness of his trance. He froze. Where am I? His head remained steady as his eyes swivelled left and right. It was daylight. He looked around: pumps, bags of charcoal, bundles of sticks, Pepsi machine..? A gas station?! A teenage clerk in an Exxon overall was approaching on his left, waving his hands emphatically, “Hey, hey, hey, man -- stop squeezin’ the trigger, man, puh-lease - you’re creating a super-crazy-dangerous situation here, dude...”

“Wha --” Emil’s eyes looked down.

Christ, you gotta be f**king kidding me...

He was still dressed in his bedtime attire; still going through the motions at the behest of an interior puppeteer – but, more terrifyingly – the Volvo’s tank was so full the gasoline was splashing-out over his sandals, forming a large puddle around his feet. The clerk made a grab for the pump gun, “Sir – gimme that, puh-leeeese!”

Emil felt the thing within him surge and take control again -- his hand relaxed and relinquished the grip on the trigger as his outer-voice said, “Sorry. Needed to fill ‘er up, kid... Got lost in my thoughts for a minute...”

The young clerk (now at his wit’s end) tiptoed over the puddle of petrol, took the gun back on the pump and whinged, “You gotta be more careful, mister! I’ll have to wash-it-all-down now! Jeez-us H... this is, like, totally bogus, dude! I mean it’s f**king Sunday -– it’s supposed to be the day of rest...”

Just then -- Emil felt the power ebb again – for some reason the puppeteer’s grip slackened -- he concentrated with every fibre of his being -- his hands shot up, grabbed the boy by the collar and pinned him to the side of the car, his real voice yelling haltingly into the boy’s face: “WHERE... AM... I?!”

Now scared out of his wits, the hapless clerk couldn't supply a coherent reply, “Hey man, easy -- ch-chill...don’t lose it, yeah?!”

Emil tightened his grip and almost screamed in the boys face, “Listen, kid – report me! Call the cops! I’m sick! I’m dangerous! They need to stop me before I go too far...!”

Alas, the words were no sooner out of his mouth when the fleeting bout of sentience ebbed and that goddawful taste filled his mouth. His hands let go of the clerk’s collar, stood back, dusted him down and said in a calm, clear voice, “Just kidding.” He reached into his dressing-gown pocket and took out his buckskin wallet, “Do you take American Express...?”

...

Meanwhile, back in Pagham House: There was a crackling sound: “*What’s your position Herb, over.*”

Herbie whispered into the walkie-talkie, “... we’re on the landing in the west wing - the intruder-stroke-intruders are in the Trophy Room; repeat, intruder-stroke-intruders are in the 1st floor Trophy Room, over.”

“*Copy. On our way. Over.*”

But Herbie didn’t want to wait. He slowly opened the door and turned on the lights. There were a series of rapid flashes as the ‘Trophy Room’ was lit to reveal yet another museum exhibit, this time devoted to the numerous awards, honorary doctorates and keys to the city Laphen had accrued over the years. The man himself crept across the threshold brandishing a baseball bat, “If there’s somebody there – I swear I’ll feckin kill ye! I’ll take yer feckin’ head off, I will! C’mon out!” Herbie took him by the shoulders and told him to keep back.

The squeaky voices continued to gabble and shriek; due to the room’s natural echo, it was hard to tell where they were coming from. Malky was intrigued, but unafraid; judging by the old dog’s subdued reaction, he knew that it was nothing to worry about. Behind them, Kris continued to express his confusion, “Somebody please tell me what’s going on...?”

Brooster left them standing at the door and made for a large glass case containing various silver statuettes in the far corner. He barked twice. Herbie and Malky approached to find what turned out to be an upturned fire-bucket; the screeches were coming from inside.“What the hell...?” said Herbie. He bent down and lifted the bucket – the voices instantly got louder. Malky looked over the big chauffeur’s shoulder and saw a cassette recorder lying face-down on the floor. “It’s a bloody tape!” Herbie exclaimed, angrily, “We've been ‘ad!”

Laphen, still shaking with fear, still brandishing the baseball bat, joined them and gaped at the offending object, “What the...” Herbie picked it up and pressed the stop button. The room fell deathly silent for a few seconds, and then the old man gasped, “Who would...” He stopped when he heard laughter behind him. They turned to see Kris, back against the doorjamb, clutching his sides in a fit of the giggles, “You should see your face, Gramps!”

Laphen was agape, “You... you set this up...?”

“... You were so spooked!!” sniggered Kris.

They heard boots on the stairs; Herbie heaved a loud, world-weary-sigh and raised the walkie-talkie to his lips, “Stand-down, stand-down, false alarm, repeat, false alarm! Over.” The communication was punctuated by a collective groan of disappointment from the hall.

Kris was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “I GOTCHA! Ah gotcha you goo-ood!”

The Quare Geg failed to see the funny side: “Y’ wee BASTARD!!” Laphen lashed out at Kris, swung the bat and missed – Herbie grabbed the waistband of his shorts, pulled him backward -- then, just like a slapstick gag from one of his movies -- Ollie spun like a dervish on the stretched elastic, his little-bare-legs kicking-out until one of his flip-flops flew off and toppled an ornate vase -- the baseball bat hitting a display case and shattering the glass. “Lemme at him! I’LL F**KING’ KILL ‘IM! JUST YOU W --”

He suddenly seized up, the bat fell from his hands and clattered on the parquet; he fell back into Herbie’s arms, his eyes popping out of his head, the air escaping his lungs like a slowly deflating balloon.

Kris chuckled, “Awww, c’mon gramps, you can do way better than that...”

Malky went to help; Herbie’s face was a picture of helpless-consternation, “’E can’t breeve! I think ‘e might be ‘avin’ an ‘eart-attack!!” They took him to an antique chaise-lounge beside a huge Native American totem pole on the other side of the room. “He’s hyperventilating! Get a paper bag!” cried Malky.

“He’s faking, dudes!” said Kris, exasperated, no longer laughing.

Without saying anything, Herbie pushed him out of the way and ran out of the room. Kris shouted after him, “He’s faking, Uncle Herb?!! He’s acting!”

Unconcerned, Broo sauntered over to the corner and had a lie down. Oh, a minute ago you were all for strangling him – now you want to save his life. Human beings, I don’t know...

Malky used the first-aid he learned during his time in the police, “Easy, Ollie, take it easy... take deep, deep breaths and fill your lungs, hold for a count of 5, then exhale slowly through yer nose...” Laphen’s eyes were wet and fearful, he was shaking like a leaf, but he tried his best to do what was asked of him.

Broo yawned: He’ll live: the heartbeat is strong for a man of his years, no murmurs. He’ll live.

Herbie arrived back with a plastic carrier bag, “Will this do?!”

Malky took the bag from him, twisted the neck to create a makeshift mask and put it over the old man’s nose and mouth, “This’ll make it easier – breathe-out into the bag, then breathe in...” his ministrations appeared to be having the desired effect; Laphen’s pulse was slowing, the colour was returning to his cheeks. Kris stopped pacing and grabbed Herbie’s arm, “See, he’s gonna be fine - he’s just tryin’ to get me back...!” Herbie took the boy by the shoulders and gave him a shake, “Kris, I ‘aven’t time fer no bollocks - this is fer real! Make y’self useful -– go to ‘is stahdy 'n call the doctor!”

“Rossington...” the old man hissed.

Herbie knelt and looked at him with a doubtful frown, “Surely you want yer physician, boss?”

Laphen glared and growled, “I want Rossington!”

Herbie looked up at Kris, “’E wants Rossington. There’s a button for ‘im on the phone on ‘is desk.”

“Rossington...?” Kris complained loudly, with a sour face. Herbie gave him a serious look and he reluctantly obeyed. As soon as he left the room, Laphen smiled, closed his eyes and passed out. Malky checked his pulse one last time and took the bag away. “He’s sleeping it off. It’ll be OK to move him. Is he on any medication for asthma or any other respiratory illnesses?”

“’E ain't asthmatic or nuthin’. Dr Rossington gives ‘im these ‘vitamin’ shots that perk ‘im up.”

“Why? What does Rossington specialise in?” asked Malky, as if he didn’t know.

“’E’s the boss’ shrink, ‘as been for years. ‘Aven’t you ‘eard of ‘im?”

Malky and Brooster knew exactly who Rossington was and what he did.

It’s a small world, isn't it...

2 days ago, 100 miles north in The Ivy House, Downpatrick:

Roused from his meditation by the roar of a revving engine, Jamie Jameson Lumb, the young master of the house and the new leader of the coven, arrived at the Oriel window at the end of the main landing just in time to glimpse a motorbike zoom down the drive on its way to the main gate. The rider was dressed in leathers and a black helmet, a sight that sent shiver down Jamie’s spine; even if the rider was a lot shorter than Barry McKee, it was still a discomfiting reminder of the events of 2 years before. Who the hell was that? Nobody was allowed in-or-out of the estate since McKee’s capture 2 years ago, but as far as Jamie was concerned, the danger hadn't passed. McKee had been in a coma for the past couple of years, but it was cold comfort: he could die at any moment and the demon would migrate to another host. Then there was the release of dark energy in Kildare following the exhumation of an ancient mage -- probably an ancient ‘Güül who dabbled in the dark arts -- and in spite of the fact that the local witches had declared the area reasonably safe, Jamie still sensed that the danger hadn't passed. Maybe it was the responsibility of his position; maybe being holed-up in the house for so long without any contact with the outside world had made him paranoid. Whatever the reason the rules had been broken, and there was only one person who could've invited the biker in: “Goz, you arsehole,” he muttered.

After searching most of the house, he eventually bumped into Fordham the footman who’d taken up the butling duties now that Oggy had gone down for a Big sleep. Fordham was carrying a Martini on a silver tray, “I suppose that’s for our guest?” Jamie asked. Fordham nodded and rolled his eyes, “he’s in the pool, sir.” Jamie took the tray from him, “Don’t worry, I’ll see he gets it.”

Guy ‘Goz’ Gosling was floating naked on a lilo in the indoor pool, reading a loosely bound sheaf of papers that looked suspiciously like a script. “Who was that?” Jamie called out, as he walked along the edge of the pool, his voice echoing around the tiles.

Goz answered matter-of-factly, without looking up from page, “A guy I met in LA, if you must know. A director. He wants me to star in a little horror film he’s making here in Ireland,” he said, cool as a cucumber, slowly turning in the water.

“Oh Yeah? And how did he get in?” asked Jamie, carelessly putting the tray down on the poolside table, irritated by his former band-mate’s blasé attitude and patronising tone. It was what he’d come to expect. Goz had been restless for some time, but up to now he’d been willing to live under the rules of the extended lockdown. “Nobody can come in unless you clear it with me or Oggy. I’m surprised that security opened the gate,” said Jamie, bristling.

“I told them he was an old friend. I told them I was expecting him,” said Goz, unaffected.

Jamie nodded knowingly, “You told them you’d cleared it with me, didn’t you?” he sneered.

“Well, I thought you were studying in the library or meditating in your room or something and I didn’t want to disturb you,” said Goz, blithely, still perusing the pages.

“For all you know he could be working for one of our enemies!” Jamie snapped, sounding a wee bit shrill.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, JJ,” chuckled Goz, talking as if consoling a difficult child, “I met him at a screening of a documentary he made a few years ago. I was very impressed. both by him and the film. He was only 21, full of vitality and enthusiasm. I told him to keep in touch, ‘maybe we might work together some day’. I didn’t get any bad vibes, not at all. He’s a like little red-headed puppy: eager to please.” He flipped another page and said, “Remember, I’ve been at this game a lot longer than you, JJ. I can spot a wrong-un a mile away.” This was Goz’s signature tune: he was never done reminding Jamie that except for his pedigree and nascent superior powers, he was still a novice.

Jamie ignored the comment and moved on, “What’s his name?”

Goz let out a heavy sigh, “Kris Katz. Believe it or not, he’s the grandson of that drunken old coot Oliver Laphen... the miserable little bastard... I made a movie with him a few years ago... f**king nightmare... Anyway, Kris called me from LA and told me he’d be in Ireland scouting for locations and if I was interested he’d deliver the script by hand...” Goz turned a page, “... and after perusing it, I’ve decided to take him up on the offer. I’ve even agreed to put some money behind it. A small independent movie is just the ticket to restart my acting career. I can’t afford to turn it down.”

“You know nothing about him. He could be in cahoots with the tabloids,” said Jamie crossing his arms and shaking his head, “worse -- he could've been sent here by the Washington coven to case the place and see what we’re up to!”

Goz finally looked up from the script and laughed, “Look, he’s harmless! And it’s not as if I’m leaving the country -- we’ll be making the movie here!”

Jamie shook his head, “Oggy needs to know about this. You’ll have to wait until he wakes and discuss it with him.”

Getting a little more animated, Goz splashed the water with his fist and shook his head emphatically, “Look -- Oggy is hibernating, he won’t wake for at least another year and we start shooting in the summer! And I’m not a f**king prisoner, remember?! I’ve stayed here voluntarily! But enough time has passed -- 2 years to be exact, and that’s a long time in show business. It’s been a great place to hide from the world until the outrage over that... situation -- a situation that you caused by-the-way -- died down. But I’m not hiding anymore.” He sighed, relaxed and went back to the script, “I’m doing this whether you -- or Oggy -- like it or not.”

“We’ll see...” Jamie muttered under his breath, and walked away.

...

2 days later at Pagham House: “... See, I saw a tabloid story about gramp’s suspected ‘poltergeist’ at the airport, so I thought I’d have a little fun with it,” Kris explained as they crossed the landing, “we used to do it all the time, y’know, tryin’ to out-punk each other; each stunt more vicious than the last, but we always made-it-up afterwards. I didn’t think he’d get in such a state...” He paused when they heard a distant buzzing sound outside, “Uh-huh, here comes the ‘good doctor’,” muttered Kris, gloomily. They walked to a porthole-shaped oriel window at the end of the landing and watched twin beams slice through the low lying clouds. The buzzing became a rumble as the doctor’s chopper hovered for a moment before descending and disappearing behind a row of billowing pines; a few seconds later, a slim, middle-aged man dressed in cricket-whites carrying a tastefully weathered Gladstone bag, ran along the path that bordered the tennis courts, across the car park and sprinted up the marble steps at the front of the house; a few seconds later he bounded up the stairs toward them – all without breaking his stride, breaking a sweat, or gasping for breath. He held out a hand, Malky straightened up and reached out to shake it, but much to his embarrassment, Rossington blanked him and went straight to Kris, “Kristof! What a pleasant surprise! Long-time-no-see-and-all-that!”

The tanned, manicured hand hung in the air, unshaken. Kris, desperately trying to express his disdain but too polite to be rude, hesitated before managing a feeble tug on his nemesis’ fingers. Rossington grasped the flaccid appendage and jerked it up-and-down with gusto, “Over for a little visit, eh? Having fun, are we?”

The boy looked at his hand as if it’d been spat on and said nothing.

“I hear you’ve literally been up to your old tricks again!” said the good doctor, tutting thrice and shaking his head.

Malky had seen the good doctor on TV, but never in the flesh. Nevertheless, he didn’t like what he’d seen, and after meeting the man in the flesh hadn't changed his opinion; what you saw was you got: the man was too smooth to be true. That’s an oddly non-specific ‘posh’ English accent, thought Malky: Cary Grant with a dash of Ray Milland; and although the tone was upbeat and cordial, each bon mot was primed with a jagged shard of spite. “You might look 15, my dear, but you’re a 22 year old adult now.”

“23.” Kris grunted.

“23! Even more reason to find a nice girl, settle down and do something worthwhile... You don’t want to end up like your mother, now, do you...?” He’d been stealing glances at Malky until he couldn't contain his curiosity a moment longer; he turned away from Kris and asked, “Sorry, but do I know you? You look vaguely familiar...?”

Malky was about to reply when Rossington cut-him-off, “NO–NO–NO, don’t tell me!!” he cried, putting a hand his brow and snapping his fingers as he scoured his memory, “I never forget a face -- I’ve written books on how not to forget a face! Now, where have I seen you before...?”

Herbie opened Laphen’s door and hissed, “Shhh!”

Rossington backed-up toward the door, staring at Malky’s face and racking his brains... “I know you... I do know you...” Before entering the room, he stopped trying to remember and whispered to Kris, “Oh, if I don’t see you later - give my regards to your mother, won’t you? It’s so gratifying to know she’s finally found her niche at long last.”

Crimson cheeked, bright blue-eyes narrowed to livid slits, the boy clenched his fists and muttered a litany of barely audible obscenities as the door closed. Malky was careful not to laugh: that’s the same expression the young Ollie Laffin used to pull after James Finlayson tanned his backside: hurt and angry, but ultimately sad. What happened to that wee guy?

The boy took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice down, “...as you can probably tell, I cannot stand Rossington. He’s like... anathema to me. He’s like Kris-kryptonite in Gucci, dude!” What followed sounded like he’d researched his subject with a detective’s eye for detail. “He’s the self-proclaimed ‘Shrink to the Stars!’ - You mighta seen him on TV. He heads-up an institute for psychos... umm... what’s it called...? ”

“SCICI,” said Malky, “St Cedric’s Institute for the Criminally Insane.”

Kris nodded emphatically, “Yeah, that’s right! It’s like puttin’ a cobra in charge of a nest of vipers!”

The door opened. Herbie looked out, scowled and shook his head. Kris lowered his voice to a whisper, “The truth is he’s Jimmy Ross from New Jersey, a former male-model and wannabe actor who went to night school, got a degree in psychiatry and reinvented himself as the suave, debonair Dr James Rossington we know and loathe today.”

The pair retired to a pair of Queen Anne armchairs in an arched recess adjacent to Laphen’s bedroom door. Broo kept well back and listened from a distance. “In the summer of ‘70 when I was like 2 years old, my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen – scored some smack from a dude in downtown LA and left me strapped in a car-seat outside a motel in the middle of a heatwave – I was almost poached, dudes – by some miracle somebody saw me and called the cops and they broke in. They went up to the motel-room and found mom had OD-ed – her third in as many years. My dad was serving year-2 of a 15-year prison sentence for fraud, Grandma was outta town and outta her mind on booze ‘n’ ‘ludes, so they called Gramps who went totally postal and flew back from Rome to sort things out. He was desperate to get mom help, for my sake as much as hers, so he put the word around that he’d do anything to get her straight. Someone gave him Rossington’s card. See, Jimmy’d devised a method of reprogramming drug addicts with an uncompromisingly tough regime: torture and mind control, basically – but with some New Age horseshit thrown in to make it look progressive. The literature was all this, like, flowery bullshit about ‘rebirth’ etc, but the kids were treated like laboratory rats -- two guys died and a girl committed suicide, that’s not taking into account the mental scars of those who actually made it through.” Kris sighed, “Anyway, he promised gramps he would have mom detoxed and straightened-out within 6 months, so Ollie cut him a cheque.”

“And did Rossington’s treatment work?” asked Malky.

“Oh yeah. 6 months later, just as promised, there’s Annelise Katz, clean and sober, made-over, looking hale and healthy and weeping to Barbara Walters about her drugs hell and her ‘resurrection’, hailing Gentleman Jim as her Personal Saviour! She relapsed 18 months later, mind you, but it was good while it lasted.”

“Where was Ollie when all this wuz goin’ on?”

The boy became melancholy, his tone heavy with ennui, “He was on a world tour with his one-man-show for most of it, but he’d given up on mom when she relapsed. Rossington told him she was incurable and the only course of action was left open to him was to cut all her finances and hopefully the desolation would drive her to do something about it herself. It did. It drove her to prostitution. So gramps washed his hands of her – I was all that mattered now. He got temporary custody of me.

“Anyhow, in the 80s Rossington’s rich and famous, but he yearns for something money can’t buy: a Serious Reputation. See, Jimmy wants Nobel Prizes not Daytime Emmys! He wants to be fêted by The Elite – i.e. the very people who call him a charlatan and a con man. He was a bit of a joke, so when gramps moved here permanently in ‘82, Jimmy tagged along, all-the-while plotting his next move. He met up with an old colleague who worked at St Cedric’s mental hospital in Dublin which specialised in cases involving extreme cases of aberrant behaviour and violence. Jimmy saw an opportunity: he wanted to turn St Cedric’s into an institute specialising in the psychology of the criminally insane -- a hi-tech facility where patients would be analysed by a team of crack academics from all over the world with the research going towards ‘a better understanding of psychopathic behaviour’ -- and sell a lot of books. so gramps called-in a few favours and made it happen. Jimmy’s all set! Unfortunately, the location sucks – Ireland -- a country known for its blood thirsty violence is, relatively speaking, serial-killer-free, so he has to import his cases from abroad. Do you know there are serial killers, rapists, child molesters, cannibals from all over the world passing through that place?”

“Aye, I’ve heard all about all about it,” said Malky, “In fact, didn’t your mate Gosling check-in there after that ‘incident’?”

“Yeah, like I said, ‘Shrink to the Stars’...” Then he took a deep breath, looked down and shamefacedly admitted, “Look... I know who you are, Mr Calvert. I know what you’ve been through ‘n I know what you do, but I was so intent on getting one over on the old man, I held back. I’m sorry. It’s like we met under false pretences and I wanna clear the air.”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Malky, grumpily. He was beginning to like the boy and now he felt slightly betrayed. Because if he lied so easily, who knows what he was capable of? Malky looked the boy in the eye and asked, “I have to ask you this, Kris: do you have anything to do with what’s been goin’ on in this house?”

Kris put up his hands and vehemently protested his innocence, “Hey now -- the first time I knew anything about this business was a coupla days ago when I saw that report in The Enquirer!!”

“... I mean, you make horror movies,” Malky asserted, “ye’ve got access to allsortsa props and special effects ‘n that. For all I know you ‘n Herbie -– maybe even Rossington -– could be in cahoots to put poor ol’ Oliver round the twist!”

Good God, I was wondering when you’d say that... Broo grumbled.

Just then, the door to Laphen’s room opened and Herbie emerged to give them the latest, “’is vitals is lookin’ good, blahd presha’s OK, no permanent damage, thank gawd...” Herbie clipped the boy around the ear, “You wuz lacky this time, boy! I ‘ope you take this as a lesson! No mowah practical jokes!”

...

Precisely 3 minutes ago (18:47 EST), approximately 3200 miles away, in a roadside ditch on the outskirts of Harrisburg, PA: Emil eyes slowly opened and he found himself staring into a silvery mosaic of inert smithereens. It didn’t take him long to realise he was gazing into a smashed windscreen. I’m still in the Volvo. But his head was squashed against the compressed ceiling -- the car was upside down! He tried to move -- that’s when a blazing pain ran through his entire body. If he could catch his breath he’d scream.

He heard crackling radios and excitable male voices: “Hey! He moved! He’s alive!” “Hey! Guys! He’s alive!” “He’s alive?” “For real? Shit!”

Then an older voice shouted, “We can’t wait for the ambulance!! There’s full tank of gasoline leakin’ into the grass! We gotta move him now!” Emil moved his eyes to the right and saw a fresh faced young fireman kneeling on the long grass, ear close to the ground, helmet off, talking through the upside-down passenger-side window, “I can see you’s in a lotta pain, sir, but we have a very volatile situation here... so keep still, don’t try to move, OK? I’ll be right back!”

Oh, I’ll keep still, kid... cos if I as much as blink it’ll hurt like hell, and I’d rather die than feel that pain again, so please, please don’t move me...

The excruciating pain seemed to radiate from below his waist -- his legs were splayed and trapped between the steering-wheel and the driver’s seat, his torso was between the seats, in a very awkward and painful position. His left arm was trapped beneath him, his right jammed under the buckled steering column. Oh God, the pain... bring back the darkness... bring back the numbness... Then he felt a hand under his armpit, another groping under him looking for the other other armpit, another took hold of his ankles... the pain was unbearable. An older man’s voice purred close to his ear, “Easy... easy there, sir, I got you...”

No! If you try to pull me out I’ll come apart like scarecrow... the pain, the pain... I’m begging you...

The soothing voice in his ear implored him, “Brace you-self, suh, we gonna do our best to get ya outta there as quick as possible...”

An impatient voice yapped, “C’mon, let’s go, guys, let’s do dis ‘n get the hell outta here!”

Emil felt arms around his midriff. Oh no. Oh God no...

Christ...

“I got ‘im! You got ‘im?”

Kill

“I got ‘im.”

“OK. After 3, swing ‘im out.”

now!!

“One... Two... and Three -”

AAAAAAHHHHH!!!

He was hauled from behind and twisted from below – then his body began to move backwards – something was stopping him: “the handbrake is stuck up his ass– we gotta lift him offa it!” The humiliation, the pain, the utter helplessness.... Somehow they repositioned him and hoisted him up again -- his left hip nudging-in the cigarette lighter – again the pain flared to an unbearable degree as he began to move backwards through the passenger-side window – simultaneously, he heard the tibia in his left leg make a crunching sound as it was unceremoniously yanked from under the steering-wheel... the pain became unbearable... then, at last, the shock kicked in... the pain became cold insensibility... he was being put onto a stretcher; he saw faces looking down, fuzzy unfocussed faces... a few seconds later he heard the young fireman’s voice call out, “Hey, his papers are all over the inside of the car... his passport – everything!!” Emil heard one of the men carrying him yell, “DONNY – get the f**k outta there now!!”

That’s when the cigarette-lighter popped on the dash.

There was a huge fireball – Emil and his rescuers were thrown clear, but the young fireman wasn't so lucky. Emil’s rescuers abandoned him on the bank and went to the aid of their fallen comrade lying on the smouldering gorse, fully conscious, screaming, his body ablaze...

Then Emil got that familiar feeling of dread infest his bones, that familiar, bitter taste in his mouth, that acrid stench in his nostrils.... Somewhere in his head a little girl’s voice -- presumably the voice of his interior puppeteer -- spoke huffily: <Well, you’re damaged goods now, Emil – you’re no use to me at all. You’re gonna be confined to bed for a long time. I just hope every second of every day is as painful as this,> Emil screamed as a shock of pain tore through his pelvis. He began to lose consciousness, but managed a defiant smile before a much different, more welcoming, darkness descended.

While Herbie waited for Rossington to finish, Kris volunteered to act as tour-guide and escort Brooster and Malky around the East Wing, the only area of the house they hadn't visited yet. “It’s the creepiest part! And it’s just gone midnight, dudes - this’ll be a gas!”

Broo whimpered, yippee, we get to listen to this idiot for the next 3 hours...

Before they embarked on their quest, Herbie had to fetch the keys from the safe in the study. As he handed them over, he had a ‘little word in Kris’ ‘shell-like’. There was a lot of finger wagging from the big man and a lot of shy nods from Kris. Despite his card being marked, their guide returned as ebullient as ever, “We’ll take the scenic route through the hidden passageway to the old chapel! It’s really cool!”

“Hidden passageway?” asked Malky, intrigued.

“Oh yeah – the old Duke and his disciples had to prepare for every eventuality! The place is riddled with ‘em!”

Kris chittered incessantly about the salacious activities of the 8th Duke of Roxborough -- the same story Malky heard from Herbie -- as he led them through the shadowy hallways of the East Wing. Eventually, “Here we are!” he announced brightly. He opened a hidden door in the panelling of a long, narrow corridor, revealing a dark passage way. He stooped, made an ugly face and raised the candelabra, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here... ” he said in a croaky voice “Follow me... if ye dare!” Malky, stooped and squeezed through the little hatch. Kris noticed the old dog dragging his feet, “C’mon Broostie,” he trilled, slapping his thigh and beckoning him hither.

If he calls me Broostie again, I’ll sink my teeth into his testes and hang on until he passes out, aura or no aura.

Almost crawling, they made their way along the low ceilinged tunnel for a hundred yards or so until they arrived at another door. “Here it is!” Kris whispered, turning a key in the lock. They squeezed through and found themselves on a small balcony overlooking what appeared to be the interior of a Christian church. Kris held the candelabra high above his head and led the way down a cast-iron spiral staircase, “Nowadays this is referred to as the chapel cos it looks like a chapel -- but it ain't no chapel -- no siree!”

Malky readily descended the wrought-iron steps, but Broo held back and observed from above. Kris wasn't talking now, he was leaning on a marble pillar in the nave, watching Malky look around with a big soppy grin on his face, like a hider watching a seeker get warm then cold, then warm...warmer...

Malky had been admiring what he assumed was uniform religious statuary in the alcoves, when it suddenly struck him that the busts and figurines were somewhat less than holy, “this-here is Pagan stuff made to look Christian,” he cried, “It’s all fawns, demons ‘n naked nymphs!!”

Kris was elated, “Right! Keep looking, dude!”

Malky borrowed the candelabra and held it aloft so that it illuminated the stone carvings atop the marble pillars; at first glance it looked like your standard host of cherubim and seraphim, however, closer inspection revealed it to be a representation of a horde of little winged sprites and faeries; the painted altarpiece wasn't a depiction of the Immaculate Conception, but an intricate painting of a strange naked Lady-of-the-lake type emerging from a swamp carrying the body of a dead child; the figure depicted in the stained glass window above the narthex wasn't Jehovah in his heavenly kingdom, rather a white-bearded, horned & tailed, cloven-hoofed Satan reclining on a throne made of human skulls.

“I wasn't expecting this at all...?” muttered Malky, fascinated and unsettled. He looked up at the old dog watching from above and wondered if he sensed anything untoward, but by the looks of him there was still no cause for alarm.

Kris looked left and right and lowered his voice, “Erm, to be frank, the film I’m making is based on the true story of Roxborough’s life. I’ve had to change the names and locations, but it’s loosely based on actual events, most of which I’ve hadda tone-down to get an R certificate! I have to be discrete, y’know, The Roxborough family are still a big noise in English society and they don’t like to be reminded of their lurid family history. They’d sue the ass-off-me if they thought I was exploiting the legend.”

They went through another door at the rear of the ‘chapel’ and entered a corridor lined by a row of white doors; Kris unlocked them one by one, “These were Thaddeus’ ‘private’ rooms’ where he indulged in his little perversions. But by the time gramps bought the house, the Roxboroughs had removed anything ‘incriminating’,” he said, looking a little disappointed. “Gramps stores his antiques in here now, y’know, stuff he’s bought on the spur of the moment, or gifts he’s received from different countries over the last 70 years: lots of ugly vases, objets-d’art ‘n shit that’re too big to have in the house.” The ‘White Rooms’ were now crammed with shrouded lumps of varying shapes and sizes. Broo kept back and waited until Malky and Kris moved onto the next door before inspecting the last. He sniffed around and checked under the sheets, but the evil deeds alleged to have been perpetrated here had left no trace; each room was the same: devoid of any spiritual presence or echoes of the past.

Just as Kris locked up and made to turn back, Malky noticed a wooden staircase up ahead, “Where does that lead to?” he asked.

Kris frowned, “Oh, the old infirmary.” He made a face, “Haven’t you seen it yet? The front door is on the outside of the house.”

“It was locked and Herbie didn’t have the key,” Malky replied, wondering why the boy seemed so uncomfortable.

Reluctantly climbing the stairs, Jamie filled them in on the infirmary’s history, “It was converted during Victorian times.The 10th Duke was wounded in some African war and set it up so he and his officer pals could convalesce in the luxury he was accustomed to. Nowadays, the villagers use it as a sick bay. They don’t believe in modern medicine for the most part, but when one of them gets really sick or injured they’ll bring them here and call a proper doctor.” He stopped at the little door and shivered, “Dude, I hate hospitals to the point of nausea. I don’t really wanna go in there unless it’s absolutely necessary. “

Broo looked at Malky. This time Malky didn’t need telepathy to guess what the old dog was thinking. “Aye, we’d really like to have a look. Would you mind?”

Kris sighed, produced the key and reluctantly unlocked the door. When it opened and a poof of fusty air escaped, he recoiled and held his nose, “yeeesh – I hate that smell, dudes...”

It was just as Malky had pictured it: a large, bare room with a dozen cots, six either side; the top of the room was dominated by two ancient cast-iron radiators under the shuttered windows; the pipes along the wall behind the beds were green with corrosion. There was a treatment room at the back stocked with basic medical supplies, the high shelves lined with large, empty specimen jars. Broo smelled formaldehyde and wondered what was once kept in those jars. But creepy jars aside, as far as Broo was concerned, like everywhere else, it was psychically barren.

“Anything?” asked Kris, looking from Malky to the old dog.

“Nope. If there was, he wouldn't be long in lettin’ us know.”

Kris was very impressed, if a little disappointed, “Oh, that’s good, I suppose... hey, what’s he doing now?” He’d noticed Broo pawing a door to the side of the last bed on the left.

I hear something -- and this time it’s not a tape recorder! My fur is standing on end! Open the bloody door!

“It’s the door of the bathroom,” said Kris, as he tried various keys in the lock. Once he’d found the right one, he turned the handle but the door wouldn't budge. “Gimme a hand, will ya, the wood must be swollen and sealed it shut.” Malky obliged and they pushed until the door let out a loud groan and swung inwards. Broo crept in and looked around. It felt quite damp compared to the rest of the secret rooms, which would explain the swollen door.

For some reason, he was drawn to a full-length cheval mirror adjacent to the bath. As he hobbled towards it, he saw that the image therein was something other than his own approaching reflection. In fact there was no reflection at all, it was more like looking into a long, tall, oval fish tank filled with murky water thick with web-like weeds, the strands of which formed a net; a net filled with the inert bodies of small children, like snagged marionettes in the cloudy depths of a stagnant pool...

At that very moment an antiquated bar of soap that’d been sitting on the edge of a shelf above the bath fell into the empty tub with a loud THUD! “What the hell was that?!” cried Kris, turning on the light – blinding brightness – the old dog reeled! He turned and barked loudly! “Oh Shit! Sorry!” Kris instinctively tugged the string and made it dark again. Of course, when Broo turned back, the image had vanished. He found himself looking into his own bewildered eyes twinkling in the dusty, smutty glass.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” said Malky.

“What do you think he saw?” asked Kris, rattled.

“Dunno,” said Malky, turning the light back on, “is there anythin’ special about this mirror? It looks a bit out of place, a bit grand for a hospital bathroom?”

“I have no idea... I’m never in here,” said Kris, looking genuinely confounded.

“... it looks as old as the house,” said Malky, examining the frame.

Shivering and shuffling his feet, Kris was getting impatient, “Erm... if that’s it, dudes, I’d really like to get the hell outta here...”

As they made their way back to the West Wing, they were distracted by the sound of chopping-rotors and twin beams shining through the huge, stained-glass windows as the doctor’s helicopter took off. They heard the front door close, the jingle of keys and then the steel-tipped heels of Herbie’s Oxford-brogues clicking as they crossed the main hall into the lobby. As the lights receded and the rotors buzzed-off into the distance, Kris thought for a moment and then said, “Y’know... there was something that happened when I was last here... but I’m not sure if it’s relevant.”

Now he tells us...

Malky shrugged, “Well, we’re at a loss, so anythin’ you can tell us would be better than chasin’ round this place like headless chickens.”

“I’d like to show you something,” said Kris, enigmatically, “but we’ll have to go to the old pavilion to see it.”

“Alright lads?” Herbie called, standing in the shadows of the lobby looking up, “The old man’s OK, fanks-be to you, Mr Calvert - it wuz a panic attack an’ you did all the right fings.”

“Oh, thank f**k,” said Kris, sighing with relief.

As they descended the staircase, Malky asked Herbie about the mirror in the infirmary bathroom. “The ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes, ‘ad it moved there coupla years ago,” he said, in a doubtful tone, “she was in the boss’ study late one night ‘n she said she seen a little lad watchin’ ‘er in that mirror. Screamed the house dahn. Scanlon ‘ad to give ‘er a slap to shut-her-up.”

In spite of the big chauffeur’s doubts, Broo was sure this information was significant -- it sounded eerily similar to what he’d just experienced -- but for now, he could nothing but keep it to himself and see how things developed.

“Is the power on in the pavilion?” Kris asked Herbie.

Herbie tutted, “Ach, c’mon Kris, my son, no matter what the old man says we don’t expectcha to sleep aht there tonight!”

“No,” Kris chuckled, “I wanna use the screening room to show Mr Calvert some video I shot last time I was here...”

They took a leisurely stroll through the grounds to the pavilion and Malky pretended to listen as Kris nattered away about film making. Broo continued to lag behind, too debilitated by the boy’s aura to take in his surroundings.The misty halo had become murkier the further they got from the house. Broo had to move back another 6 feet to keep out of range. When Kris asked about the old dog keeping his distance, Malky told him he was just slow: “past it” he said. Broo responded with a sharp bark. Bloody cheek. It was quite a mild night, there was no breeze, the moon was bright enough to illuminate the darker corners, but the complete silence was unnatural and unsettling. Even Kris commented on it: “... listen, you could hear a pin drop out here. It’s eerie, isn't it? Complete silence. Not even the hoot of an owl or a breeze to rustle the trees.” A moment later, as they made their way down to the walkway that ran alongside the croquet lawn, they heard the clump of boots coming in the opposite direction. It turned out to be Charlie Noble, the incumbent head of security, who informed them he’d just unlocked the pavilion and switched on the power. He asked after Laphen’s health and as Kris gave him the latest, Malky gave him the once-over. He was a stocky man of medium height with dreadful skin that made his face look like a bag of lumpy pastry. He had a northern accent – Antrim Town, to be exact -- and like Herbie, he was ex-army.

“I hear you had a bit of trouble on Friday night?” said Malky.

Charlie looked to the boy for guidance; Kris nodded, “It’s OK, he’s got Herbie’s permission.”

“You mean the night the big clock got pushed over? ‘A bit of trouble’ is about right, aye,” said Charlie, spinning a large key-ring on his index-finger like a six-shooter. “The boss was in a right state. He hit the panic button ‘n I raced up here as fast as I could -– but when I got to the door -- the swipe-card wouldnae work and the friggin’ master key wouldnae turn in the lock! I hadda climb in through a winda -- when I found ‘im he was under the stairs shakin’ like a leaf! ‘Poltergeist!’ says he, pointing at the big grandfather clock lyin’ in the hall! It’d fallen off the wall! A big thing like that! I wuz flummoxed.”

“What do you think of this fella Scanlon?” asked Malky, still suspicious that this might’ve been an inside job; i.e. a disgruntled ex-employee with access to the house, maybe.

“Scanlon...?” thrown by the question, Noble bowed his head, scratched it and said, “Well, Scanlon was one of me best mates – ex-RAF, all-round good egg, so-he-was...” Then, suddenly aware that he was in the presence of the boss’ grandson, changed his tone, giving the impression that he’d revised his opinion, “Then again... he was a like law onto himself, had the run of the place, thought he was indispensable. Took things for granted. He worked here long before Mr Laphen bought the place, see. But... stealing from the boss ‘n that. Big shock that was...” Looking uncomfortable in his skin, he looked at Kris with an expression that said ‘can I go now?’ They let him get back to his rounds and continued on their way.

Once Noble was out of earshot, “See?” whispered Kris, “nobody believes Scanlon is guilty.”

“Hmmm, that maybe,” said Malky, doubtfully,”but he’s still the prime suspect.”

After passing through another archway and following a well-lit path lined with neatly trimmed shrubbery, they eventually came upon a white building set back behind a little copse approximately 200 yards from the house. From the outside, it looked more like a large clapboard house than a sports pavilion. Malky asked why all the windows were blocked-off. “To keep out the light. Gramps had it converted into a little cinema so he could screen movies,” said Kris, unlocking the door. “He got prints of all his old comedy shorts and he shows them to visitors.” He turned on the lights, “Wait til you see inside, it’s a feast for the eyes!”

They emerged from the vestibule and stepped into art-deco-heaven. It was just like a miniature version of the Picture-Palaces built during The Depression era that Malky had visited as a child: welcoming, sumptuous and tastefully plush. Emerald green deep-pile carpets, and huge, signed prints of silent movie stars’ publicity pictures lining the walls (Louise Brooks, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Chaplin, Keaton and, of course, the man himself – technically not a silent star - but whose comic oeuvre owed so much the pioneering comedians of that era), furnished with armchairs a pair of white leather Hoffman Kubus sofas facing each other in a b/w 20s-style cocktail bar/café. After a quick tour, Kris took them through a projection-booth into a back-room filled with various pieces of complicated-looking electronic apparatus connected by sheaves of multicoloured cables; the lower back wall was lined with racks of film canisters of varying shapes and sizes. Kris took a cassette from a rack of video tapes, brought it into the booth and pushed it into the player. “Gramps always made his own home-movies, so when video became popular he bought all of this state-of-the-art equipment – he has to have all the latest gizmos.”

While Kris worked in the projection booth, Malky went to the theatre and made himself comfortable. Brooster slunk under a chair in the far corner (15 feet away, but still within sight of the screen) and tried to stay awake.

“It’s a tape of the exhumation of the mummies,” Kris shouted from the projection booth, “I was in Dublin when it happened, so I drove back ASAP and fetched the video camera to shoot some footage.” The screen lit up and a bright blizzard of static flickered on Malky’s face; a few seconds later an image suddenly appeared. It was a shaky film of a woodland scene, presumably the woodland surrounding the bog; a few seconds later Kris’ recorded voice sounded in the theatre’s speakers:

“It’s Thursday July 20th 19-and-89, I’m at my grandfather’s house in Ireland in the marshlands on the outskirts of the estate, and I’m on my way to film a very significant ‘n strange event -- probably historic --”

What followed was a kind of home movie taken a day after the discovery of the mummies, accompanied by a typically breathless running commentary from Kris. It showed lots of people milling around the swamp; forensics people, gards, villagers and the press, had gathered to watch the bodies being removed. “I was staying here while Ollie ‘n Herb were in Japan,” Kris explained, talking over his voice-over as he joined Malky in the theatre, “I was writing the script at the time and I went to Dublin to do research when I heard about it. I was so hyped I hadda hightail back here to film it.”

When it came to close-ups of the experts, Malky recognised a few of the faces from news reports, but one in particular was more familiar than the others, “That’s Paddy Gilray, he’s a top forensics guy from Dublin. Big Phil Somerville 'n him are good friends. Dunno who the guy with ‘im is, though.”

“Emil something. I tried to talk to him afterwards, but he told me to f**k off,” said Kris, looking a wee bit hurt. “Somebody told me he’s another forensics guy from Canada. He flies over every summer and they do these archaeological digs.”

Just then, the voice-over took a strange turn; the commentary broke off mid-sentence and the sound of Kris vomiting filled the room; the film suddenly stopped and Kris pointed at the blank screen, “When they moved the bodies there was this unholy stink like nothin’ I ever smelled before -- that’s why I threw up! I hadda stop filming and get the hell outta there!” He made a sour face, “It wasn't swamp gas – cuz I’ve smelled swamp gas – it was more like this thick, sickening miasma that made it hard to breathe, Ugggh!” he said, grimacing, “And it wasn't just me! Look, everybody is retching or puking -- even some the guys wearing surgical masks!” He used a remote to rewind the tape and freeze-framed a wide shot of the bog. He indicated a coterie of Bogmire residents standing on the opposite side, “Now look at the villagers -- they’re are fine with it, like they’re used to it. And that’s not all,,.” He sat forward, lowered his voice and spoke in a sombre tone, “There was, like, this strange kinda purple mist hanging over everything. You could see it as plain as day -- in fact most people commented on it -- but it doesn’t show up on the tape. And I checked the camera -- it’s not technical fault.” Kris shook his head, “Anyway, I couldn't get the stench out of my nostrils or the taste outta my mouth. It got into my clothes -- I dumped them as soon as I got back to the house -- but I could smell it for days after. In fact, I smelled it until I left...” He turned to Malky, “I swear to God, I smelled it when I walked into the house today. 2 years later and it’s still there. That’s 24 months and several gallons of Sparky’s wood-polish and gramps’ cigars -- and it’s still there!”

Malky shook his head, “I didn’t smell anythin’.”

“That’s what’s so weird, I’m the only one who does,” said Jamie, looking genuinely perplexed.

Broo knew the smell the boy as talking about. It was that faint, acrid odour he smelled during their little stop in the village, but it wasn't pronounced enough to give him much cause for concern, now he wasn't so sure. How could a natural smell hang in the air for so long without dissipating?

And what of the vision of the children in the bathroom mirror? Children drowned in a stagnant pool: the bog? Is it something to do with the little girl found in the ancient one’s arms? Is she now a ghost reaching out to him via the Mirror World?

So many questions...

...

The night before, in the Ivy House Library: under the light of a reading lamp, Jamie sat at a desk and scanned the attendance log of his grandfather’s long-since defunct ‘naughty-hellfire’ type club, an association that allowed renowned dignitaries and celebrities to indulge their wildest, wickedest sexual fantasies in complete anonymity. Working on a hunch, he was looking for one name in particular in the thick, yellowing pages, and although all entries were in code, his grandfather had kept a separate log to record the members real names; all Jamie had to do was find the name the to fit the code. After an hour of searching and deciphering, his finger eventually alighted on the moniker he’d been looking for:

“Oliver Laphen.”

According to the log, Laphen’s last attendance was in June 1968. Jamie wondered if it was an amicable parting of the ways, or was he kicked out? If his reputation for hell-raising was an issue, expulsion was a distinct possibility. And if he was ex-communicated, did he hold a grudge? Jamie went to the sliding steps and rolled to the central bookcase; he climbed to the top rung and took a row of three glued-together, hollowed-out tomes from the top shelf, revealing a safe concealed in the wall behind. He turned the dial on the combination lock using the numbers written on the back of his hand, opened it and removed a heavy ledger.

It contained highly compromising information of every member of the club, probably in order to blackmail any black-balled ex-members tempted to spill the beans to the authorities or the press. Predictably, Laphen had an abundance of black marks against his name, everything from securities fraud to wife beating. Then, to Jamie’s surprise, he discovered that his grandfather had added a heavily underlined note pertaining to Laphen’s purchase of Pagham House: ‘Witches -- Observe!’ it screamed from the page. The Judge was clearly expressing his alarm and wanted the Witches of Kildare to keep an eye on things. And now we know why.

Oggy talked about Pagham House before he went down for his sleep. He said it’s a mansion built to the exact specifications of the Ivy House by the Duke of Roxborough: a wannabe wizard with no psychic abilities whatsoever, who tried to create magic using standard methods: sex and human sacrifice. It was also home to the swamp where the mummy of an ancient mage was discovered 2 years ago. And now Laphen’s grandson turns up and offers Goz -- the only one of us who could be tempted to break ranks -- a part in a film he’s shooting in Ireland? It was all too much of a coincidence.

He slammed the book shut, crossed his arms and sat back. Shite. This could be the first major crisis he’s faced since taking up the mantle of Master, and there was no Ogden Castle around to guide him...

...

After screening a few of Ollie’s old ‘Laffin Boy!’ shorts to lighten the mood, Malky and Kris sat in the little cinema’s cocktail bar/café and made use of the fully functioning, antique coffee machine. They took a sofa each, sprawled-out on the white leather and talked about Film Noir for the next hour or so. When the conversation moved on to personal matters, Kris chatted openly about his relationship with “Jolly Ollie!” It wasn't bitchy in the least, for the most part he spoke in glowing terms. Nevertheless, he was still bewildered and exasperated by what he called, ‘The Purge’.”

“Whatever his reasons, I predict old Ollie will be battling a few ‘unfair dismissal’ law-suits over the next coupla years,” Malky opined .

“Any potential litigants will have to go to the end of the queue,” said Kris, “gramp’s life has been one long lawsuit, and he’s got the best lawyers money can buy.” He nimbly flipped over the back of the sofa and trotted over to the counter for a refill. Malky had to shout to be heard above the loud gurgle of a sputtering nozzle, “I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like him in my life! If I wuz you, I’d stay well away!”

“Everybody else does keep away, I’m the only one of the family that bothers,” he said, coming back to the sofa and flopping down, “I think our little spats are a sorta communication on a deep level. Like, I can’t explain it, but it kinda opens things up –- things you can’t talk about ‘man-to-man’ can come out in one of our shouting-matches.” Kris sat up, raised his mug at the life-size picture of the man himself in his heyday hanging behind the bar, and said, “No matter what he’s done, he’s still a genius. He’s a hard act to follow. All I can do is learn from his mistakes.” Kris smiled at the youthful, dimpled face, “When I look at him now I know I’m looking at myself in 60 years time, cos that’s probably what I’ll look like if I live that long. But I won’t end my days like him, alone in a mansion miles away from his family, abandoned by his estranged kids. My grandfather is nothing if not a walking cautionary tale.”

Malky was very impressed by this young man. His mother is a drug-addict, his father is a crooked businessman, his grandfather is an arrogant arsehole, and yet, he’s a realistic, intelligent, talented, well-rounded good kid. He raised his mug to salute his new best friend, “I hope my chile grows up to be as bright and as thoughtful as you are, son.”

“You’re gonna to be a father?!” Kris asked, excitedly.

“8 weeks from yesterday,” said Malky, smiling, but sounding a wee bit daunted.

Kris jumped to his feet and vigorously shook Malky’s hand. “That’s awesome! Congratulations, dude!”

“I never thought of the future til I heard the words, ‘I’m late’," joked Malky. He took a moment to think, then asked, “So, what do you think’s goin’ on in Pagham House, Kris?”

Kris answered straightaway as if he was expecting the question: “I have absolutely no idea. I mean, that grandfather clock -- besides the fact that I wasn't here at the time, there’s no way I could've pushed that over, let alone a scrawny old guy like Ollie. You’d need a tractor to move it!”

Malky shrugged and sighed, “Well, that’s us. There’s nuthin’ more we can do. As far as we’re concerned, the house is uncontaminated by evil spirits. I’ll just have to tell Ollie we've come up empty. If I was him, I’d leave it to the police.”

Kris looked at the old dog sitting in the corner and asked, “U-huh, I wonder what Broo makes of it all?”

“I dunno,” Malky answered, sleepily, looking over his shoulder, “like I said before, if there was anythin’ ‘supernatural’ he’d’ve let us know by now...”

But Broo didn’t know how to communicate what he was seeing. Because when the pair sat together, the boy’s aura, more opaque than ever, spread to envelope Malky. When the boy went to the coffee bar to get a refill, part of it stayed with Malky. They were both shrouded in that swirling mist that psychically shut Broo out and rendered him physically weak...

Oh God, I hope this doesn’t last. I hope it disappears once we leave this woe-begotten place...

...

Two hours later, sitting in the bar of Odin’s Inn in Brodir, the ghost of Sammy O'Donnell, the inn’s deceased barman, was sitting in the darkened bar listening to the distant sound of waves crashing on the rocks. He was very bored. Thank God the old dog’s back tomorrow, at least I’d somebody to talk to, he thought to himself. We could be watchin’ TV right now... his thoughts were interrupted by a far cry: <Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell...>

“What’s that?” Sammy said aloud, though nobody could hear him, “well, up til now.”

<Samuel... Samuel...> a little voice cried in his head. He wasn't imagining it. It’s a thought, he thought, like the way the old dog talks me.

<Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell...> It seemed to be a child’s voice calling his name...“Samuel O'Donnell...” He went to one of the windows and looked out. <Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell... Samuel O'Donnell...>

Beyond the concourse, across the main road, standing atop the old sea wall, he saw the sparkling spectre of a small child. It was hard to tell if it was a boy or a girl, the clinging white dress could just as well be a nightshirt; the hair was wet and hung around its face and shoulders like seaweed: the ghost of a wee drowner, no doubt.

<Wave if you can hear me!> the little ghost yelled.

Sammy raised his hand and waved a feeble wave.

<I’ve been sent by the Powers That Be to warn you!>

“Warn me?” said Sammy, perturbed.

<Aye. From tomorrow forth your haunt will become infected!> cried the little spectre, <You’ll haveta get yerself to The In-Between until the danger passes!>

Even though he’d never heard the phrase ‘The In-Between’ before, Sammy could guess what it meant: “Limbo?! Why? I bloody hate Limbo!! It’s full of martyrs 'n murderers 'n all kinds of religious headcases!”

Talking quickly, as if he there was a time limit on his manifestation, the little spectre informed him: <You've no choice! The innkeeper is set to return from an infected place -- he’ll bring the darkness back with him! It’s a Soul-eating disease, no spirit is safe, not even us ghosts – so it’s in your best interests to bide-awhile in the In-Between until the danger passes and the house is pronounced safe.>

<But what is it...!> Sammy had so many questions, but the little spectre had begun to fade. He watched helplessly as the sparkle dimmed to a glow, then a glimmer. “NO! Wait, don’t go...!” he cried out, but the ghost had gone.

He sat down again and mulled over the message: innkeeper? They must mean Malky. But what does ‘bringing The Darkness back with him’ mean? For the first time since he died, Sammy O'Donnell was scared. If there was something wicked coming – something so dangerous that it’s fatal to Immortal Souls – how could he be sure it wouldn't pose a risk to The Living?

And what about an unborn baby?!

He couldn't – he wouldn't abandon Zindy!

To Be Continued...

#witch craft #Witchcraft #irish literature #fantasy #Ghost #Hollywood #hooray for hollywood #Mystery #poltergeist #magic #black magic #irish humour #demon

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andhuman-blog1 · 7 years

Text

The font that decorated the front cover was so, completely fancy that it was comical considering the circumstances. Boldface letters curved and twisted to spell out the quintessential, celebratory words --- accessorized with intricate designs of stars. Darcy wasn’t sure how appreciative Jane would be of the artistic freedom taken with drawing, but stars were stars ; and it wasn’t as if accuracies regarding the rise, life, and fall of stars were relevant nowadays, anyways. The point was : it was all very pretty --- surely worth every extra penny she had invested in the amalgamation of this gift.

Besides, as the cliche went : it was what was inside that was important.

Hi, Jane : I hope this package reaches you in time, and if it doesn’t...I hope you enjoy it all the same.

The next line begun which a cluster of small black dots, the many attempted starts made by the troubled young woman. Despite having prepared an outline for what she wished to express over the course of this letter, SELF-DOUBT had remained true its nature and decided to show to the party at the last minute. Though, credit should be given where due and here, with an overly-strong swipe of her pen, Darcy continued on with writing.

I know that I haven’t contacted you in a while, and I’m sorry about that. I don’t know if you’ve tried to find me at my apartment or at the university, but I haven’t been there either. I’ve moved back to Seattle, and will be here until my Masters supervisor gets back from her sabbatical sometime mid-Summer. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that either...but anyways, this isn’t about me.

The last letters of the last sentence faded away, marking the death of whatever pen Darcy had been using at the time. And even though she and this particular pen had a long ( and lucky ) history, she didn’t hesitate as she chucked it towards the waste bin. The rest of the card would be weighed down in an ink that was also BLACK, but clearly of a different shade.

It’s weird not hearing news about you, anymore. And it’s weird that we don’t share any mutual friends anymore, either. I know it’s all for the better considering how things are now, but still, I hope you’ve been well. And I hope you have someone wherever you are to celebrate with you today. You deserve a good and fun day. And before you say that this day doesn’t matter or that you can’t technically have a birthday anymore, I’m saying otherwise. Because either way and any way, you deserve this.

There were odd smudges that appeared on the sturdy, quality card paper, then. A mixture of salt and cheap ink, but it didn’t get in the way of the next pen stroke. Darcy had also prepared for this.

Jane, this is the kind of shit that no one ever says enough, but today is special so I’m going to suck it up and say it. I didn’t know how important you would become to me when I signed up to be your intern. I literally just needed an extra six credits and some research experience, you know that. I also didn’t know how much of an impact the work that you were doing would have an impact on our world. You literally saved the world, Jane --- and I am very proud to say that I had even a little part in that. Even though you are more than this one planet now and things have changed with you being an universe and then some....I know that all universes have to come from somewhere or something. You taught me that. I know you don’t like talking about it, but you do have a past and I think it’s a tradition on birthdays to look back and compare who were used to be to who you are today. And there are a gazillion ways to react to how you’ve change, but I think you should be proud. I know I am. You’ve accomplished so much through your hard work, passion, and endless curiosity --- and despite the hardships of your pasts and those who tried super hard to hold you back. And now, I’d like to see someone else handle this radical change to your very make-up with as much strength and normalcy as you do.

Deep grooves and dents were marked into the card paper, becoming increasingly violent and persistent as the paragraph went on. With the inaccuracies and blatant bias acknowledged, Darcy had forged ahead nonetheless. This wasn’t some professional science publication or an accountable news account ; these were the words she needed to tell Jane, and if she hadn’t done it for this occasion, there was a fear that she never would.

You’re my hero, Jane. Thanks for being my mentor, my friend, and for allowing me to be your best friend. Congrats on making it another year and here’s to many more. Happy birthday and I hope you like your present!

P.S. The friendship bracelet was made by my little cousin for you and me after I told her that I was putting together a birthday surprise from my BFF.

Inside the delivery parcel was mostly cushion paper, all of it surrounding yet a smaller box. It was wrapped in a shiny, silver colour with a thin ribbon tied around and on top of it. The friendship bracelet was woven with several threads of coloured polyester : white, grey, navy blue, soft green, and black into an arrow pattern ; Darcy had placed it on top of the additional bubble inside the gift box. And lying beneath it was an vintage, ornate compass with a post-it note, of all things, stuck to it. To finding new passion, hope, and happiness, it read. / @dokkstjarna .

#dokkstjarna #! CONNEX : JANE FOSTER .#( listen i don't even know ??? if this counts as a present because it's like jane/darcy meta #but at least it's in ic omg #happy bday janie #also yeah it's super biased bc darcy is just not in a good place right now but she couldn't let her bff's bday go without saying something )

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fairytalethebook · 7 years

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Chapter Two: The Impossible Princess of Luna.

Founded by the descendants of seven prominent families, the country of Electerra had officially existed for over six hundred years. Prior to their unification the world had been very loosely governed with everyone mostly taking care of themselves. When the families joined together, each representative was given an equal share of the power and for many years they all lived and traveled together across the country building palaces and capital cities in each kingdom. Whenever they finished with one they would move to the next until each family had an official homeland and kingdom to watch over as they saw fit. The leaders would periodically meet to discuss matters impacting the whole country. This delicate balance of power between the seven rulers ensured that they never needed an official King or Queen.

Luna was the fourth kingdom to be developed and was, by far, the most unique. The Royals of the time hadn’t originally wanted to colonize a part of the country completely without sunlight for all but three days of the year. However, when they realized the bioluminescent plant and animal life, as well as the waters of Luna had medicinal properties they decided it would be the perfect place to base their science and medical organizations. This gave Luna the odd distinction of being one of the most technologically advanced kingdoms, while also being the most sparsely populated.

Contrary to most of the other palaces, which towered over their surrounding lands, the Palace of Luna was laid out much lower to the ground, and had been constructed using very pale stone to contrast with the constant darkness. Beautifully intricate mosaics made of glass, tile, gems and precious metals depicted both legends and historical events from Electerra’s past. Instead of being very tall and grand, the palace was a sprawling structure which took up acres of the Royal grounds. Everything was designed with rounded shapes in mind. Balconies jutted off all sides of the palace, seemingly at random; onion-domed roofs covered the tops of nearly every room of the palace, even the landscaping was designed in such a way that the entire palace resembled nothing more than an elaborate building made of clouds, floating on a glimmering night sky.

The usually dormant Kingdom of Luna was exploding with life. The first day of the three day annual Midsummer Festival celebrating the summer solstice and the start of a new season was at hand. The festival was held in the Northernmost kingdom of Luna because, on the opening night of the festival, and the night of the ball, the sun would rise above the horizon for several hours. Being in the middle of summer, this had always been the most popular Ball and people traveled from all seven kingdoms to attend. The Ball was comprised of three tiers. First, the entire Kingdom of Luna awoke to an abundance of drinking, dancing, and exotic foods and performers from all corners of the world. People lined the streets all the way up to the palace gates to watch as the Royals arrived in their carriages and cars. A second, slightly more formal party was held in the courtyard of the castle. The photographers and reporters gathered here along the red carpet in hopes of gathering the latest news and gossip from people of note. The red carpet led to the third and final tier: The Ball itself held in the grand ballroom. A luscious gold and marble rotunda with an enormous balcony overlooking the crowds of attendees always kept the royals on display.

Inside the ballroom, servants frantically tried to finish all of the last minute details. Chancellor Bianca Heart, a striking and imposing woman oversaw every movement made. She was tall and fashionable with long blonde hair always coiffed in an elaborate and uptight style to add half a foot to her height. As always, she had an earpiece-cum-microphone stuck to one of her ears. Tonight’s was gold to match her dress; an ornate, gold tailored gown covered with large sequins resembling a dragon’s scales. The role of Chancellor had once been a ceremonial one, but after a tragic accident killed all the Royal’s parents, Bianca had found herself in the peculiar position of having all the power and control in the kingdom. She was hardly a mean woman, but after years of running the country and cleaning up the Royal children’s messes, she was finding it more difficult to be light hearted.

Only a few hours remained until the first dance and the ballroom was still not ready. Bianca was busy barking out orders through a megaphone when a nervous hush fell over everyone. A half dressed Princess Selene, the most famous woman in the world and the only Royal born female walked in.

“No! It’s wrong, it’s all wrong.” She said shaking her head.

“Good Lord, who let her in here?” Bianca hissed to herself.

Selene stormed down the ornate marble staircase and out into the ballroom and started snatching things out of the attendants hands as they passed by.

Almost immediately, Prince August, also half dressed, dashed in and scanned the room for Selene. Irritated, Bianca approached him “August! You had ONE job!” “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.” “You fell asleep?” Bianca asked, incredulously. “Have you ever spent the day with her? She can be exhausting.” “Just go get her and take her back upstairs.” Bianca demanded, looking back over to where Selene was pushing her way through various workers and attendants before finally setting her sights, and anger, on the centerpieces.

“Are those peonies?” She shrieked. “I hate peonies!” she insisted, as she started pulling flowers out of the displays. August came rushing up behind her. “No, you don’t, you love peonies,” He said taking the flowers out of her hand and setting them down. “Well, I hate those peonies,” Selene’s voice whined. “No, you don’t.” August sighed, carefully sliding the peonies back into the arrangements, one by one. “You hate hydrangeas and carnations.” Even from across the room, Bianca could tell by August’s tone this was a conversation they’d had many times before.

“Well, yeah, carnations are cheap and tacky,” Selene scoffed, offended by the mere mention of carnations in her presence. “Wait, are there carnations? So help me god if there are carnations in here.” She fumed looking about for any evidence of the garbage tissue-paper flower. “There aren’t carnations, there aren’t daisies, and there aren’t roses. Now…” “Ugh, roses.” Selene cut him off. “Could you be any more obvious? Like, ‘Oh, I like roses, I’m so sweet and innocent, and pretty.’” Selene prattled on, mocking the imaginary girl she just picked a fight with in her head. “Here,” he said, taking her by the arm and gently leading her back toward the foyer and, hopefully, her bedroom. “No. I can’t.” She said quite literally putting her foot down. “There’s too much to do here, and clearly I can’t trust ANYBODY to do their JOB properly!” She screamed, nearly causing a nearby panicky gay assistant to drop the tray of pastries he carried. “Bianca has everything under control!” August insisted forcefully, taking her by the arms. “They’re all doing their jobs,” he motioned to the attendants all around them, “Now it’s time for you to go do yours. Go upstairs and get dressed.”

Suddenly they heard a roar from the crowd outside. Trumpets played the fanfare of the Kingdom of Saffron and Selene excitedly ran towards the foyer. “Cinderella’s here!” She exclaimed, rushing towards the foyer, “I have to go meet her, she has my dresses!” Bianca glared at August. He sighed in frustration. He already knew he needed to get Selene away from the preparations. Bianca’s continued harping was not helping him remain calm in the face of Selene’s misplaced anxiety.

“I’ll go greet them, you go upstairs and finish getting ready. I’ll send Cinderella right up with your dresses,” he said as he passed her off to a handmaiden. “Do not let her leave the bedroom until it’s time for us to walk the Red Carpet,” he whispered under his breath. The handmaiden nodded, escorting Selene back up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once Selene was safely out of sight he turned and sprinted towards the grand staircase to welcome Cinderella and Prince Dane of the Kingdom of Saffron. He was glad his first batch of reinforcements had finally arrived as he’d already been trying to keep Selene distracted from the party preparations all day. At this rate he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy the festivities he’d been looking forward to for months.

“No matter how many times I do that, it is still overwhelming,” Dane said in greeting as August approached to formally welcome the couple. “I don’t know, I mostly find it exciting,” Cinderella countered. Although Cinderella had been the first Princess to marry into the group, she still found the red carpets and events as exhilarating as the first time she’d done it. “Well, you haven’t done it nearly as many times as we have,” Dane responded, “I keep waiting for them to get bored with us.” “Bored!?” August laughed, flipping his sandy blonde hair back, “What on earth would they get bored with? It’s the biggest party of the year!”

Dane rolled his eyes at the arrogance of his old friend. It would be far more off putting if August actually felt this way. But August was essentially an excited puppy, always ready for whatever fun lay ahead and never thinking past the next thrilling adventure.

Cinderella and Dane were considered the two most likable royals. Cinderella was pretty, though a little plain and waify. There was nothing particularly striking or noteworthy about her physical appearance. Her true beauty came from her easy temperament, genuine kindness, and unsinkable sense of optimism that bordered on naiveté. Dane was tall and thin, verging on lanky, with a long neck, light brown curly hair, and warm brown eyes. Multiple piercings adorned his ears and nose. A childhood accident had left scars on his neck, down his left side and partially crippled his left arm. To maintain some mobility he wore an elaborate silver brace on one shoulder with straps and rigging that extended down his arm to his hand and then to each finger. Though the brace was helpful, it had limitations. In his youth Dane had been a promising painter and while he still painted occasionally in his free time, his full skill had never returned after the accident.

“Speaking of beautiful,” August said taking Cinderella’s hand and kissing it. “You’re looking particularly lovely tonight.”

She was wearing a fitted strapless white gold gown that flared out at the knees. Her jewelry was simple yet elegant, and it mirrored Dane’s brace. Platinum cuffs at her wrists and elbows connected to her simple platinum necklace with delicate chains that traveled up her arms. Her signature tulle stole was pinned to her bodice and wrapped around her body like a diaphanous cocoon. Her naturally mousy brown hair had been given champagne highlights and cut into a choppy a-line bob, at Selene’s suggestion.

“We weren’t speaking of anything beautiful at all, you big flirt!” Cinderella teased. “How do you like the hair?” She asked primping her new shorter do. “It’s not too short?” “Not at all. Although you’d look beautiful with any style.” August responded with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Although their relationship had always been platonic, they were often very flirtatious with each other. August flirted with virtually every person he came in contact with, but Cinderella was generally more reserved.

“Well, if you’re finished shamelessly flirting with me in front of my husband, I have dresses for Selene. How is she tonight?” August laughed, “How do you think she is?” “Yep, that sounds about right,” Cinderella said. “Is she upstairs?” “Yes, I have her barricaded in her room to keep her from harassing the staff.”

Cinderella adjusted her hair and dress as if preparing for battle. “Alright boys, you behave yourselves in my absence.” she said ascending the staircase.

August and Dane stood politely for a minute until Cinderella was safely upstairs.

“Drink?” August propositioned. “Absolutely,” Dane responded before August even finished.

Upstairs, Selene obsessively brushed her long honey blonde hair and admired her reflection in the menagerie of mirrors that dotted and lined her vanity. She had each mirror positioned in such a way that she could see every angle of herself by a mere shift or pivot. A large television blared red carpet coverage in the background, but other than that one technological addition, her childhood bedroom remained a youthful time capsule dedicated to charting, and indulging every whim of the very special and, once thought, impossible princess.

Being the first and only royal born female to survive past infancy awarded Selene a great deal of cachet. From the moment of her birth, she had never been placed into any situation capable of compromising her health. Over time, this incrementally included even the slightest inconvenience or discomfort.

Selene continued brushing her hair and gazed around the room taking in all the trappings of her childhood. Everything was decorated in pastel pinks, blues, and purples like the rest of the palace. Although large for a child’s room, the bedroom and all the furnishings, were nowhere near as grand and opulent as her bedroom in Onyx. Her attention turned to her vast collection of beautiful porcelain dolls. Selene had asked for a doll once in her childhood and was subsequently presented with an exquisite doll sculpted and dressed to look just like her. Unfortunately, she’d never been able to play with it or any of the dozens of other dolls that followed since they might have broken and cut her. Now, they all sat, just as they had for her entire childhood, pristinely in the corner.

Her gaze continued to move around the room and her brushing slowed as she caught sight of an old music box. Once her most prized possession, it was given to her by her mother on her ninth birthday, shortly before the accident. Though she hadn’t opened it in years, she could still hear it’s song. Almost entranced, she put down her brush, walked over to the box covered in a faint layer of dust, and opened it. Slowly, the plinky twinkles began and a little figure of a beautiful blonde woman holding a child began to twirl around. Tears welled in Selene’s eyes.

“Knock, Knock!” Cinderella’s cheerful voice called out as she came in the room wheeling a cart stacked with her various trunks and caboodles.

Selene snapped the box shut and put it back. Quickly she wiped a tear from her eye as she spun around to greet Cinderella with a fabricated smile.

“You ok?” The ever astute Cinderella asked, intentionally filling her voice with casualness so as not to further trigger Selene.

“Yeah,” Selene said sniffling. “Dust.” She offered up, sliding her finger along the shelf and shrugging. “I mean, I’m only here once a year, you’d think the staff could muster up a little more gumption.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Cinderella scanned the room and noticed the perfume mockups on the table next to her vanity.

“Ooh,” Cinderella gushed, “Are these for Selebrity?”

“No,” Selene said, “They couldn’t be for Selebrity, I’m launching Selebrity tonight. Those are for Surface.”

“Oh,” Cinderella said looking at the boards with images of a scantily clad Selene caressing her face and laying in a shallow pool of water. Bold, stylized letters reading “Surface: Scratch the surface” splashed across the images. She didn’t remember Selene talking about Surface, but considering Selene was on her eleventh perfume, it was not hard to get them confused. Cinderella flipped through the designs until she came to another one, called Clique with a picture of Selene, Penelope, and Rapunzel in a group, pretending to gossip. She was surprised because Selene barely knew Penelope, the newest Princess.

“I don’t think you told me about this one,” Cinderella said, showing Selene the mockup for Clique.

“Oh, that,” Selene scoffed, “that’s nothing. I invited Penelope for her welcome brunch and Rapunzel came too, we just had a little fun.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d had Penelope’s brunch already." Cinderella said shuffling the mockup boards. The welcome brunches were a tradition Selene started when Cinderella married Dane. Since then, Cinderella had been involved in each subsequent welcome brunch for all the other princesses.

“Yes, well you were busy with Odette that day, and it was past time we welcomed Penelope officially,” Selene shrugged. She got up and took the boards from Cinderella and placed them back, face-down on the desk.

Cinderella was a little put out she hadn’t been at the brunch for Penelope, but she remembered the day in question and she had indeed been busy with Odette. She also knew Selene hadn’t meant anything hurtful by excluding her, it was simply Selene’s way sometimes. She was not very good at considering what may or may not hurt other people’s feelings. Cinderella had learned a long time ago to pick her battles when it came to Selene and this was one moment she knew it was better to let things slide

“Well, I’m glad you had the foresight to welcome her before the Midsummer Ball, anyway. It would have been awkward for Penelope’s official debut to occur before you could properly welcome her. Did you give her her gift?”

“No, it wasn’t ready. I have it now, though, and I’m planning to give it to her at dinner,” Selene waved to her bedside table where a black velvet box sat with a silver ribbon tied around it.

Another tradition they’d started together was giving each Princess an elaborate piece of jewelry on their entrance into Royal society, which they were encouraged to wear to the official balls. Each piece was commissioned specially by Selene to reflect the princess in question. Cinderella had been given a delicate platinum brooch in the shape of a spider, which she was using this evening to pin her stole to her dress. Snow had been presented with the hair comb. Odette was given a large, silver filigree bangle in the shape of a swan feather, and Rapunzel had received a colorful jeweled macaw pendant.

Cinderella walked over to the box and opened it to see an exquisite diamond skull belt buckle with moth wings on each side.

“Oh my, that certainly is perfect for Penelope. And it’s lovely work,” she complimented.

“Yes, I know. So!” Selene spun around enthusiastically in a whirlwind of hair “What do you have for me?!”

“Oh. Right!” Cinderella snapped back to the matter at hand. “Well, per your request, I have three dress options.” Cinderella said parading back over to her cart full of trunks and dress bags. “But this is the one I think you’re going to go for.” She said pulling out a dress.

The dress was typical Selene, bright, bold, and flashy. A melon pink, strapless satin sheath was covered with a deep purple velvet overlay. The thick, soft fabric was gathered and cinched on the left side and gathered into the obligatory bustle in the back. A long sleeve on the right side was embroidered with gold trim around the cuff and neckline. Topping off the ensemble, an eye-catching lime green embroidered lace sash slung over the opposing shoulder and draped dramatically down, ending well below the hip. The sash, as well as the rest of the dress was covered in live fuchsias, Selene’s favorite flower.

“I LOVE it!” Selene said, jumping up, running over to Cinderella, grabbing the dress, and twirling around with it, before her mirror.

Cinderella laughed, “I knew you would. So thats why I didn’t even bother to make the other two.” She said unloading her things from the cart.

Selene glared at her.

“Oh come on.” Cinderella said, “I’ve been styling you for years, you should really learn to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Selene wanted to be more angry at Cinderella’s deliberate disobedience, but ultimately, in a rare display of restraint, she decided she loved the dress Cinderella made and nothing else mattered.

Cinderella often had this calming effect on Selene. Usually, Selene would take every opportunity she could get to make the tiniest hill into the biggest mountain. But more often than not with Cinderella, she simply let things go. Secretly, she knew deep down she needed Cinderella, although she would never admit it; and certainly not to anyone outside the two of them. They had a very close friendship, one the others sometimes found odd because they appeared to be polar opposites. However, their friendship actually made an enormous amount of sense at its core. Selene was fabulous, bold, loud, and demanded everyone’s attention. Cinderella, on the other hand, was quiet, shy, insecure, and more than willing to let Selene have the spotlight. Cinderella had also been the first girl to marry into the group of Royals. Once Selene determined Cinderella was not a threat, the two princes quickly formed a strong bond.

A voice erupted from Selene’s television. “We’re getting word that Princess Rapunzel and Prince Conrad of Valencia are on their way up the road,” the voice on the TV said. Cinderella turned her attention to see what was going on. It was renowned reporter and gossip monger Ursula Majors and her panel of underlings commentating on the red carpet.

As a largely fashion based society, Electerra’s airwaves were dominated by coverage of the Royals and whichever Royal event was happening at any given time. Occasionally there would be an actual news story or headline, but for the most part, the news was dictated by who wore what and where it was worn. Or who was seen doing what with who and what they had been wearing at the time. Why rarely factored into the mix.

There were a few reporters of prominence in the kingdoms, but none compared to Ursula; the host of “MAJOR News: with Ursula Majors”. Though no one knew her exact age, Ursula’s commanding presence had been a fixture in the kingdoms for nearly three decades. She was taller than most men, a fact she took pride in, voluptuous with dark skin the texture of satin, and warm golden brown eyes. She wore color exceptionally well and often favored dark bold colors like sapphire, burgundy, and violet. She had an impressive head of hair which was always either styled in an elaborate bouffant or an enormous mane of curls closely resembling a lion.

On this night she had her hair dyed a vibrant red and styled in a variation on her normal bouffant: very tall and swept to the back of her head with a few long tendrils escaping to cascade down the sides of her face. She was elegantly outfitted in a midnight blue satin gown with a mermaid silhouette. The dress was covered in diamonds, strategically placed to look like constellations in the night sky.

Cinderella noticed Ursula and her co-anchors were decamped in a tent at the edge of the red carpet set up as a makeshift replica of her permanent studio in The Valley. The interior walls of the tent were covered with screens showing a rotating collection of the best Midsummer gowns of the past. Although the image being broadcast looked calm and collected, Cinderella knew there were at least a dozen cameras, monitors and panicky assistants, specifically Ursula’s main assistant Leo, hovering just out of frame in the time honored dance of organized chaos keeping the production functioning on a daily basis.

As was often the case at the biggest events of the year Ursula was joined by two other commentators offering opinions on the chosen outfits of all the important attendees, especially the Royals. They would also discuss any noteworthy updates and provide color commentary on what the Royals had been up to since the last celebration.

A picture of a young Conrad in his prime was put on the screen before cutting to Ursula and her commentators in their tent discussing his recent retirement as an athlete. The screen changed to a photo of Conrad and Rapunzel laughing together at their recent Valencia Food and Wine Festival.

“As you can see, he has started looking a little worse for wear lately. Some say he should have retired years ago. What do you all think?” Ursula asked.

“Well,” began the first commentator, in a conspiratorial tone, “from what I’ve heard, it was more of a forcible retirement than a voluntary one.”

“Yes,” interrupted the second, “I’ve heard that as well. After his extremely rough season last year and his latest knee injury, it’s honestly surprising this hasn’t already happened. He’s the very definition of an over the hill athlete.”

“So true,” echoed Ursula, “And when you add in recent rumors of philandering, reclusiveness and his alleged drinking problem, along with his well known anger issues, I’m afraid we really are looking at a ticking time bomb.”

Ignorant of the color commentary happening at their expense, Rapunzel and Conrad sat awkwardly in the back of their town car. The two hadn’t been on good terms lately, for many reasons, but they weren’t exactly ready to face their issues, either. Rapunzel nervously petted her impossibly long tangerine hair she had subconsciously positioned in between Conrad and herself.

He finally spoke to her for the first time in hours.“What’s wrong?”

His incredibly deep voice cut through her like a sword.

“What? No. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” She stammered, “Why?”

“You seem distant,” He said.

“I’m right here,” She said feigning a smile “Right where I always am.”

“Here,” Conrad said, handing her his flask “For your nerves.”

“No,” She said shaking her head.

“Sure?” Conrad gestured again with the flask.

“I’ll be fine,” She said looking out the window at the masses of people lining the streets.

“Alright,” he grunted, downing what was left as the town car lurched to a halt. “It’s showtime” he said with a wink.

Conrad exited the car and trotted around to open Rapunzel’s door for her. Rapunzel shuddered for a moment but managed to expel all negative thoughts and emotions; the red carpet was no place for such feelings. She recognized the I’m portynce of appearing happy and excited for the public. Extending her exquisitely bejeweled foot and taking Conrad’s hand, she unfurled out of the car in a sumptuous mass of hair and fabric. Her gown’s skirt was multiple layers of different silks, chiffons, and crepe, in shades of red, orange, maroon, and deep magenta. It had a lot of body and swayed back and forth when she walked. It was a daring two piece with a lavish bikini-like top with detached flowing sleeves cascading to the ground. Her macaw pendant rested in the center of the top. Her red hair, glazed with tangerine highlights, was pulled up and back in a mound and tied with ribbons. The rest of it, and there was a lot, fell to the ground in perfumed ringlets. Various lilies and citrus peels decorated her hair and framed her face. Her eyes were big and bright and her cheeks glittered. She was luscious in every sense of the word.

Conrad was built like an ox and was first of the princes in many distinctions: the oldest, the tallest, the biggest, the strongest. Along with those accolades, he was also first in arrogance and temper. These unwelcome traits increasingly surfaced recently with his unceremonious retirement, subsequent weight gain, and bout of depression he refused to acknowledge in any way, shape, or form. He was still very handsome though, masculine in every way, from brow to nose, jaw to chin, and though heavier now than in his heyday, he retained much of his definition and shape. His most prominent features were his rarely covered broad chest and arms and his long sable hair he wore proudly like a mane. Masculine as he was, he was not above the subtle elements of flamboyance one would expect from royalty: some dark eyeliner, jeweled rings, and thick metal and leather cuffs. Conrad’s signature fashion statement was the series of embellished championship belts he wore to all occasions, an ostentatious visual reminder of his place in the world.

Conrad offered his hand to Rapunzel as they began their ascent up the staircase to the red carpet, but she either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it. Instead she gathered up her skirt with both hands. When they reached the extended landing they were met with a barrage of cheers and applause from the spectators gathered outside of the palace gates. It was all very overwhelming. Though she had done it nearly a dozen times, Rapunzel still felt nervous. Flashbulbs exploded left and right and the air was thick and still. Rapunzel felt faint. A familiar feeling started to rush over her. She was about to have a panic attack. Refusing to succumb to the attack, but unsure of what to do, she zeroed in on three young fans pressed up against the fence to her left. Next thing she knew she was on her way over to them.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Conrad asked concerned as she approached the mob.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” She said faintly.

The three children appeared to be related, two slightly older, a boy and a girl, and a younger girl with a pet parakeet on her shoulder, who couldn’t have been older than ten.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, extending her finger to rub the birds neck.

“Her name’s Rapunzel,” The girl said shyly.

“It is?” Rapunzel said pretending to be surprised “Why that’s my name!”

“I know,” the girl laughed, “I named her after you.”

“I see. Well, aren’t you concerned bringing her out here with all these people?”

“No.” The little girl said confidently “She’s very well trained, and besides, I wanted you to meet her, I know you like birds.”

“I do like birds. In fact, for most of my life, birds were my only friends.”

“Because of the tower?” The girl’s older, teenage sister asked.

“Well, yes.” Rapunzel replied, taken slightly aback “Because of the tower.”

Everyone knew about the tower. When Conrad famously found and rescued her from her tower on the edges of the forest of Inconcessus, the story traveled quickly throughout the Kingdom. But it was rarely spoken of so casually.

“They cared for me.” Rapunzel said, a sweet nostalgic smile crept across her face. “They brought me food and flowers, and they kept me company.”

“They probably felt sad for you.” The little girl said, “Because you were in a cage.”

Rapunzel considered her, “Why yes, I suppose I was.”

“Well at least you’re not anymore.” The boy said.

“No.” Rapunzel smiled tightly, glancing back at Conrad, “Not anymore.”

The crowd roared.

“Another car must have just arrived.” Rapunzel said, “Well it was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” The older girl said, “Can we take a picture with you? You’re our favorite. You’re so pretty, I hope one day I can be half as pretty as you.”

Rapunzel laughed, blushing. “Of course. And here��” she said taking two lilies out of her hair and positioning them behind each of the girls ears, “Now you are.” The girls beamed. “Although, I don’t have anything for you.” She said thoughtfully, looking the boy over.

“Could I, maybe, have a kiss?” He asked boldly.

“A kiss?” Rapunzel said surprised by the moxie of the kid.

“I mean, on the cheek. That is, if it’s ok? I just can’t imagine… If I could tell the guys at school, it would… wow.” He stammered, suddenly flustered. His sister elbowed him in the side.

Rapunzel laughed and leaned in to gave him a chaste, albeit playful, kiss on the lips.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whoops. Startled, Rapunzel looked around and realized the cameras had zoomed in on them. They were being broadcast on the monitors and screens set up all around the red carpet. Slightly embarrassed, Rapunzel laughed and said, “Well, looks like you won’t even need to brag to your friends.”

Conrad came up behind Rapunzel and grabbed her under the arm. “It’s time to go.”

“Oh,” she said. “But wait, I told these kids I’d take a picture with them.”

Conrad looked at the kids and smiled insincerely, “I’m sorry kids, but we have to get going,” he said as he took her up the stairs.

Cinderella made final alterations to Selene’s dress while Selene became increasingly annoyed with the spectacle she was creating on the red carpet.

“Ugh, seriously?” Selene sneered as she watched a replay of Rapunzel kissing the boy.

“What?” Cinderella asked, looking up from her work.

“We’re royalty, at least have some decorum,” Selene said, dousing herself liberally with her fifth perfume; Problématique.

“Alright, that’s enough red carpet for you,” Cinderella turned the television off. “You need to finish getting ready,” she said taking Selene to her dressing room. “And try to remember, Rapunzel is our friend, and we like our friends.”

“Ugh, stop with that.” Selene said rolling her eyes.

“If you keep rolling your eyes that way, you’re going to get vertigo.” Cinderella said.

Downstairs, August and Dane waited in the Green Room, each already with an empty glass in hand. Although they had grown up together, their friendship had never been effortless.

“So?” they both said in unison and then laughed.

They laughed.

“No, you go…” They both said again in unison.

Again they laughed.

The two never had much in common, and although they got along well, they often struggled to keep a conversation going when it was just the two of them. August was always so popular and athletic. Even as a child, he was climbing before he could walk. He was good at pretty much every sport, but he really had a penchant for water sports like swimming and surfing. He also liked boating, but that was more Orlando’s territory. Though not very tall, August was effortlessly built, a common trait for the Onyx bloodline. Dane on the other hand, lacked all these traits, but, he was taller than August. They did have one thing in common: whiskey.

“Here,” August said, unnecessarily hopping up and over the bar.

“Pfft, Ok,” Dane said chuckling, “You could’ve just gone around to…”

“The most direct route is always the best route,” August interrupted cheekily, juggling a couple of empty shakers.

“What’s this, what’s happening?” Dane asked bemused.

“I’m making us drinks,” he said, spilling whiskey all over the place. “I’ve been practicing my flair, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” He said tossing a glass over his shoulder and catching it with the other hand.

“It just seems like there’s a more efficient way to go about it,” Dane said laughing.

“Where’s the fun in that?” August asked topping the drink off with a twist of lemon and sliding it across the bar to Dane, who lurched forward to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

They both cheers’d and took a drink, Dane more cautiously so. It wasn’t great.

“Oh crap, here, lemme do it again. I always forget the fire part,” August said, to an increasingly nervous Dane.

Rapunzel entered in a fluster.

“You okay?” August asked, furiously shaking his latest concoction.

“Yep.” She said, unconvincingly, scanning the room. Rapunzel tried to ignore a TV in the corner playing footage of Lochlyn and Penelope’s entrance on the red carpet.

“Alright, lets try this again, are you okay?” Dane asked standing up and pulling out a seat for her at the bar.

She laughed, and relaxed a bit. “It’s just, it can all be so overwhelming sometimes.” She said sitting down. “I think people forget that I’m new. Well, newish, But still.”

“Here, I got something for you. Man, I’m so excited for tonight. Its going to finally be like old times again! You have no idea how much I’ve missed us all together like this,” August said, enthusiastically sliding a drink down the bar. It whizzed right by Rapunzel, slid off the bar, and shattered on the ground.

“You were supposed to catch that.” Dane said dryly, tipping his glass at her. He took another drink, realized his mistake, and slowly spit it back into the glass. August was too preoccupied making Rapunzel’s drink to notice.

From the television on the wall they could hear the fanfare of The Valley of Thrones as Lochlyn and Penelope finally exited the car and ascended the carpet, waving at the crowds. They were followed, as always, by Lochlyn’s enormous wolf-hound Cerberus

“And here we have… No, it can’t be. It is.” Ursula’s voice purred from the TV screen. “Lochlyn and Penelope looking more sophisticated than usual.”

“Yes, I agree,” answered the first commentator, “It looks like Penelope wanted to make a good impression on her official debut as a Princess for the Midsummer Ball tonight. This is certainly the most ‘Royal’ we’ve seen her look so far. It appears she’s making a real effort, which is lovely to see.”

“Absolutely, and it looks like she’s bringing Lochlyn along for the ride, too. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen him looking so cleaned up,” Ursula agreed. “It even appears Cerberus has had a trip to the groomers.” She finished, laughing.

Typically Lochlyn and Penelope didn’t give appearance a second thought. They usually dressed the way they would on any given day, which is to say, not great. Penelope was merely a glorified groupie of Lochlyn’s band when they’d gotten together. And even after they married, she’d continued to make little effort to be seen as elegant or sophisticated. But this time, they had both given it a go. Penelope’s too blonde, and obviously fake hair, had been combed and pulled back and to the side in an elaborate knot adorned with a diamond skull and grey and lavender roses. Her tattoos looked particularly vibrant and lush, Ursula wondered if Penelope’s makeup artist had gone over them again. Penelope wore a very sleek and sexy grey-lavender gown made of silks and satins. The bottom flowed beautifully to the ground in the back and hiked up above her knees in the front to show off her tall leather boots. The top of the dress was draped elegantly from each shoulder and was just sheer enough to show that, although she had indeed made an effort, in true Penelope fashion, she was not wearing a bra.

Lochlyn was also appropriately dressed for once, appropriately for Lochlyn at least. He wore his usual clunky leather boots covered in straps and buckles, leather pants with fashionable, but also functional knee pads, and a leather formal kilt which had tails in the back. Instead of a shirt he had a dark leather vest covered in sliver studs. His lower arms were covered with fingerless gauntlets to complete his look. His normally messy mohawk of hair had been cleaned up, pulled back into a loose tall braid down the center of his head, and fastened into a bun at the crown. The sleeker look was somewhat muted by the fact that his hair had been bleached and streaked with hot pink dye. He was also still wearing his normal amount of black eyeliner. But overall, like Penelope, the change was striking.

Fanfare from the kingdom of Midonia rang from outside as Cinderella helped Selene with her makeup.

“We need to hurry up, Ashley and Odette are here.”

“Yes, I know,” Selene dismissed. “I really want my eyes to POP!” she enthusiastically instructed Cinderella for the third time.

“Selene! Listen to me!” Cinderella snapped grabbing Selene under the chin. “I know! Not only have you told me four times.”

“Three times” Selene interrupted.

“Not only have you told me, three times, but, I know what you want. And you already have enough makeup on your eyes for four princesses.”

Selene relaxed again, not so much because of what Cinderella said, butmore because of the tone of her voice.

“Now I want to try something,” Cinderella said cautiously. “I have this lipstick I think would just completely bring-”

“NO!” Selene said. “Absolutely not, I don't like it.”

“You haven’t even seen it.”

“I don’t need to, I don’t like it, I don’t want to. You KNOW that!” She said.

“It’s not that bad!” Cinderella protested, “It’s all in your head.”

“I don’t care! This is supposed to be my night!” Selene shrieked as mascara soaked tears welled in her eyes. “and you’re ruining it!”

“Honey, I haven’t ruined anything,” Cinderella laughed consolingly, “You, however, are ruining your makeup.”

“I don’t care!” Selene pushed all the makeup away and started pacing about the room, “This is supposed to be MY night, it’s the launch of MY new perfume, at MY Ball, in MY kingdom! And YOU are ruining it.” She paused “I want you to leave,” she said as she stood tall and crossed her arms petulantly.

Selene was considered a very pretty girl. Everything about her was long and slim: her legs, her arms, her neck, and her waist. Even her hair was sleek and elegant. It was warm and golden, like thick silky honey and lifted at the roots, swept up and back, cascading over her head like a waterfall down her back until it crashed upon the proverbial rocks at the bottom in a mass of volume and curls.

Yes, Selene was very pretty indeed. Unfortunately, her personality so often got in the way. From birth she was always told she was a miracle and the constant reminders, quite obviously, had an adverse effect on her humility. Her obvious beauty was oftentimes eclipsed by her inconsistent temper and her notorious mean streak. If she felt she was being made fun of at all or if attention was being drawn to what she considered a flaw she often flew into a rage which could take hours to calm under poor circumstances. The stress of a Ball nearly guaranteed that tantrum would be one of epic proportions.

While everyone agreed Selene had a classically pretty face anyone would envy, Selene herself believed it was ruined by one very minor flaw. In the center of her face, and only when she parted her lips, a small gap between her two front teeth was noticeable. Most people would believe such a “flaw” gives a face character, but Selene believed it was a serious physical shortcoming and she did everything in her power to conceal it including minimizing attention to her lips at all costs.

If the past was a good example, it appeared Selene’s tantrum would be one for the record books. Cinderella knew the best cours of action was to get out of the way.

“Alright, I’ll leave.” She said, resigned. Typically, one would be more put off by the infantile display, but Cinderella took it in stride. She was accustomed to Selene’s ever changing moods and took comfort knowing Selene was mostly stressed out by the public event. Selene would likely calm down shortly once left alone.

#Fairytale #Fairytale the book #fairy tale #Chapter 2 #Sleeping Beauty #Fantasy #novel #Cinderella #Rapunzel

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