Derek Moore sat on the car looking up at the stars; his father, Andrew, leaned against it making sure that Derek didn't move too far on the hood. It was dusk and the evening was claiming the sky, fading away the blanket of blue and revealing the stars slowly but surely.
"I think I see Max," Derek said as he looked up to see a group of stars clustered like a man flying through the air in some gun-fu maneuvers. "And Maggie is right next to him."
Andrew's eyes looked to the heavens and saw that Max and Maggie were there in the clear evening sky, his eyes taking in the constellations of the cat, Trump, and the bird, Crow, as well.
"It's beautiful sight," Andrew said.
"That it is, Dad," Derek said. He loved the nights he spent with his dad since it meant sitting out under the stars and looking at the constellations.
"Look, there's Aqua," Andrew pointed. "Looks like she has her friend with her as well."
Showing posts with label crow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crow. Show all posts
20151005
20151002
C2IP Update.2
The ground shook again, dislodging more rubble from the bombed-out buildings. Shadows swept across the ground from the light of the flares in the night sky, voices hollow and fuzzy with static calling out over malfunctioning sound-systems, repeating emergency protocol directions that were very 'too-little-too-late'. Mick strolled down the centre of the cracked and scorched street as if all the lights and noise were a massive party; this wasn't his first apocalypse. In a lot of ways he felt at home in disaster zones; they were somehow more honest.
His contacts were less brazen, with good reason Mick figured, given that of the ever-increasing number of factions in what appeared to be a cold-war-turned-hot-turning-nova most likely had capture or kill orders out on them. They signalled to him with a pre-arranged series of flashlight blinks from the shadows of a ruined hotel lobby.
"Okay," Mick said, hunkered down behind the front desk. "First off, no I haven't gotten any leads on who the double-agent is. I don't doubt your intel, especially given the source, but there are so many variables in play right now...
"Second, Goner's rejoined Max, Frank and Angst, so they're active again as a cell. Plus they've gotten a lead on Mags - sounds like she's changed too.
"As for Suki, it looks like she's actually shifted along the Chronoplex - that's what we're calling it now, right? She seems to be in a much older version of herself. I know, it's not the first-time Suki's age has altered. No idea if or how she's going to intersect with the others.
"The Diner crew... Things are still different with them too... Like they're on a different frequency from the other Dragons? I dunno, I feel like something's brewing there.
"Max has got his spirit guides in play, the bird and the talking cat. Still nothing from Aqua. Oh, but get this - I found this weird urban legend about this strange warrior-monk type-guy who wanders the globe, actually walking, no planes or buses. He's this dirty bearded vagabond, stops briefly to debate about things like Confucianism or Norse Mythology. Sometimes does a bit of intervening on a street-level if there's some injustice happening, and ain't there always? There's versions of the tale where he seeks out a vision at holy places, the hidden Temple of the Sky on Everest, the sacred glass monolith at the centre of the Sahara Desert, the keystone of the Great Wall of China that contains the last essence of the demon Hrarchuta who sacrificed his immortality to save his love, the angelic Yuriti... It's great stuff; I wish I'd written it. But it's got to be our boy Akimoto, right?
"And lastly, just so I'm keeping track, so far there's the Chronoplex, the Paraplex, and the Ultraplex? Now, how about you share with me: do we know yet what exactly has kicked off this whole mess between the System and Counter-System?"
The contacts exchanged glances.
Suddenly a swarm of sirens began wailing outside and the thunder of helicopters erupted overhead. Mick sighed. "I get it, 'to be continued'."
His contacts were less brazen, with good reason Mick figured, given that of the ever-increasing number of factions in what appeared to be a cold-war-turned-hot-turning-nova most likely had capture or kill orders out on them. They signalled to him with a pre-arranged series of flashlight blinks from the shadows of a ruined hotel lobby.
"Okay," Mick said, hunkered down behind the front desk. "First off, no I haven't gotten any leads on who the double-agent is. I don't doubt your intel, especially given the source, but there are so many variables in play right now...
"Second, Goner's rejoined Max, Frank and Angst, so they're active again as a cell. Plus they've gotten a lead on Mags - sounds like she's changed too.
"As for Suki, it looks like she's actually shifted along the Chronoplex - that's what we're calling it now, right? She seems to be in a much older version of herself. I know, it's not the first-time Suki's age has altered. No idea if or how she's going to intersect with the others.
"The Diner crew... Things are still different with them too... Like they're on a different frequency from the other Dragons? I dunno, I feel like something's brewing there.
"Max has got his spirit guides in play, the bird and the talking cat. Still nothing from Aqua. Oh, but get this - I found this weird urban legend about this strange warrior-monk type-guy who wanders the globe, actually walking, no planes or buses. He's this dirty bearded vagabond, stops briefly to debate about things like Confucianism or Norse Mythology. Sometimes does a bit of intervening on a street-level if there's some injustice happening, and ain't there always? There's versions of the tale where he seeks out a vision at holy places, the hidden Temple of the Sky on Everest, the sacred glass monolith at the centre of the Sahara Desert, the keystone of the Great Wall of China that contains the last essence of the demon Hrarchuta who sacrificed his immortality to save his love, the angelic Yuriti... It's great stuff; I wish I'd written it. But it's got to be our boy Akimoto, right?
"And lastly, just so I'm keeping track, so far there's the Chronoplex, the Paraplex, and the Ultraplex? Now, how about you share with me: do we know yet what exactly has kicked off this whole mess between the System and Counter-System?"
The contacts exchanged glances.
Suddenly a swarm of sirens began wailing outside and the thunder of helicopters erupted overhead. Mick sighed. "I get it, 'to be continued'."
20150829
“I've Got Thick Skin And An Elastic Heart” [version.Upgrade]
“I miss the Bookstore but the food here is good at least,” Angst said as she took another bite of the curry.
Max sipped on his mango milkshake.
“So...” she continued. “If everything Control told you was true, about the weapons and costumes and the subway and all that, does that mean we were working for the Counter-System all that time?”
“I honestly don't know, Angst.” He looked at her. He still trusted her and knew that she trusted him but things were different now.
Crow entered the restaurant, looking like a young black woman with short pink hair. Max waved and explained to Angst that Crow had arrived; only Max could see her. Angst slid over to make room in the booth.
“I've got news,” Crow said as soon as she was seated. “Maggie was being held in a System facility. I don't know how They got her, but it does conform to her recurring Initiation arc.”
Angst watched a serious expression come over Max's face as he stared into the air beside her. His beard made him look older, more worn out.
Crow continued. “She got out though, like she always does. Apparently she was locked in a vault of some kind but she eventually escaped. By tearing the doors off their hinges. Big doors. Metal doors.”
Angst saw Max's eyes widen slightly, the hint of a smile.
“And when the guards opened fire on her... the bullets bounced off of her. She punched a hole in a wall and leaped into the sky.”
Now Max was smiling.
“No idea if They were experimenting on her or if this is the result of all that Angel/Demon magic she used to be into. And no clue where she ran to.”
Angst watched Max pull out his wallet and gesture to the server for the bill. He asked the space beside her, “Do you have the location of the facility?”
Max sipped on his mango milkshake.
“So...” she continued. “If everything Control told you was true, about the weapons and costumes and the subway and all that, does that mean we were working for the Counter-System all that time?”
“I honestly don't know, Angst.” He looked at her. He still trusted her and knew that she trusted him but things were different now.
Crow entered the restaurant, looking like a young black woman with short pink hair. Max waved and explained to Angst that Crow had arrived; only Max could see her. Angst slid over to make room in the booth.
“I've got news,” Crow said as soon as she was seated. “Maggie was being held in a System facility. I don't know how They got her, but it does conform to her recurring Initiation arc.”
Angst watched a serious expression come over Max's face as he stared into the air beside her. His beard made him look older, more worn out.
Crow continued. “She got out though, like she always does. Apparently she was locked in a vault of some kind but she eventually escaped. By tearing the doors off their hinges. Big doors. Metal doors.”
Angst saw Max's eyes widen slightly, the hint of a smile.
“And when the guards opened fire on her... the bullets bounced off of her. She punched a hole in a wall and leaped into the sky.”
Now Max was smiling.
“No idea if They were experimenting on her or if this is the result of all that Angel/Demon magic she used to be into. And no clue where she ran to.”
Angst watched Max pull out his wallet and gesture to the server for the bill. He asked the space beside her, “Do you have the location of the facility?”
20150606
BEDMAS
"Well, space usually has three dimensions. And we tend to move about within them relatively easily. Time has seven more dimensions, three of which we are usually travelling through without really noticing. And the other four require specialized technology. Psychic or mechanical, of course," Crow said.
"Okay, so that's ten dimensions so far..." Trump said.
"Right, plus the micro-dimension of biology, the hyper-dimension of neurology, the macro-dimension of planetary awareness, the mega-dimension of galactic awareness, and the ultra-dimension of cosmic consciousness."
"Fifteen."
"Multiplied by the 333 dimensions of mythic experience, and multiplied again by the 777 parallel universes, all to the power of 999 - the exponential number of interfaces that are commonly referred to as 'imagination'..."
"Um, I think I need to grab a calculator..."
"Don't bother, the exact number isn't necessarily relevant. Although the Professor would, of course, argue otherwise. And I don't pretend to know what kind of math his Plexotron operates on, only that what he thinks is his great invention is in fact a manifestation of the archetypal Initiation Chamber."
"Ah, that's interesting," Trump purred.
"Not to stray from the point, however. Which is that due to his XXXXXXXXXXXXX Max has the ability to travel through space, time, the body, the mind, the planet, the galaxy, the cosmos, mythology, parallel realities, media, dreams, and art."
"Which, in turn, might explain why he seems so confused a lot of the time."
"And keep in mind that this very description of Max as an Omni-dimensional Traveller is only one version of plureality."
Trump pawed at his whiskers. "You know what? I'm sorry I asked."
"Actually, I have a chart here somewhere that-" Crow continued.
"I need a nap."
"Okay, so that's ten dimensions so far..." Trump said.
"Right, plus the micro-dimension of biology, the hyper-dimension of neurology, the macro-dimension of planetary awareness, the mega-dimension of galactic awareness, and the ultra-dimension of cosmic consciousness."
"Fifteen."
"Multiplied by the 333 dimensions of mythic experience, and multiplied again by the 777 parallel universes, all to the power of 999 - the exponential number of interfaces that are commonly referred to as 'imagination'..."
"Um, I think I need to grab a calculator..."
"Don't bother, the exact number isn't necessarily relevant. Although the Professor would, of course, argue otherwise. And I don't pretend to know what kind of math his Plexotron operates on, only that what he thinks is his great invention is in fact a manifestation of the archetypal Initiation Chamber."
"Ah, that's interesting," Trump purred.
"Not to stray from the point, however. Which is that due to his XXXXXXXXXXXXX Max has the ability to travel through space, time, the body, the mind, the planet, the galaxy, the cosmos, mythology, parallel realities, media, dreams, and art."
"Which, in turn, might explain why he seems so confused a lot of the time."
"And keep in mind that this very description of Max as an Omni-dimensional Traveller is only one version of plureality."
Trump pawed at his whiskers. "You know what? I'm sorry I asked."
"Actually, I have a chart here somewhere that-" Crow continued.
"I need a nap."
20140925
Quest #xx
Crow was sitting on the edge of the bed when Max woke up. "You looked restless. Your leg was kicking like you were dreaming of being trapped."
Max stretched.
"What's on your mind this morning?" Crow asked.
"One of the things Morganfokker and I used to talk about, in one of our histories, between sessions," Max said. "About how to find the gods hidden all around you. Sometime later The Professor would ask me, or I would imagine having a conversation with him in which he would ask me: why do you think that they are hidden?
"But they feel hidden to me, or maybe I just think they’re hidden, and that’s the point, and what’s the difference?" Max sat up and pulled on a t-shirt.
Crow shrugged. "I see the gods hidden among and within us when I wonder what our society would look like if we substituted compassion for self-interest. Every time I hear people use the language of capitalist economics to describe their relationships I think I see one of the hidden gods, shaping and directing and guiding and confining our lives. The way that the patterns of response in language of the person confronting the stigma of mental illness map onto the media’s portrayal of political discourse that maps onto the way we discuss it over coffee. Where real oppression lives and real freedom?
"Maybe in the way we respond to dreams," Crow continued. "The way we prioritize certain spectrums of continuity, waking consciousness, over discontinuous (or less continuous? dreams can recur), and what about when we remember a dream when we’re waking? Or any memory? What do we allow to dictate our response? Things from the past, or the future or that happen to us when we’re asleep? Or from others’ pasts – the lives of ancestors, their own questions and answers designing and growing the culture we participate in, other hidden gods controlling the whats and whys of our daily lives.
"Why you will wake up and get about of bed. Why you will sit in front of a computer. Eat what you will eat. Say what you will say, to yourself or your roommate or partner or family. Dream what you dream."
Max rubbed his eyes. "In one of the iterations of Cube I once wrote 'my arbitrary particulars seem vast' and 'all the things I will never get to be but I will get to be me'. I guess maybe The Professor contacted me for the latter and Morganfokker abducted me for the former."
Max stretched.
"What's on your mind this morning?" Crow asked.
"One of the things Morganfokker and I used to talk about, in one of our histories, between sessions," Max said. "About how to find the gods hidden all around you. Sometime later The Professor would ask me, or I would imagine having a conversation with him in which he would ask me: why do you think that they are hidden?
"But they feel hidden to me, or maybe I just think they’re hidden, and that’s the point, and what’s the difference?" Max sat up and pulled on a t-shirt.
Crow shrugged. "I see the gods hidden among and within us when I wonder what our society would look like if we substituted compassion for self-interest. Every time I hear people use the language of capitalist economics to describe their relationships I think I see one of the hidden gods, shaping and directing and guiding and confining our lives. The way that the patterns of response in language of the person confronting the stigma of mental illness map onto the media’s portrayal of political discourse that maps onto the way we discuss it over coffee. Where real oppression lives and real freedom?
"Maybe in the way we respond to dreams," Crow continued. "The way we prioritize certain spectrums of continuity, waking consciousness, over discontinuous (or less continuous? dreams can recur), and what about when we remember a dream when we’re waking? Or any memory? What do we allow to dictate our response? Things from the past, or the future or that happen to us when we’re asleep? Or from others’ pasts – the lives of ancestors, their own questions and answers designing and growing the culture we participate in, other hidden gods controlling the whats and whys of our daily lives.
"Why you will wake up and get about of bed. Why you will sit in front of a computer. Eat what you will eat. Say what you will say, to yourself or your roommate or partner or family. Dream what you dream."
Max rubbed his eyes. "In one of the iterations of Cube I once wrote 'my arbitrary particulars seem vast' and 'all the things I will never get to be but I will get to be me'. I guess maybe The Professor contacted me for the latter and Morganfokker abducted me for the former."
20131226
FORGE
The
blood from the cuts along Maggie's arms and back soaked into the
clean white robe. She ascended the steps, through the smoky air of
the temple. Howls and drums and screams and chants and laughter made
music in the dark, twisting tunnels that branched off of the hidden
chamber.
Crow looked down at her from the altar.
Maggie's eyes were cold and fierce, then suddenly sharp and playful. Crow saw the candlelight reflect silver in the blood dripping on the steps.
"You have faerie blood in you," Crow said with mild surprise.
"You're not accusing me of being a vampire are you?" Maggie asked with a smirk.
Crow's look became serious. "The bell is sounding One, I can hear it. It's time. To begin again."
Maggie nodded. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've done this before."
Crow looked at her with sadness. Maggie wondered what Crow knew about her, and what secrets Crow knew about Max... But that would only lead her to doubt and worry. Turn the stone of the stairs to sand.
Crow spoke. "And likely you will come here again, though it will look and smell and taste different. And hurt the same."
Maggie remembered the time this place was that weird sci-fi womb in the Professor's Study. It had felt like forever when she was inside, and now it felt like forever since she had escaped. The Professor had had coffee waiting for her.
"Each time," she said to Crow, "I've gotten a gift."
Crow nodded. Maggie couldn't easily make out Crow's features in the shifting light of the temple. A young woman. Hair blond then dark. Then older, with long blond curls spilling down her shoulders and back. Then younger again, dark hair short. Eyes playful then wise, innocent then cynical. Sometimes Maggie could see her wings, other times it looked as if fire raged around her. Maggie remembered the wings that once sprouted from her back, or that would one day, that had or would, white or soaked red with blood.
The gift that Crow gave her was one she already knew, had used for years, had lost and found a dozen times in a hundred worlds. But Maggie understood that this place, here and now, was where she first got it. That this was when it was first given to her. And so she recognized it, and welcomed its return like an old, trusted friend, even as her eyes widened in surprise, seeing it newly, for the first time, discovering it, having won it finally. Knowing she would lose it again and find it again. Knowing now where and when it came from, here at this beginning. Here in Death, here in haunted solitude.
From one of his messengers, one of his lessons to her, another gift and a curse too - did Crow belong to him or he to Crow? She imagined finding him again one day and having that answer for him. But she could never do that to him.
Maggie took a breath. The smoke in the air stung her open wounds. Each trickle of blood felt like an ocean. And she knew that they would heal and be never more.
She wondered if Crow had somehow been here each time before. It was easy for Maggie to hate her, for what she knew, for what she had done. Maggie didn't like easy so much. So she had started trying to learn how to forgive Crow and to love her. Maybe that's why she was here again, or maybe this needed to happen. Maybe Crow was making it easier, maybe harder.
Maggie took a breath. She remembered Max warning her about avoiding certain frequencies of thought - only Max would call them that - warning her that they were where the transmissions from the Lab lived. That you could get trapped there. Maggie wondered again what exactly Crow knew about -
She took a breath. All that in the moment that Crow handed her the gift. And it started to shine. Absorbing the candlelight. Becoming bright.
And Maggie's robe was white, her wounds were healed. Her wings spread. Her memories and thoughts were still.
She took hold of her katana.
Crow looked down at her from the altar.
Maggie's eyes were cold and fierce, then suddenly sharp and playful. Crow saw the candlelight reflect silver in the blood dripping on the steps.
"You have faerie blood in you," Crow said with mild surprise.
"You're not accusing me of being a vampire are you?" Maggie asked with a smirk.
Crow's look became serious. "The bell is sounding One, I can hear it. It's time. To begin again."
Maggie nodded. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've done this before."
Crow looked at her with sadness. Maggie wondered what Crow knew about her, and what secrets Crow knew about Max... But that would only lead her to doubt and worry. Turn the stone of the stairs to sand.
Crow spoke. "And likely you will come here again, though it will look and smell and taste different. And hurt the same."
Maggie remembered the time this place was that weird sci-fi womb in the Professor's Study. It had felt like forever when she was inside, and now it felt like forever since she had escaped. The Professor had had coffee waiting for her.
"Each time," she said to Crow, "I've gotten a gift."
Crow nodded. Maggie couldn't easily make out Crow's features in the shifting light of the temple. A young woman. Hair blond then dark. Then older, with long blond curls spilling down her shoulders and back. Then younger again, dark hair short. Eyes playful then wise, innocent then cynical. Sometimes Maggie could see her wings, other times it looked as if fire raged around her. Maggie remembered the wings that once sprouted from her back, or that would one day, that had or would, white or soaked red with blood.
The gift that Crow gave her was one she already knew, had used for years, had lost and found a dozen times in a hundred worlds. But Maggie understood that this place, here and now, was where she first got it. That this was when it was first given to her. And so she recognized it, and welcomed its return like an old, trusted friend, even as her eyes widened in surprise, seeing it newly, for the first time, discovering it, having won it finally. Knowing she would lose it again and find it again. Knowing now where and when it came from, here at this beginning. Here in Death, here in haunted solitude.
From one of his messengers, one of his lessons to her, another gift and a curse too - did Crow belong to him or he to Crow? She imagined finding him again one day and having that answer for him. But she could never do that to him.
Maggie took a breath. The smoke in the air stung her open wounds. Each trickle of blood felt like an ocean. And she knew that they would heal and be never more.
She wondered if Crow had somehow been here each time before. It was easy for Maggie to hate her, for what she knew, for what she had done. Maggie didn't like easy so much. So she had started trying to learn how to forgive Crow and to love her. Maybe that's why she was here again, or maybe this needed to happen. Maybe Crow was making it easier, maybe harder.
Maggie took a breath. She remembered Max warning her about avoiding certain frequencies of thought - only Max would call them that - warning her that they were where the transmissions from the Lab lived. That you could get trapped there. Maggie wondered again what exactly Crow knew about -
She took a breath. All that in the moment that Crow handed her the gift. And it started to shine. Absorbing the candlelight. Becoming bright.
And Maggie's robe was white, her wounds were healed. Her wings spread. Her memories and thoughts were still.
She took hold of her katana.
20131222
Beltane
Maggie
eased into the booth, couldn't hide the wince. Got centered, quick
check of the bandages wrapped around her stomach.
"No secret, love, you look rough," Crow said.
Maggie smiled wryly. "I didn't know this place had a 'no tact' policy."
Crow shrugged apologetically, put on that sweet face, instantly child-like. Mags could never resist it. Crow knew every bit of her and how to trick it out of the water and onto the shore; angel, warrior, idol, mother, monster. "I worry, is all."
Mags rested her elbows on the table. Crow poured her some tea. Another cafe, another city, another meeting, another wound.
"Is this it?" she asked.
Crow sighed. "I don't know, love. I hope it isn't."
"It feels like the same thing but at the same time so much has changed."
Crow sipped some tea. "Level X."
Maggie sighed. "I know, I know."
"You still miss him," Crow said.
Maggie sipped her tea. Didn't reply, didn't acknowledge but didn't ignore either. Music played from the speakers. Acoustic guitar. A novel got read, a debate was had, plans were made to attend a concert, a teacher was complained about. The wound in her side itched and ached, kept her from really understanding all those exchanges around them, and she hated it and loved it for that.
"I was thinking about Angst last night," she said.
"The cheerleader? Hey, isn't that weird?" Crow looked excited. "How that Slayer on TV started out as a cheerleader, and you used to run with one, way back when."
Maggie wondered how long ago it had been exactly. "That's what trips your weird-meter these days? The multidimensional demonic conspiracy is nothing special but a minor synchronicity on a TV show..." She arched her eyebrow in mock judgement.
Crow put on a defeated look. "What about her?"
"I dream of her a lot. She's yelling at me... It's not quite her exactly. Or maybe it's what she turned into, after..."
Crow didn't press the question. Things were tense lately. Felt on the verge. If Maggie was being haunted, well, it was nothing new for her. The work still needed to get done.
"So, Maggie my dear, we need to have a conversation about this Simon Light fellow."
"No secret, love, you look rough," Crow said.
Maggie smiled wryly. "I didn't know this place had a 'no tact' policy."
Crow shrugged apologetically, put on that sweet face, instantly child-like. Mags could never resist it. Crow knew every bit of her and how to trick it out of the water and onto the shore; angel, warrior, idol, mother, monster. "I worry, is all."
Mags rested her elbows on the table. Crow poured her some tea. Another cafe, another city, another meeting, another wound.
"Is this it?" she asked.
Crow sighed. "I don't know, love. I hope it isn't."
"It feels like the same thing but at the same time so much has changed."
Crow sipped some tea. "Level X."
Maggie sighed. "I know, I know."
"You still miss him," Crow said.
Maggie sipped her tea. Didn't reply, didn't acknowledge but didn't ignore either. Music played from the speakers. Acoustic guitar. A novel got read, a debate was had, plans were made to attend a concert, a teacher was complained about. The wound in her side itched and ached, kept her from really understanding all those exchanges around them, and she hated it and loved it for that.
"I was thinking about Angst last night," she said.
"The cheerleader? Hey, isn't that weird?" Crow looked excited. "How that Slayer on TV started out as a cheerleader, and you used to run with one, way back when."
Maggie wondered how long ago it had been exactly. "That's what trips your weird-meter these days? The multidimensional demonic conspiracy is nothing special but a minor synchronicity on a TV show..." She arched her eyebrow in mock judgement.
Crow put on a defeated look. "What about her?"
"I dream of her a lot. She's yelling at me... It's not quite her exactly. Or maybe it's what she turned into, after..."
Crow didn't press the question. Things were tense lately. Felt on the verge. If Maggie was being haunted, well, it was nothing new for her. The work still needed to get done.
"So, Maggie my dear, we need to have a conversation about this Simon Light fellow."
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