She's Got It All

Mags danced on the ledge; she was several stories up and she didn't mind it at all. She felt free and alive, Bananarama declaring that it was a Cruel Summer. She never felt more alive than when she was dancing in the crisp cool air, listening to music. They say music soothes the savage beast, and she understood that concept. 

I wish that they had this back then, she thought.

Her phone rang; she jumped from the ledge down to the rooftop and walked over to where a lawn chair and a table was set up. She got it on the third chime.

"Mags here," she said. "If there's anything I can do for you, I am your girl."

> Frank in Plureality

We, each in our own way, 

approve of the sentimentality of tears 

though  we cannot find enough moments to pin them, 

delicately, to. 

In the thunder there is always anticipation, 

maybe something of the lyrical 

in our steps as we cross the road; 

always that thrill rippling distant across our numbness 

at the act, 

although every film seeking to document our mood has shown the very same scene 

and the cars never fail to slow. 

The first drops fall 

and perhaps you wish, pace quickening, 

you were running, laughing, the rain already a storm, for shelter under an awning 

he or she running beside you, 

two others you don’t know but who you share a smile with 

as your hand moves, suddenly slow, significant, 

through you wet hair. 

  

We think we may have discovered the refrain 

over coffee and cigarettes. 

Maybe the rain is a part of it. 

Later one of us will be reading, another dreaming in bed, 

another will be crying, and though you may see it, days later, 

behind their smile, you’ll never know why. 

And we’ll try and remember what it was, 

the way the storyteller paused to light her cigarette, 

the way he was resting his head in his hand, 

the way our cups were filled without asking, the song on the raido. 

Or did the others even feel it? Was it when 

your thoughts returned to the awning – 

It is in front of a gas station, on a highway. 

You had stopped to buy snacks, and to flip a coin 

over whether or not to buy a map 

when the rain started. 

  

There will be a collection  

of notes, 

a particular arrangement, though you may return to it 

for slight changes as suits your fancy, 

with the correct voice 

to speak of you. 

  

It is the way the smoke  

from your cigarette changes 

that tells you before they step from the hall. 

Everything else changes in the moment they do; 

everything else had been arranged for you to be alone, 

the window open but behind you, 

the record on but finished playing, 

the five butts in the ashtray, chain-smoked, 

all to make of you and the space and silence about you 

a moment worthwhile. 

That changes even as it is observed, and the words 

it would take to make of their arrival a moment 

are so much simpler 

only so much heavier 

than any that will be spoken tonight. 

It is not that either of your smiles are forced, 

they are just too familiar and no longer reliable.

A Prayer Before the...

Damn.

Goner felt the bullet enter his side and he knew that he was going to be in a world of pain. He fell to the floor like a bricklayer dropping bricks into a barrel. He crawled the best that he could with the one good arm, behind a short wall.

"That makes four," he said to himself.

He knew that time was short; he had been in situations like this many times but this time it felt different. This time he tasted fear.
He couldn't move his left arm since it was dangling at his side, the bone was broken from a previous wound. Bullets skittled around him, trying to break away the barrier that he was trying to hide behind.

Damn, I don't want to die just yet. There's one thing more I would like to do.

He propped himself up against the wall and reached to see if another clip had magically appeared in his jacket pocket but he knew it hadn't. He ejected the clip from the gun and saw only one bullet left. He put the clip back into the gun, using his leg.

He coughed and spat out some blood.

Damn. Game over.

Entering the Blanc Mansion

The trained pulled into the platform. Max could see this was not going to be an easy task; he saw several armed men and guard dogs on duty. For such a secret station it was well protected.

"Trap?" Akimoto asked. He took out his sword and was waiting for the signal from Max. The train was coming to a stop, and the men didn't seem to acknowledge it at all.

"I rightly don't know," said Max; he felt uneasy about this whole situation. "They seem to be on high alert but not doing anything."

"Let me take care of them," Suki said as she noticed the LEGACY logo on the security uniforms. She powered up the Godhammer.

"We wait until they move," Max cautioned. He peered out the window onto the platform again and couldn't believe their luck. 

The train came to a complete stop and the doors didn't open; the half dozen men were still standing there nonchalantly as if the car hadn't approached. The doors didn't open.

They stood by the doors waiting, but nothing occurred. 

"Bishop?" Max called forward. "What's going on?"

"Stealth mode," Bishop replied over the intercom. "You know like a ghost train, fades in and out, something much akin to that. Just say the word and we can fade in and your can do you thing."

Faux Blog

excerpt from Mingelina's Journal at Ghostbloggers:

You reduce me to cosmic tears.

That line from Alanis's song So Pure was pretty much on the mark last night. I went to TimeCrawler's; it's a nightclub suited to the Western crowd, playing the high techno dance songs and the like. A little piece of western civilization right here in Kowloon.

While there I bumped Suki. Who I hadn't seen in a long while and she introduced me to Max & Maggie. I had asked Suki what was going on, her folks don't remember her at all, and I thought I was going nuts... In our chat Suki mentioned something about time shifts, realities and coffee shops and a subway car and the like... it was maddening to comprehend, but I guess it was so "Twilight Zone". While Suki was telling me her fantastical tale, I kept my eyes on Max & Mags on the dance floor last night, they were on the floor doing their thing, dancing and then this song comes on and it all fits so perfectly.
In the video Alanis and her partner are dancing through the various styles of dance throughout the modern ages, and for some reason it seemed like Mags & Max were doing just that... sure they were in the nightclub dancing amongst the throngs of bodies on the floor. But, it seemed like they were dancing through the ages (well Maggie maybe because of her hair which seem sentient).

(Mingelina Edit Note: I had something here but when I reviewed it was all jumbled text)

Now, that I have the time to think about it, I must of imagined Suki at the club last night. I really don't know if she exists at all, or just a product of my imagination?

> Chantelle in Plureality

Driving Me Crazy

"Yello Chump!" Max said as he slid into the passenger seat of the car.

"Hardy har har," Trump said from the back seat; he was sitting there licking his paws, "Maybe you should go on the road with that one!"

"Now boys," Mags said. "Lets be civil just this once okay?"

Mags pulled onto the street, as Max leaned back in the seat. A song was playing on the oldies station, and it was setting the tone for the ride.

A Day at the Track

"You again?" Danny Leung said as he spotted the spiky-haired avenger.

Max turned and saw Danny approach him; he flashed him a toothy smile and stuck out a hand. It had been a few months since he and Danny took in a hostile activity.

"Long time no see," Max said as Danny took his arm and gave it a friendly shake, as well as a hug and a slap on the back.

"Is there going to be trouble here?" Danny asked, glancing around the race-track. He had come to have a day at the races. "I'm on my own time."

"Was in town and thought I'd take in some track activity," Max replied. He was waiting in line for the ticket; he was placing a huge bet on a horse called Dreamer's United.

Suki was sipping a cola as she approached Max. She looked up at Danny and nodded at him.

"What's the scoop?" Max asked Suki.

"I told the horses it was my birthday," she said. "And that I was planning on betting on Dreamer's United."

Danny couldn't tell if she was joking or not; ever since the incident in the Golden Taurus he wasn't sure about what reality is or was anymore. But ever since that day he always wore his pieces; just in case trouble was brewing.

"Suki!" Max scolded her. "How many times I have I warned you not to be doing things to sway the natural balance of right or wrong?"

Suki gave him a wink and slurped the soda.

The Long Ride Back

Max watched as the city changed subtly; the shift was gradual and it didn't really change all that much. He did notice a few more skyscrapers in the distance.

He was battered, bruised and was really sore. Wrapped in bandages, the wounds had stopped bleeding as soon as he had boarded the car. The conductor of the car, Bishop, had looked worried until he had seen them coming down the stairs towards the train.

The LEGACY building, which should have stood 33 stories tall, wasn't there at all. And that had brought a smile to his face. 

"How you like me now," Max said towards the space where the building should have been standing.

Akimoto was sitting in the back, asleep in an upright position; it was a much deserved rest. While Suki moved around the car trying to keep herself up; she was really tired but she was still full of nervous energy.

Now Max sat with his foot up on the seat, a cigarette dangling from his finger tips. Which drew a few looks from other passengers aboard the car. He paid them no mind; he was, after all, their unofficial saviour who had rescued their way of life more than once.

This is why I do this, he thought.

> Debashis in Plureality

They were sitting together - one on a computer, the other readjusting the living room. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"It wasn't about hell." 

"Well, it sure scared the hell out of me!!!" 

It felt like a painful rush. More of a surprise, really. Kind of when you're just sitting and a bright piece of lightning sparks the sky and it sorts of hurts your eyes and forces you awake from some kind of "state". But, different from some bolt of lightning, this was FELT by both of them, nothing seen, nothing heard, but FELT. Conjointly. Simultaneously. Concurrently. It came from the inside, and yet from the outside. It was only a short moment that lasted an eternity. And then it was gone. It was, at once, exciting and shocking and painful. 

"Ah, you're scared of everything." 

"Well, if you saw it too, then....Hey! Why didn't you get scared?!" 

"I did, for a bit....but it's over now." 

"So, what was it?" 

They both thought about this. What was it, indeed? What was IT? What WAS it? Was IT going to come back? Some random cosmic string fragment that passed through them both? Did it rupture some romantic (and stupid) version of "stability" within them? If they both had felt it, but neither could see it, was it even real? 

"Maybe we felt nothing?" This was asked more as a hopeful way of trying to deny it ever happened. Denial? Forget? Let it go? But how? They could minimize what happened, make it go away, make it small, or they could "talk" about it. Who truly cares? 

"We gotta talk about this!!!" 

"Let it go. It was just a moment kind of thing." 

"But, I'm still jolted." 

"Isn't that the name of some kind of energy drink? 

"You're not taking me seriously." 

"You're taking yourself too seriously." 

"But we BOTH felt it." 

"Big deal." Big deal. Well it was, indeed, big. But in a small way. 

"I really need you to listen to me." 

"Can I do it while rolling my eyes?" 

So they talked about whatever had happened. They talked about the feeling, the experience, the jolt , the idea that they both "felt" it. Was it some kind of religious thing? Something metaphysical? Something about energy? Whatever it was, they agreed that it was huge, that it passed through them. They could only refer to it as a bolt of lightning that was inside them both and left them instantly. 

"Maybe existing means more than you and me." 

"Maybe being means more than existing." 

"Well, one of us has gotta move that couch, there's some big-ass dust bunnies that we gotta clean up." 

"Ok, let's kill the dust bunnies."

Funeral of a Friend

"We'll find them," Maggie said, breaking into Max's train of thought. He had just dropped a handful of dirt onto the casket and was remembering a time on the subway that had brought a hint of a smile to his lips and water to his eyes.

Max looked from the hole in the ground to Maggie; tears stung his eyes like a foreign substance. He could see that she was taking this harder than he had thought.

"We'll hunt every last one of them," Maggie went on in a very cold and distant voice. She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. She didn't look at the casket in the ground, just the headstone.

"And what are we going to do when we find them?" Max asked. This was a side of Maggie that Max rarely saw; a look of determination, hatred and murderous intent burning in her eyes. At the moment she was like a mother bear who had lost a cub and she was going to get violent.

"Exterminate each and every one of them," Maggie said; her eyes were cold as a lunar sea. "First we'll make them pay."

"I'm in," Frank said. "We knew what we were getting into in this secret war, that there would be casualties. This one hits close to home."

"Count me in too," Goner added. He stepped forward and picked up a handful of dirt and dropped it onto the casket.

"Let's do this," Angst said morosely. She stepped away from the open grave and faced the gang.

Maggie was about to say something but Max's cellphone went off and she glanced to him. Max fished his phone out of his pocket and answered it before the second chime could kick in.

"Yes," was all he said into the phone.

They stood there and watched Max on the phone. They knew it was a vital call; who else calls during a time like this.

"Okay, just give us time to get ready," he said into the phone. And then flipped it shut and turned to his compatriots. "That was the Professor. He got a lead on the Architects' assassins."

Eating the Friday

Frank sat at a table reading a novel. He was behind in his reading of a series of books from an author that he admired, and this downtime was what he needed to catch up. Some quiet time, some coffee. 

His cup of coffee steaming before him, ordered a few minutes previous from the waitress. Goner was drumming his fingers on the table; he was bored and it showed. He didn't know what he wanted to do, and it was getting to him.

"Go to the movies," Frank told him, hoping the suggestion would embed in Goner's brain.

Goner thought about it for a few seconds before answering, the suggestion disappearing into the night like a cheap magician, "Nah."

Frank flipped the page of the novel and sighed. It was going to be one of those evenings.

"Any word from Max?" Goner asked. "He's been gone for a good long time."

Frank ignored the question. He was sure that he had answered that one about an hour earlier.

"Is Maggie showing up here?" Goner asked, his fingers were drumming out a beat. It was starting to grate on Frank's nerves.

"I really don't know," Frank stated. "Think of it as a night off, go and do something constructive with your free time."

Goner glanced around the coffee shop; he really didn't know what to do. It had been steady going for the past three months and now the past three days had been quiet.

"You know a man gets conditioned to certain things," Goner told Frank.

Frank put the book down and looked up at Goner. "Don't make me have to shoot you, Goner."

The Waiting Game

Pretty George stood in the rain, waiting. Like some rock'n'roll god once sang, the waiting is the hardest part. He glanced up at his watch and could see that it was 1 minute past the scheduled meeting.

A grimace appeared on his face, which was rare since he was always in a jovial mood. That meant that one of two things had happened, and the first was impossible since there was no way in hell that someone would not show up.

Once you make a call to Pretty, the wheels are set. 

To make matters worse, some thugs appeared from down the street and saw him standing there with the duffel bag. Pretty George looked up into the night sky and whispered, "You're not going to do this to me now are you?"

He glanced down the street and all his years of dealing and combat training told him that they were going to cause some serious trouble. 

"I guess you made that random encounter roll," he chuckled as he reached inside his long coat and pulled out a squarish device, much akin to a Rubik's cube.