Schrödinger: I was in College but its finally over now. Have a chapter.
"When I first met you I thought you were gay."
"Why? 'Cos I'm English?"
"Uh-uh. Because you seemed to know so many people who were dead."
"... That's not funny."
"No. It's not, is it?"
Guenevere and Hob, in SANDMAN #73, epilogue to "The Wake"
\\Everybody needs to cry or needs to spit
Every sweet tooth needs just a little hit...\\
"Is that Sportacus?" Trixie, or rather Halla, asked, pressing her face to the glass of an apartment, having seen a character walk in.
"No, you mean Sports Elf, right?" Goggi Mega persisted.
"No, I mean Sportacus. Like in my dreams. That blue guy. I would have imagined it was the Sports Elf in his sleep, but I don't get it. Here is another person that looks like him..."
Maggi snuck up, licking some sort of chocolate stick. "Nah, he looks more like Heath Ledger. A very short Heath, but one all the same. It's the hair- it's longer and more raggedy. The Elf has very elf-like hair...they like constantly do their hair with magic or something. This guy don't look like he cares enough to do so, either that or he's never used magic in his life. Besides, he's got a scarf. And that other kid- I read a book about the other kid. That's Hungry Bob. It's a very popular kid's book, very cute...sad thing is it might have been based offa Glanni."
Stephanie- SOLLA watched all this with curiosity. Glancing in the window, she let out a sharp gasp. MORPHEUS? Morpheus was alive and hadn't told her? It figured, useless man, she had wasted so much time on him. She couldn't even remember why she had liked in the first place. Finding herself wandering the town of Latibaer, hoping for an idea to cross her mind...she found herself colliding with Íþróttaálfurinn's chest.
"...Hello. Sorry. I'm not in a good mood today." Solla answered automatically, immediately regretting it, knowing he would ask all sorts of prodding questions.
"None of us are." He answered unexpectedly, shuffling in the direction of Glanni's hideout. "I need to find out about the two that arrived here, the ghosts. They broke the barrier. I was going to ask Glanni about it. Or is that not what's bugging you?"
Solla looked at him with a look that begged help. "I- you meant the two with Morpheus, right? Why- He never even told me he was here- what did I ever see in him?"
The elf looked back at her, contemplative. "Morpheus? I don't remember a Morpheus. I don't know where they are now. I apparently sent the two off for cake. I don't remember much else, other than one looked like what would happen if Heath Ledger tried to dress up for Halloween as Sportacus with only leftover costumes from The Dark Night."
Solla giggled. "Morpheus was the old Dream Lord. He died, though. Tall, about 6' 3", maybe 6' 4", usually pale and thin, with black messy hair and dark eyes. I- I liked him- once..."
The Sports Elf froze in his tracks. "Lolli Logga? B- but he's just a lowly police officer...he raised me as if I were a son..."
It was Solla's turn to freeze in her tracks. "A...son. You're not...how...I need to talk about this with Lu- er... Glanni." Íþróttaálfurinn gave her a pointed look. "What, Elf?"
"I KNOW his name. I just refuse to say it around the others for his own safety. Who knows why he's here, I just was told by Loggi that I wasn't to tell the others. It's one of the conditions for the wards around the town, he said. I don't know what's outside the town that's so dangerous, but I'm not about to question it."
Blank stare. "Íþróttaálfurinn, you're superstitious! Possibly as superstitious as the Japanese!" This earned her an "I HEARD THAT" from Halla, who was yards away.
Glanni was reading over one of his many romance novels, recalling how many times he had watched Nuala stumble over her own wishes to be together with Morpheus. He always knew it would never work, and he always wanted to find her someone else. At times, he thought of being there himself, but he felt so intrusive, as if he was a stalker. So he often dismissed the notion of romantic interest in her as something his silly mind had concocted as a cosmic joke. It wasn't that he was in love with her, though she was adorable and he wanted her safe, but it was that she reminded him of someone else- a faded memory he could never quite catch. It wasn't as if there would never be anyone else for her. It wasn't that there wasn't anyone else for him.
He was alone. She was alone. If it weren't for Íþróttaálfurinn, they would probably be snogging right this minute, just to keep each other company.
Speaking of Íþróttaálfurinn, two figures tumbled in in a mass of mauve and mustard coloring. He jumped. "Hello, Solla. Íþróttaálfurinn..." Glanni only glared.
"You remember what happened this morning?" Íþróttaálfurinn asked, tilting his head slightly. "From what I remember there were two quite literally insane flawed perspectives of us tearing apart the airship."
Glanni only licked his index finger slowly. "Pity." He hissed along with the sound of parchment grinding against parchment as he turned the page slowly. "I was hoping it would have fallen down by now. The little bastard said that my outfit would make Tim Gunn kill himself. So what brings you here, are you going to agree? Poke fun? Make me dance around like a moron?"
Íþróttaálfurinn sighed, looking at his shoes. "Those two will be in my nightmares until I die. Tell me what you know. I want to know why they're calling Lolli Logga by the name Morpheus."
Glanni's recliner clattered to the floor with an awfully loud thump as he stood up in stark surprise. "Morpheus is alive? THAT RAT BASTARD! I offered him seemingly ENDLESS years of my servitude, and he repays me by not telling me when he is still alive or not? He had me thinking he was DEAD!" His eyes fell upon Íþróttaálfurinn, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where is he- WHERE IS HE?"
-Where he is?-
Lolli tilted his head as he looked out the window. "Well they certainly aren't leaving any time soon. Perhaps...perhaps I know a way. Would you like to help me contact someone?" He found himself pulling out a laptop and setting it on the counter before settling into his usual crouch, opening the top carefully and pressing the power button until it sprung back into life.
"Depends-" the rather flat stereotypical Emo that mirrored a younger version of the Librarian piped up, looking over his shoulder. "-Are we contacting someone I know?"
Sharpie, the very definition of Heath Ledger's portrayal of the Joker in soul, of course, had to add in his two cents. Being the opinionated creature he is. "...With any luck, it's the viper bitch who decided we better fit children's stories..."
Logga snapped his head back curtly. "If you don't mind me cutting in and applying some deductive reasoning, I see her point- you're both childish imitations, lacking maturity, and you seem to be designed that the only way to tolerate your volatile past would be to simply not include it and describe you in children's book form. Children need no explanation as to why a person acts a certain way, and thus they don't get anything from backstory. This is why most cartoons are characters like anthropomorphic animals- it's impossible already, so they don't have to make a million facts for people to remember when using the character in the future. As long as they remember the heart and soul of the character, they have a story line to follow and things happen on their own."
Letting out a long sigh, the policeman in his black british hat looked back to the the laptop. "Now, will someone mind telling me how I'm supposed to contact her now? The last time I knew her, she was a cat and relied on the prayers of others directly to keep her going. I know that must not have turned out very well considering what Egypt did to her, especially its own gods who considered her not one of them to begin with, and the humans only saw what they wanted to see- It's something I'd rather not discuss. Too many secrets that would probably do better to be kept."
"I uh- I'm lost. I don't know how to contact her." Robert spoke dimly.
"I do. She let me use her account on some website to visit a Gotham thread. It was so cool- I met someone neat there." Sharpie grinned sheepishly, Robert stomped on his foot. "...Hey, you were dead, don't start this now. Razor's a very interesting person, if you ask me."
Lolli looked at him. "Show me."
MI- So they're still there? And you're really expecting me to just "Hand of God" them out of there because you're too lazy to do it yourself?
LL- DON'T EVEN-
MI- ...Ah, that's right, you don't have powers left. Shame. You could ask Iceland-kun to do it.
MI- You don't like that one?
MI- :-[ NOT HETALIA. Yeesh. I thought it was cute. The CRYSTAL. Like Hell I'm calling him Crystal, though, that's a girl name. And I'm sure not calling him Kris. Either I think of Santa or Chris Griffin from Family Guy, and neither of those are him either.
LL- .../:-[ Please shut up.
MI- Would you prefer Spar-kun? I'd call him Spartacus, but not only would I be going to Pun Hell, but the name then becomes so nondescript that- Holy crap. It's so close it just might work as a name.
LL- I swear to God, you make a 300 reference, I kill you.
MI- *points to transcripts* Er, yeeeeeah, please don't. You said it, not me.
LL- |:-[ ...Touche, my friend. Touché.
MI- I'll do what I can when I can find some more episodes. Chances are I'm going to have to watch over you so this doesn't happen again. I got an idea- I'll meet you over there tomorrow.
LL- I thought you couldn't skip dimensions from your world, or risk Mary Sue-dom?
MI- You thought wrong. Otherwise why is Stephen King in every world he makes as the useless extra that's never noticed except for the fact that it's him?
It was as soon as they reached the door to Logga's house that they realized that the moon was quickly descending from the sky.
Within minutes, the whole town was asleep, suspended in the non-REM sleep where there was no dreaming or awareness. Things were reset, rewound as simply as winding back a clock for daylight savings time. People sleepwalked to their respective places. One who was watching from the outside would think they were watching Magnus and the other actors between takes, moving from one scene to the next without pause. And perhaps that was the purpose of this dreaming skerry. Perhaps it was for people to watch from the outside, never interacting, never taking part.
It was much the same reason that most things came to exist when written about- The author has a thought, perhaps caused by such a world, and seemingly writes it into existence, defining its existence. Those in the same world as the author would believe the author created the world. Those being written into existence would believe that the other wrote about them only after they came to exist, naturally.
The truth is that their existence defines each other. That is the malleable nature and illusion that is Time. Time exists all at once, the illusion of a past, present, and future only breaks up time into edible chunks for the fragile human mind to process. For those who understand the true nature of time, it becomes irrelevant.
This is such as what is written in Destiny's book, has been written in Destiny's book, will ALWAYS be written in Destiny's book. That is why nobody else is allowed to read Destiny's book, save for those followers of Destiny, similar to the Suicidal- followers of Death, the Dreamers- followers of Dream, the Lovers that follow Desire and the Depressed that follow Despair, Tyrants of War that follow Destruction, and the Mad- followers of Delirium.
Every page is the same page. Every word is the same word. Every letter, every stroke of a pen, every character. All a simple singularity defining the ultimate meaning of the universe. The beginning, middle, and end, all condensed into a singularity, breathing new meaning into life, explaining everything at once and yet nothing. Those that can understand this language are sometimes called Time lords, other times known simply as strange individuals who act outside of time, living on the gentle flotsam of the outskirts of reality, interfering only at key events to make sure they happen always the same.
But their nature is their own, and their own destiny is not written in the book of Destiny, for letting them know their own destiny would destroy the concept of free will. Neither is the destiny of the rest of the bloodline of the Endless until it has happened, else Destiny himself try to interfere.
This is how Delight became Delirium. Merely from reading the book of Destiny.
Skripture looked up from his own book, something he had picked up for his own interest, another book that was similar in malleability to Destiny's book in its fluctuating text. It was titled "The Prince and the Raven", and it seemed to be written in a couple of different languages at the same time. Depending on his mood, sometimes it was written in Japanese, upon which he would have to flip the entire book around and start from the back, which would irritate him because it reminded him of the Death Note, sometimes it was written in English, in which case most of its romanticism was lost, sometimes it was in French, and other times it took what seemed to be its originally-intended German language.
It wasn't apparent whether the book belonged to him or not. He just found it one night, when the red sun had flickered so low that old stars burned brightly in the sky, and a mist had taken hold of the desert-like world.
What caught his attention now was a sound that chilled him to his very core, had caused the little cogs in the clock- that sank into his chest and protected his heart, or in other opinions, exposed it- to run haywire until the hands hung limply towards the bottom, towards the number 6 at the bottom and trembled there weakly as he ran towards the source, book in tow.
Destiny was trembling, curled over his book in an almost fetal position, knees drawn to the book which pressed the book tighter to his chest, veins standing out in his hands as he gripped the book to himself tightly, his head hung over it. The old leather was becoming stained with tears. Skripture wrapped an arm around him tightly, placing the now-German book on the ground as he tried to pry the book back gently enough to read what was the problem.
'Merely from reading the book of Destiny...' Skript swallowed hard. No wonder. Destiny was blaming himself. He frowned, knowing that at this point, Tree would probably be writing in the book. This was upsetting. She was overstepping her bounds and wearing out her welcome, and he was going to have to draw the line somewhere. So he pulled out a pen, and it was decided that she was only a minor character from now on, less than a footnote in the story.
Knowing her, she had planned this all along.
Destiny spent the time still quivering slightly, drying the sadness from his face, attempting to compose himself. It was slightly startling, the feeling of being pulled into a hug, and he looked at the younger, more foreign version of himself as if the envoy had gone mad. The words 'looked at' being accurate because they shared vision in an odd standoff. On some deeper level, he knew he wouldn't be able to write in his own book, that it was impossible for him to do so, and without Skripture, he would probably have let his grief consume him until there was nothing left, and the Time Lords would be left without a path, without guidelines, without order. So this was just what he needed.
At least, he managed to tell himself that until Skripture had pressed their lips together. That scared him. Skripture ended up getting the full weight of the book of Destiny smashed across the good side of his face, the side NOT missing an eye, and the envoy scurried off muttering fearful apologies.
It was then that Destiny paid a visit to Desire, suspicious.
Desire sat upon a chaise lounge, examining a bowl of cherries with judicious interest. "I'm busy," It spoke, pursing its lips and bringing a Black Tartarian to them, looking amongst the other types of cherries in the bowl. "Can't decide who the Librarian goes well with. This better be important, or I'm likely to be in a bad mood."
Destiny looked at his brother-sister as if the thing had just done something repulsive. Well, he made the face one would expect from that in Desire's general direction, being blind. "You did something to Skripture." He demanded in all capital letters on his chalkboard, and seeing this caused Desire to choke on the pit of the cherry, swallowing the entire thing, stem and all.
"What in the world does THAT mean? Am I supposed to understand your poor grammar? If you're talking about your stupid book, I didn't write in it. That green tart, the feline one, does things like that. Her own whim, not my cause. She stopped being mine since Egypt." Desire set the bowl of cherries on the floor, then made a small sound as if calling a kitten.
Destiny's face at this point looked something like this:
"...Skripture is a person. Did the encourage-able feline woman not place you in the same predicament?" Destiny raised an eyebrow as Desire squinted at the chalkboard its eldest brother had written on before looking under the lounge, trying to reach under it. "OH. You call yours Skripture? I don't know their names. I had one that I named Amber, but it died. Pity. Mine don't talk for some reason, or at least, I can't hear them." Grasping at a pink tuft of fur with a yellow belt of gold bells tightly clasped onto it, Desire tugged tightly to pull out something that looked like the Pink Panther. Well, A pink panther. "There you are. I don't understand the point of having an envoy for a world made of chalk. I mean, the only use they have is that they can see things we miss."
"...I see. They all have mismatched eyes...Do you suppose that is of some importance? Perhaps this one is to blame...Skratch, is it?" he watched the feline nod quickly, looking away as if it was ashamed. "...I don't appreciate meddling in my affairs." This note earned him an angry glare from the pink cat, which pawed at the chalkboard in earnest, wanting to speak for itself.
"I don't do lust. I do soulmates. I do innocent love. My incompetent owner ruins everything for me. Truly a shame. You should take better care of my brother. He's very fragile. Especially when he has to see every single possible course of action from now until the end of time, instead of just reading decidedly permanent destinies through a moldy old book. If you need me, and you will, don't come looking for me. You obviously don't want my help. If you did want it, you wouldn't need it, because you'd already have it."
Destiny erased the words with a tinge of guilt. He replaced the words with: "Do not think that you are better than any of the Endless because of your powers. You hurt people a lot more than Desire does. Desire just bends people one way or the other, but you dig your claws right into a person's heart, and hold fast until you have torn it to shreds. Now, leave Skripture alone. He does not deserve such pain."
Roaming back to his own dimension, Destiny held fast to his chalkboard and book while Skratch looked up at Desire with mismatched eyes of mango juice and gold, and something akin to smugness.
"Skratch. Nice name. I guess he didn't need your help after all."
*More of the chapter below Author Notes*
\\...Every beauty needs to go out with an idiot
How can you stand next to the truth and not see it?
Oh, a change of heart comes slow...\\
Song: I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight by U2
Yeah so I was reading the Wake again.
It was very, VERY sad and I imagine everyone would flip their lid if they found out he was still alive after all that sadness.
Sportacus woke up as he always did, to a beautiful day. There was only enough time for a drink of water as breakfast, though, for as soon as he finished the bottle, his crystal signaled that there was someone in some sort of trouble. He immediately jumped to the helm of his ship, sending the blimp speeding towards LazyTown, through clouds of fluffy white.
Flipping out of his ship and landing with his usual acrobatics, a couple of backflips later, he froze as he saw the problem.
There was no way the black and white kitten could have climbed the tree itself. Its claws were too tiny, for one, and the bark of the apple tree was not suitable for cat claws. Another problem was the height of the branch it was on, and with no nearby items for the black-and-white fluffball to jump up from, it was baffling as to how the kitten got there in the first place.
The adorable little kitten was very vocal, too, mewling again and again at him as if becoming acquainted with a long lost friend, begging for his attention and being generally conversational and excited despite its position. Sportacus flipped up onto the branch, barely hanging on to it, looking at the kitten with a bit of disdain for having claws that would make it easier for the cat to hold its grip. It meweled once more at him, cheering him on as he fumbled for a good arm hold, and once he found it, he scooped the kitten up right under the stomach.
The kitten was NOT pleased with this, and let out a meek, pained yowl of surprise. He landed, and the kitten complained again with another yowl, swinging its paws around in agitated circles. "You must be more careful next time..." He told the kitten, but it yelped consistently over his words even more, expressing its disdain over his kitten-handling methods and the obvious fact that it couldn't have put itself there, so the poor kitten could not be blamed.
He placed the kitten on the ground as it cried desperately, sounding very mournful and turning around to face its savior, who merely waved, said, "You're welcome," and dashed away, flipping over various ledges as the kitten cried once again for attention, watching him go.
The kitten stalked off towards Robbie's place, its tail twitching agitatedly.
"He didn't even ask my name. How RUDE!"