#i don’t know which one i want to do first. torn between my veil jumper warrior revas or my crow rogue shrike.

[strixhaven]

oh no. oh god. i have three rooks.

[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

little Boy Blue (9)

little Boy Blue (9)

midvale AU part 9

Karadox- AU of the 3x06 e.p of supergirl, in which Brainy (teen Brainy) arrives in Midvale around the e.p timeline. this is part 9 where a few weeks have pasted since brainy arrived, and Alex has had enough.

It has been a few weeks since Querl came into their lives. Kara didn’t see or talk to him as much as she would have liked. With school work and strange cars driving all over town looking and looming over just about every inch of Midvale, the rumours began to spread in the school like wild fire, 

i heard it’s some big Gotham mafia boss in hiding   

i heard that their was serial killer who broke out and now he’s squatting in the woods

No way its a Luther family buy out mark my words, this whole place it going to get bulldozed or dug up for some kind of mad sci-fi bullshit 

i think they found an alien- 

-shut up, don’t be stupid Steven 

Kara did her best to keep a straight face, after all as they say fact is stranger then fiction and a boy with boy skin crashing in from the 31st centenary living in her basement would qualify. Kara in spite of the little time she got to spend with him really liked having him around, just something about his presents just put her at ease, like a warm blanket on your feet on a chilled night or a good book that sits on your nightstand watching over you with the silent promise of good things inside its pages. Querl did not leave the basement much (Alex thought this was for the best) but Kara would go down there and keep him company as she did her homework and when she was done she would watch him work. 

What he was working on however she was not sure of. Querl had torn apart any machine or electronic device he could get his hand on and would spend every minute of everyday loudly smashing and then reassemble the peaces into is apparatus i the middle of the room. From what Kara could gather he slept in small one hour intervals three times a day she was not sure if this was normal for is species or if it was just him, she had a feeling that it was just him.

Alex was reaching the end of her rope, Kara could hear her tossing and turning at night from at the sounds he was making, she would glare at the basement door every time she walked passed it and Kara was glad that Alex was not the one who could burn it down with a glace. Alex would usually end up just huffing and put her headphones in, Alex was stating to talk to Kara less and less not that they used to chat into the morning or anything before but with Querl here and Kenny knowing her secret, Alex seemed to have given herself permission to move away from Kara more then she already did, that was Alex’s right but Kara did seem to miss the small interactions at home more then she would ever admit. 

But all things have there tipping point and Alex was getting close to her’s. It was a clear Thursday morning and the two girls were getting ready for school. Eliza had left early so it was just the three of them Querl had made is daily walk out of the basement to get something to eat. Alex put on her headphones as she saw him and started to make her breakfast, Kara was eating her cereal and Querl had started eating his green apple and getting a cup of coffee form the pot. Alex put two peaces of bread in the toaster she pushed them down and then the whole thing fell apart all over the counter.

Kara snapped her head over to face Alex, Alex just stood there for a moment pressing her lips together they became white as her face became red. She turned to Querl who was quietly eating his apple and drinking his coffee like nothing had happened. Alex stomped over to him and looked down at him, after a moment he looked up at her, he did not reacted other than one or two confused blinks. Alex’s slowly opened her mouth and whispered

‘Why?’

Two more blinks

‘Why, what?’

‘Why, are you pulling my house apart,Why?’

Querl sipped his coffee again, 

‘I am simply getting the parts I need it has been more...difficult then i first thought...this certainty is nowhere near as advanced as my time or even my planet at this every moment, this place is simple and primitive, but alas i must prevail.’

he was claim but there was a hit of something else in his voice, a secret was hidden just out of site.

‘I don’t care about, whatever you are building down there just, egh.’

Alex held her hands up strangling the air, as she could see her words where falling on deaf ears. Alex just took a breath, shook her head, grabbed her bag and left the house.

Kara joined her shortly after, but before she did.

‘Hey Querl.’

‘Yes Kara’

‘I know how frustrating this place can be at times, but as primitive as it seems this is not a history class, this is how they have to live or rather this is how they know to live, so just try and remember that, this history has people in it living breathing people who can and will be upset with you, ok.’

he pocked his head up, her words rang inside his mind and he looked as if he had remembered something he had long forgotten.

‘Yes your right, i will remember that.’

Kara then went out to meet Alex as the bus pulled up. By the time lunch had come around Kara could see Alex tearing up her locker and bag.

‘where is it?’

Kara and Kenny walked over to her

‘Kara, did you take it?’

Alex asked with stress poring out of her voice.

‘Take what?’

‘My laptop, do you have my laptop.’

‘No, i think you had it in the kitchen last’

‘Damn it, great well nothing i can do now, I am having just the BEST day.’

Kara was going to say something but Alex just slammed her locker shut and walked over to Josie.

The bus home was quieter than usually and not just because Kenny went with his Mom today. The whole bus was quiet. Alex and Josie where at the back of the bus talking softly. Kara blinked and it was their stop, the two girls walked into the house and Kara went up stairs to put her things away. Kara had just taken off her bag and jumper when she heard a loud and angry scream.

‘What did you do!’

Kara then heard the basement door fly open and Alex stomp down its steps. Kara sped down into the basement, she saw Alex holding the remains of a laptop that most of the hardware torn out.  

‘What is wrong with you!’

she screeched, Querl just sat their with his hands together not even looking at Alex. Kara stepped between the two of them, 

‘Alex just take a breath.’

Alex then snapped her head to Kara

‘OH,Oh, of course you take his side, right, why wouldn’t you.’

‘I’m not taking sides Alex I just think you need to take a breath before you say anything else.’

‘Bullshit, ever since he got here, we have bent over backwards for him, He works on this thing all hours of the night, he is tearing apart the whole house and why, because YOUR cousin flew in and dumped him on us, because he didn’t want to do it himself,  

‘Alex that’s not what happened and you known it, it has to do with the future and Kal said he can’t mess with it’

‘Really, are you sure, are you really sure about that, If that were really true then,why is HE not at that fancy krypton fortress thing, doesn't that have that, oh so superior technology you and little boy blue over there go on and on about. So why is he ripping apart our stuff and not you cousins’

Kara held he mouth open for a moment to think about what Alex just said and as much as she hated to admit it she did have a point but that was not the point right now. 

‘I don’t know Alex, but Kal wanted to help Querl but for...what ever reason couldn’t do it himself so he trusted us to.’

‘Oh, well great, good for him to have such trustworthy people in his life, so trustworthy that he don’t feel the need to explain jackshit to them, When a whole ass strangler is thrown from the sky and into three other peoples lives and putting big brother in their whole town.’

‘Alex, Stop it that not fair, what were we meant to do throw Querl out because it wasn’t convenient for us. No, even if Kal had nothing to do with this, Querl would still be here because it’s the right thing to do and I know that despite how angry you are you know that, I know you know that. ’

It was at this point that Alex turned her attention back to Querl still angry.

‘Do you have anything to say for yourself...well?’

Querl looked up to Alex and slowly stood hands still placed together.

‘I need the parts...’

Alex threw her hands up.

‘I need the parts, i need the parts, I NEED THE PARTS, is that all you can say, are you broken.’

‘Alex!’ 

‘NO, Kara, what is wrong with him, really, what is wrong with you.’ 

Then Querl’s face for the very first time dropped what it was thinking, dropped the stoicness and his eyes let go of the veil that had been there since he had woken up on Kara’s bed some weeks ago and Querl’s eyes began to water.

‘I...I, Just, I just want to go home...’

Alex stopped and dropped her hands to her sides.

‘you see, something happened.... I made a mistake, a horrible mistake and I need to fix it, and can’t fix it sitting here, Clark can’t help me, My friends...can’t help.... me...I need to help ....them... I need to make this right, they should not suffer for my incompetence, So I need to get back to them...I need to...get back.’

Querl walked to the centre of the room were is machine laid, he then picked up a hammer.

‘I knew, I couldn’t build a ship but I thought I could build a beacon... for the others to find me.’

Kara stepped forward and asked softly

‘It didn’t work.’   

Querl took a breath through his noise

‘No, no, it did, its been working for two weeks now...’

Kara put her hand on Querl’s shoulder, he twitched under her touch but nestled himself into it after a moment.

‘I just thought maybe the signal was not strong enough so i keep working on it, then that didn’t work, so I tried again,

Querl hit the machine with the hammer making Kara move her hand back.

‘nothing, so I tried again,’

Hit 

‘and again’ 

Hit...Hit

‘and again and again,and again and AGAIN.’

Hit... Hit... Hit... Hit, Hit, Hit,Hit,HIT, HIT,HIT,HIT

‘AND NOTHING, So they either won’t answer me or,or....

....they can’t.’

Querl then dropped to his knees and let the hammer slip out of his hands. All three of them now in the wreckage. Kara then went down to him and pull his hands in hers, he didn’t look up at her but his hands twitched at her touch before squishing them. Alex walked over behind him and put her hand on his shoulder, he shook under her touch until she let go.

‘I’m sorry,’

Alex then wiped tears from her eyes and creeped up the basement steps. Kara was moving her thumbs over Querl’s pale blue skin and he held her hands tighter.

‘It’ll be ok, you’ll be ok, your not alone, I’m here.’ 

to be continued 

[kiwigreenflame]

Urban fantasy is one of my favourite fictional genres, juxtaposing the fantastic with the mundane (Urban Fantasy with a real character; Urban fantasy on my mind). The world the stories create is one we can imagine ourselves living within, with mystery and magic just around the corner if only the veil hiding it could be ripped away (apocalyptically?).

This kind of writing takes details in our world that we might normally ignore and enchants them, whether that might be a building or place (e.g. the Shard in The Glass God or Knightsbridge in Neverwhere), a local river or creek (e.g. The Rivers of London), a statue or monument (e.g. the City of London’s dragons in The Midnight Mayor), or using everyday items in magical contexts (e.g. Matthew Swift’s use of Oyster cards as part of an incantation).

Mostly the urban fiction I read is UK-based. I enjoy US-based series like Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files series (both books and TV), Tom Sniegoski’s Remy Chandler books, and J. Michael Straczynski’s Midnight Nation comic series. One thing I find with those, and this is a broad generalisation, is that the British stories seem to pay more attention to the people on the margins of society and make them more visible and valuable in the world. (Some characters and stories like the Mancurian antihero, John Constantine, in DC/Vertigo comics Hellblazer and other titles, also span the US/UK divide, though remain truer to the British elements of the character).

For example:

Old Bailey in Neverwhere. He’s a keeper of pigeons on the rooftops of London and wears clothing made of feathers; (A similar character, The Bowery King, exists in the John Wick films, but I don’t know if there’s a connection);

The Beggar King and the beggar community, King Rat, the Old Bag Lady, The Tribe (outcasts who gain their magic from tattoos, piercings and biohacking), The Whites (street artists and magicians whose power is in grafitti) in Kate Griffin’s Midnight Mayor and Magicals Anonymous series;

Razor Eddie, the Punk God of the Straight Razor, in Simon R. Green’s Nightside series who is the sometimes friend, sometime enemy of the protagonist, John Taylor. He kills with his famous pearl-handled razor that can even cut through dimensions, he smells really badly, wears a long grey trench coat that is in sore need of washing, and lives on the leavings of society;

Chas, taxi driver and best friend of John Constantine;

In these stories, these characters on the margins of society are treated, on the whole, with dignity and respect. I’ve recently been rereading Kate Griffin’s Midnight Mayor series and two things immediately sprang to mind when I was thinking about this. The first is in The Midnight Mayor, when the protagonist, Matthew Swift, chooses to help Loren find her lost son, starting him on a path that will, in turn, connect him to another significant character, Penny, and help save London from the Death of Cities. The act of compassion has lasting and unforseen consequences:

Loren pointed at a pair of red and black trainers, all sponge and wheeze. I tried them on for size. Too big. I put on some more socks, tried them again, shifted round until my weight was right.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Go for a wander.”

“Can you find him?”

“Dunno. I’ll do my best.”

“If you find him … don’t say anything, will you? It’ll only make it worse if you say something.”

She gave me a photo. It’s in my bag. The kid is ugly. He has a big head made bigger by having shaven off his hair. His jaw alone could demolish an old wall; his mouth is too small for the length of chin that surrounds it.

I left my shoes with Loren, a promise that I’d come back, and walked out of the door with the kid’s shoes on my feet.

It is surprisingly hard to scry by footware. It requires a submergence of will, an utter belief that your feet know where they’re going. Sometimes magicians learn how to do this by literally blinding themselves, tying rags over their eyes so that they have to trust entirely in the direction their body takes them, and never question, never doubt, that this is where they have to be. The problem about that is that a pair of shoes, while it may remember where it wants to go, is less likely than a brain to stop at a red light.

You need just enough awareness to stay alive, to stay smart, but not so much that you ever take control. Never question, never doubt. Just take a deep breath, and start walking.

The second comes in the fourth book, The Minority Council, when Swift seeks help from The Beggar King, who confers on Swift the vestments of the king’s office:

Then the Beggar King rose, and unfolded my new clothes.

“Kneel,” he said, and I knelt.

He held aloft a pair of shredding jeans, stained down one leg, with the pockets hanging out.

“I give to you,” he proclaimed, “the foul-smelling trousers of my clan. All who see you shall look away, and you shall bring shame, disgust and pity wherever you walk.”

He handed me the trousers ceremonially, which I hugged to my chest.

Then, “I give you the oversized second-hand shirt of the great fat man who went on a diet and no longer fitted his old clothes. He walks now in pride in tailored suits, does not give the beggars change but will perhaps one day donate a pair of torn-up shoes. Wear it with gratitude and bow your head when strangers walk away.”

I took the shirt. It smelt of chemical disinfectant, and something else, faint and sickly.

A large coat was flourished ceremonially.

“I give you a coat of infinite pockets and vile smell. The last man who owned this coat died in a church porch from exposure on a bitter night. But the vicar buried him in the yard beneath a stone cross, and the vicar’s wife laid flowers, and, though she did not know why, one of the paramedics came who had found the body and pronounced it long dead at the scene, joints stiff before the sun came up. Though you walk by yourself through the city streets, may you never know the truth of what it is to be alone.”

One of the pockets still held a battered plastic cup and the red felt-tip pen that had been used to write, hungry, please help.

A pair of trainers was held aloft. The uppers had come away from the soles, so that the last wearer’s toes could stick out, and the laces had each been knotted together from many fragments.

“These are the shoes of the beggar who cannot afford the bus, who does not have the money for the train. They have walked north and south, east and west, laying their footprints upon the earth with the lightness of a feather. We do not walk as others do, we are not the busy clatter of well-shod heels, we do not march with the stride of the rush hour, we are not joggers in a park or running for the bus. Ours is an ancient walk, the oldest walk known to man, down a path that has not changed since the first stone of the first city wall was laid. We walk together, the city and the beggars, until only the city remains. Take them, and be nothing but the city.”

I took the shoes, huddling them into my meagre bundle of possessions, and looked up.

The Beggar King’s open palm caught me across the side of the face hard enough to knock me down, landing awkwardly on my elbow. He stood over us and for a moment there was an ancient darkness in his eyes, as deep and wild as the whirlwind. “You’re one of us now,” he said, and his soft voice filled the room. “Don’t screw up.”

In these stories the teenagers who are distrusted and devalued by the world are recognised as real people of consequence. So too, those on the margins such as The Beggar King and his people, who form their own community and are recognised as fully human in the stories. As the story ends, Swift, having walked in London on the margins himself, passes on the vestments to another.

Round at the side of the church, I found who I was looking for, sitting alone on an old cardboard box that had been pulled apart to make a small mat. She had two sleeping bags, one inside the other – the first was bright blue, a camper’s sack with drawer strings; the other was a duvet, sewn together, and rotted at the corners. She wore a grey woollen hat and her face was pale, tinged with blue. Her legs were shaking inside the bedding and there was a greyness to her lips, a wideness in the pupils of her eyes. As I approached she eyed me suspiciously, her expression veering between fight or flight. She wasn’t out of her twenties, and though the sleeves of her jumper hid the worst of the track marks, enough capillaries had burst under her skin to tell much of her story.

I’m continually struck by the way in which these stories change how I see those around me. The ones I would normally ignore, mistrust and judge. These stories have a power to them beyond the fantastical elements in them; a power to make you look again at the world around you.

If you’re interested in reading some of these stories, then here are some of my favourites.

Kate Griffin

The Midnight Mayor series:

A Madness of Angels;

The Midnight Mayor;

The Neon Court;

The Minority Council;

Magicals Anonymous series:

Stray Souls;

The Glass God;

  Ben Aaronovitch

This series follows PC Peter Grant as he is sucked into a world where policing meets the supernatural in London.

  Benedict Jacka

In this series, Alex Verus, a magician on the margins in London, is caught between the political powers of the magical world while trying to care for and save his friends and run his magic shop.

  Simon R. Green; Neil Gaiman; Paul Cornell

Simon R. Green’s Nightside series is a tongue-in-cheek approach to the genre (replicated in his other writings with related series);

Paul Cornell’s series that kicked off in London Falling, is a grim and gritty police series where flawed characters try to handle magical and policing crises. Not many laughs in this, but some significant impact along the way;

Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere introduced me to the genre. I enjoyed the TV series and it made me constantly look twice while walking around London years after reading it.

  (British) Urban Fantasy and the Humanising of the Marginalised Urban fantasy is one of my favourite fictional genres, juxtaposing the fantastic with the mundane (