#or he’ll consider diving in to start swinging if he thinks he sees somebody getting too touchy with someone against their consent

[ficandkaboodle]

It’s sad knowing that the excitable and flirty persona Terzo created might not have been entirely true. But. In a way, it’s also glorious?? Because he’s described as being mad at everybody, himself included, but he still very much actually cares about the well-being of others and has people whom he loves. He’s just gotten to a point of depression where he can’t embrace them in full. Probably a consequential extension from the self-hatred but hear me out.

He was the nicest Papa, according to the ghouls: He doesn’t really hang out with them but when he interacts with them, he treats them kinder than his predecessors ever did, and doesn’t seem to give them any reason to complain in interviews. And considering how much they’ll talk about, they would have jumped at the opportunity. If he gave them any reason to, that is. He genuinely seems to respect them.

He loves his mom. He loves kids. He might have a kid of his own whom he may not be able to be around too often, but does love them. He likes his brothers enough to play UNO with them. He calls out roughhousing ritual attendees if he thinks somebody could get hurt and is not afraid to put his foot down if he thinks they won’t listen.

Terzo is a sad but still fascinating and beautiful example of how you can be filled with so much anger and sadness and disappointment but still retain a sense of love and kindness in spite of it all.

[leiascully]

A Mann’s World (my version of MASMTWM) part whatever (next up: Mann’s story, without the weird Scully sex fantasy):

"Can we get our suspect first?" he asks.  

She nods slowly.  "He went that way."  She points.  "Down the alley."

"After you," he says, gesturing.

"I thought you didn't want me pursuing the suspect?" she reminds him.

"Only without backup," he says.  "We both know you're a better shot and a cooler head."

"Flatterer," she says, but she stalks down the alley with a practiced stride, weapon out.  The alley is empty, Guy Mann long gone.  She stops and sighs.  "Well?"

Mulder peers out the end of the alley.  "Could have gone anywhere."

"Should we go back to the hotel and wait for him to come back?" she asks.

"Is that a cemetery?" Mulder says to himself, craning his head.

"Mulder," she says in a gently warning tone, "not every cemetery is full of vampires or what have you."

"The old monster-hunting instincts are kicking in," he teases.  "Can't you feel it?"

She cocks her head.  "All right.  Let's go."

"Really?" he asks.

"Really," she says.  "We can handle tracking down one possible monster without finding ourselves adrift in a shadowy conspiracy, can't we?"

"I guess we'd have to try sometime," he says.  "At least this case is laughably ridiculous."

"Exactly," she says.  "A werelizard.  It's a joke.  Even we couldn't take that seriously."

"Let's go, G-woman," he says.  "The cemetery won't investigate itself."

They head toward the tall iron fence.  They're not walking fast - barely strolling, really, enjoying each other's company as much as the pursuit.  Scully is sure their therapists would have something meaningful to say about that, but she thinks she's learned to be passionate about her work in a healthy way.  There are times that urgency is unhelpful.  Guy Mann, if he is the killer, requires a delicate approach.  So she'll take her time walking through the sunshine to the graveyard, thinking about but not dwelling on the times they've nearly ended up under markers of their own.

"What did the psychiatrist say?" she asks.

"A lot of nonsense about impotence and stabbing dragons in the liver with green glass lances," he tells her.  "He tried to give me a prescription for antipsychotic drugs of my own."

She laughs.  

He glances at her.  "Don't start."

"I didn't say anything," she says, and catches a glimpse of white through the trees.  "Mulder, I think that's him.  I was just in the store.  He'll recognize me."

"Don't worry about it," Mulder says.  "You're my backup.  He only saw me in the dark - maybe he won't remember."

"I thought he shot blood out of his eyes at you," Scully teases.  "You'd think that would create a bond."

"I'm sure it he shoots blood out of his eyes for every evening rendezvous," Mulder says, craning his neck to look at Mann.  "I'm going in."

"I've got your back," she says, caching herself behind a tree.

+ + + +

He can feel her eyes on him as he wanders purposefully toward the figure in the white suit.  He scoops up a bouquet on the way from another gravestone.  Sacrilege, maybe, but he's done much worse.  He walks through the rows of markers carved with names in heavy serif fonts.  There's a nice one a few stones away from Mann.  The epitaph says "Let's kick it in the ass".  That sounds like the right one.  He bends to lay the flowers gently in front of the stone and stands with his head bent for a moment.  There are some leaves and some flecks of grass on the stone.  He brushes them away with his fingers.  When he looks up, Mann is watching him.  Mann is clutching a paper bag with a green glass bottle in it.  

"Pouring one out for absent friends?" Mulder asks, nodding at the bag.  "I should have brought something like that instead of flowers."

"Oh, yes, that's what you bring to a graveyard," Mann says.  

"Did you lose somebody recently?" Mulder asks.

"Myself," Mann says dramatically.  His accent is interesting.  Australian, maybe.  "I know this sounds weird, but...until a few days ago, I didn't know we died.  I mean, I knew we could die.  I instinctively knew to avoid death, but what I didn't know was...well, no matter what we do, eventually you end up in a place like this."

"Sometimes more than once," Mulder says under his breath, and then addresses Mann.  "It's that classic damned if you do, damned if you don't kind of deal."

"It doesn't make any sense!" Mann exclaims, swinging his arms around.  "Nothing makes sense!"

"I don't mean to intrude," Mulder says, "but I think I've gone through some of what you're dealing with.  I've lost myself.  I've been forced to confront my own mortality."  He taps his fingertips against his thigh in the pattern his therapist taught him.  "It seems to be weighing on you.  Sometimes it helps to unburden yourself, even to a stranger."

"You mean, to confess?" Mann asks, sidling closer.  

"I'm no priest," Mulder tells him, "far from it, in fact.  But I've found a willing ear enough times in the past to know it's time to pay it forward."

"Well then, I confess I think that life is pretty much entirely nonsense," Mann says excitedly.  "And to be honest with you, I just want the madness to end."

"Don't do anything extreme," Mulder tells him.  

"No, of course not," Mann says.  "I'm just gonna, er, kill you.  You ready?"  He slips the green bottle out of its paper bag and smashes it over the nearest headstone.  Wine gushes over the granite, pattering down with the shards of glass.  Mann lunges at Mulder with the jagged top of the bottle.  Mulder dodges, reaching for his weapon, but Mann sees him.

"Not the gun!" he says, and grabs for it, tumbling into Mulder, who trips over the flowers and lands on his ass.  He drops his weapon, but Mann doesn't dive for it.  In fact, he hasn't moved at all. He stands over Mulder, still brandishing the bottle.  

"You okay?" he says.

"Huh?" Mulder says in confusion.

Mann looks around and hesitates, then takes a step and trips so theatrically Mulder's pretty sure he'll get the lead in the next community theater production.  "Oh no!" he says, dropping the bottle top next to Mulder's hand, the neck of the bottle conveniently positioned for easy grabbing.  "I've lost my weapon!  Oh, how could this have happened?"

Mulder picks up the bottle and his weapon and climbs to his feet.  Mann lunges forward, grabbing Mulder's wrist, trying to direct the glass into his stomach.

"You really took the dragon story seriously, huh?" Mulder asks.

"Defend yourself!" Mann demands.  

"I'm not gonna kill you," Mulder tells him.  "I want to help you.  The thing about the green glass and the liver - it was a metaphor, and it wasn't even a subtle one."

"The only way you can help me, mister, is by...by killing me," Mann says.  "I'm miserable.  I'm a wreck of a human.  Please just end it."

Mulder hesitates, the glass still in his hand.  "I'll consider it," he says.  "But first I want to hear how this happened to you."  

"You'll really think about it?" Mann demands excitedly.

"I want the whole story," Mulder cautions.

Mann considers.  "Okay," he says at last.  He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a flask.  "But you're gonna need this."

Mulder looks at the flask, sighs, and takes it.  

[fallen-gravity]

Would you ever consider writing the Tamatoa scene from Maui's point of view? Particularly from the part where Tamatoa brings up Maui's abandonment and you can see Maui glance back at Moana to where she comes back with his hook...? His expression is so shocked when she helps him up, and I wonder if he's ever been supported like that before. BTW, I love your writing! I literally spent the past couple of days going through all of your Moana tags and stuff and you bring the duo to life so well!!!

aah, thank you so much!! I’m touched

what’s this, an oportunity to write a fic about Maui’s inner dialouge about Moana? What is this, my birthday? :D

It was supposed to be easy.

It was supposed to be a quick, in-and out type ofmission. Send in the kid, grab the hook while she keeps Tamatoa distracted, andget out of there. He was even going to wait, just for dramatic effect, untilTamatoa started threatening Moana to swoop in just in time to save her. You’renot my hero, she’d said when they met almost a month ago, and he wasprepared to prove her wrong.

And it was. Although she complained a lot, and Mauimeans a lot, Moana eventually agreed to go in and distract Tamatoa whileMaui snuck around the back so he could grab his hook. The kid kept him talking,which was good; because once Tamatoa starts about himself he could go on hours.Maui had climbed up to the second layer of the cavern, pretended hewasn’t keeping an eye on the kid, just in case, and crouched until he wasright above Tamatoa’s shell, his hook only a mere few feet away from him.

Maui lept once, and missed, but that’s okay becausehe still had both of his hands on the ledge. He pushed himself back up, andcrouched back down again. Moana’s keeping Tamatoa busy again, good, and Mauistood to leap again.

…Until Tamatoa started singing. When Maui catchesa glimpse of Moana as Tamatoa turns around, she’s got the same confusedexpression on her face that he does. Tamatoa wasn’t really one for singing anddancing as far as Maui was concerned, but he supposes that’s what happens whenyou live alone in a dark cavern and somebody finally comes to see you.(Not that Maui would know anything about that, of course).

Moana’s sudden outburst of yelling snaps Maui fromhis thoughts, and when he looks toward Tamatoa again he’s slowly lowering herinto his open mouth. Oh no, no no, if Tamatoa thinks he can get awayfrom this scot free, after trying to eat his mortal, than he’s really gotanother thing coming to him. Maui was just gonna leave the guy alone, becauseMoana seems so insistent on getting to Te Fiti as fast as her littlecanoe can carry her. But now? Tamatoa’s gonna have to pay, and what better wayto get back together with his hook than to fight Tamatoa to save a mortal’slife? Maui leaps again, and thankfully lands solidly on two feet on top ofTamatoa’s shell, and grabs onto the hilt.

“Hey, Crab Cake!” he calls, and flashes Moana a grinas he yanks it out of Tamatoa’s shell.

–

Everything’s going great, until it isn’t. Veryquickly.

The failed transformation isn’t even what registersfirst. It’s Moana’s small gasp from the ground as she watches him, like she’s worriedfor him. Which is ridiculous, because she doesn’t need to be, Maui’s foughtTamatoa a hundred times over and he’s won every single battle.

Plus…they’ve only known each other for a month,and he’s been nothing but cold to her. There’s no way she’s actually worriedfor him. She’s probably just…shocked, is all. Because if she were worried,that would mean she cares, and nobody’s ever cared long enough to worry overhim about something.

…Especially not over something as small andpointless as this. So his hook is a little rusty. That…that shouldn’t worrythe kid as much as it does. That shouldn’t send little frissons of fear throughher like she’s worried he might not make it out okay. He’s a demigod. Of coursehe’ll make it out okay.

The second thing that registers is just how quicklyTamatoa turns the tables on him. No, literally. One moment Maui is finestanding on two feet on top of Tamatoa’s shell, and in the next, Tamatoa startsrocking his shell as violently as he can back and forth, and before Maui evenhas time to look for another foothold, he slips off his shell, gripping tightlyonto his hook to prevent himself from losing it.

Big mistake. As soon as Maui starts plummetingtowards the ground, Tamatoa grabs onto the curved end of the hook and he comesscreeching to a stop. Before Maui can even finish processing that motion,Tamatoa starts swinging his hook in a violent circle, and Maui suddenly findshimself careening towards the cavern wall.

He smacks into the wall with a dull thud, and whenMaui’s finally able to focus on Tamatoa fully again he’s clicking his pincerstogether and grinning like he’s having the time of his life. Ooh, Maui reallydoesn’t like that look on his face. Maui growls to himself, quietly, beforehe hefts himself to his feet. He grabs for his hook in front of him, and swingsit out towards Tamatoa.

And because the universe itself seems to beholding a grudge against him, he mistimes his swing just enough to allowTamatoa to grab his hook and flick it upwards, sending him flying towards theceiling of the cavern. And as he’s flying upwards, out of the very corner ofhis eyes, there’s Moana again, staring up at him, and that horrified expressionplastered to her face almost hurts just as much as Tamatoa’s claws do.

And as he begins spiraling back down towards theground, even though everything is spinning again, even though his head ispounding from rapping it against the cavern ceiling, and even though Tamatoa isstill singing his own praises, Maui doesn’t miss the way Moana flits forward,like she wants to try to catch him but isn’t sure if she should, or thepanicked way she cries out his name as he plummets back towards the ground andslams into it.

There’s the sound of fast, panicked footstepsrunning towards him, the sound of footsteps far too large to belong to Moanacutting off her path, and then a surprised yelp as she’s lifted into the airand tossed aside to some other part of the cavern. If Maui had a moment tothink, to breathe, he would laugh. Really, he would. Because this kid,Moana, tried to bypass a crustacean fifty times her own size to run to hisside and help him back onto his feet to see if he’s okay. In a moment of panic,she chose his life over her own, without hesitation, to help him keepfighting.

If Maui had time to laugh, he would, but he doesn’t,so he shoves that thought down and takes Tamatoa distracting himself with Moanaas an opportunity to reach for his hook again. But he’s too slow, and Tamatoa’stoo quick, and as soon as he places a hand on his hook Tamatoa digs a claw intohis foot and drags him backwards. Moana’s watching him from a makeshift cage,but before he can turn to look at her, to whisper some kind of promise to herthat he’s going to be okay, because her worry is still burning into him, Tamatoaslams his claw into him and, if only for a moment, everything goes dark, so hecan’t. He reaches for his hook again, because it’s right there, butTamatoa picks it up and wipes at him with his claw until he’s forced to let go.

Maui flops to the floor, exhausted, and feels asthough he can no longer do anything but to stay lying there and accept defeat.

Above him, Tamatoa slams a claw into the wall, andthe entire cavern goes pitch black, save for Tamatoa’s bioluminescence. BeforeMaui has time to imagine what horrible thing Tamatoa could do to him in thedark, he steps forward and pushes his hair aside, and Maui’s heart drops to hisstomach.

No. Tamatoa wouldn’t sink that low. He would never.Maui hasn’t told Moana about his mother or how she abandoned him to the sea.It’s the story he’s most ashamed of, the story he spent his entire life tryingto cover up and forget, the story he’d swore to never tell again. Everyone he’sever gotten close to, and everyone he’s ever trusted ran once he told them thestory. They got scared, because they thought he would be too much to handle.He’s scared hundreds of others off with his abandonment issues and needs to beclose to someone else. Mortal and immortal. It never mattered to them, becauseonce they figured out how much work he would be, how much hurt he’s been through,they decided it was too much for them.

He was just beginning to think that Moana wouldstay, too.

He spares a nervous glance back at her, trying tosee her reaction, but can’t see anything past the pitch black and Tamatoa’sbright claw reaching down to pick him up by the hair. But it turns out hedoesn’t have to guess her reaction at all, because when Tamatoa holds him overher little cage he locks eyes with her, if only for a brief moment.

And he would’ve expected disgust, or pity,or even sadness, but when Maui looks into her eyes he finds none ofthose things. There’s concern, sure, but there’s also anger, and determination,like she’s angry at Tamatoa for what he’s doing to him.Tamatoa yanks Maui off into some other part of the cave, but not quicklyenough, for Maui can spot, vaguely, as Moana begins to scale her makeshiftcage.

Before Maui can process anything else, he’s flyingthrough the air again, momentarily, before he slams roughly down onto thesurface of Tamatoa’s shell. He makes one last attempt to reach for his hook,but when Tamatoa begins to spin roughly in a circle again, Maui finally acceptsdefeat and his arm flops to his side.

Maui’s all and willing to give up when Tamatoatosses him into the air and catches him in his mouth. Because even he knows,realistically, that he has no chance of getting out of here alive. His best betlies with one last prayer to the Gods, hoping at least one of them iswilling to listen, and-

“Hey!” Moana suddenly shouts, and when Tamatoa turnsshe’s waving the heart of Te Fiti around in her hand, and Tamatoa spits himaside as he dives after her. Despite everything, despite the exhaustionpounding through every muscle in his body, Maui leaps forward and grabs atTamatoa’s leg, because Moana’s doing it again, she’s choosing his lifeover hers again, she’s risking herself for him again.

And surprise surprise, it doesn’t work, and Tamatoakeeps storming towards Moana anyway. Maui drops his head down, because he can’twatch, he can’t watch Moana throw herself away for him, because she doesn’tdeserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, not since he’s been cold and rudeand an overall-

A soft hand gently touching his shoulder catches himso off-guard he flinches. When he finds the strength to look up, Moana’shovering over him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder.

“You okay?” She asks, and he’s so shocked, and thewords sound so foreign to him that it takes him a moment to realize she’stalking to him.

“Yeah” Maui breathes, and tries to push himselfupward again but fails. “B-but how did you-” he starts, but she shakes herhead, and picks up his hook from the ground next to her and shoves it into hischest.

“We gotta go,” she urges, and nudges her headtowards the cavern entrance.

Maui scrambles for a response, for a question, but beforehe can so as much open his mouth Moana tucks herself under his arm and places agentle hand on the small of his back and his throat closes up. And before he’seven halfway through processing that motion, Moana presses her side against hisand curls her other arm around his.

She could’ve run. There are about three or fourdifferent ways to escape out of Tamatoa’s cave, and Maui knows for a fact therewere at least two she could’ve run to after she escaped her little cave. Shecould’ve looked after herself, she could’ve ran, she could’ve abandoned himhere to face Tamatoa alone.

But she didn’t, and instead chose to supporthim. She’s pressed closely to his side, one arm slinging around his sideand the other around his arm. She slowly helps heft himself to his feet, andimmediately tightens her grip on him when he starts to stumble backwards alittle bit. Moana clicks her locket closed with the real heart inside, grinningmischievously up at him, and curls her arm even further as she guides him intothe geyser and back towards her canoe.

He knows, now, that Moana isn’t like the others.

He knows, now that Moana will never leave.

[jackblankhsh]

A Blood Red Reindeer Knows part 8: Message in the Pigpen

Spotting a dark dive I duck inside.  Being on the street is a bad idea.  There's no telling who may've followed me from the Krampus building. ​The place is called Persiflage 130.  Candles are the only light inside save for a few low lamps on a tiny stage.  Sitting in a corner where I can watch the door, I wait to see if anyone seems to follow me inside. Though the place is on the verge of vacant the band on stage is giving it their all.  The donkey on an upright bass thumps a steady rhythm.  My heart slows.  The rooster on a keyboard plays a mellow neo-soul tune.  Crackling nerves cease spitting sparks.  The cat on a saxophone grooves to the beat.  The tension melts out of my muscles.  An old dog on a trumpet fuses some urban jazz into the mix.  I'm not at peace, but fear isn't in control. A clockwork doll tick-tocks her way over.  She asks what I want to drink. I tell her, "Three fingers of something strong." "Coming r-r-r-ight up."  Her eye clicks shut in a slow wink.  Even in the dark I can spot the rust on her body.  She's an old doll.  Odds are she's older than this building. When she returns I'm delivered a glass brimming with red liquid.  It tastes sweet, but the kick soon threatens to punt my brain out of my head. She twitches into a palsied sexy pose, "How's that sh-sh-sh-sugar?" I nod, "Just what I needed." On stage the old dog howls, "Anywhere we can find something better than death... together you see, you and me got no fear of our last breath." He blows the trumpet.  The saxophone orbits the melody, while the bass bumps in the background.  It's a bittersweet tune.  Hearing it I can't help thinking about being resigned to fate.  Now that Elfonso's dead perhaps I'm destined to take his seat in that chair.  The ghost-odor of blood and sweat conjures a vivid scene of me getting sliced up in that grim basement. There's a dark tide rising at the North Pole.  The only way to keep from going under is to get ahead of it.  Rummaging in my pocket I pull out the pages I swiped from the Krampus building.  The writing, something about it strikes me as familiar. I've never been one for codes.  Vixen tried to teach me ciphers when we were kids.  That way we could communicate in secret.  Thick fool that I am I never could do anything complicated.  So Vixen kept it simple.  Unfortunately, it's been too many years for me to recall.  Looking at the pages, it feels like the message is at the edge of my mind; the tip of my tongue.  I should know this. We used to pass each other notes all the time.  Little bits arranging rendezvous where the other reindeer wouldn't find us; sweet words her parents couldn't realize were mine.  Granted, it didn't work forever.  Her parents didn't care about the words only their origin, and the other reindeer, well, they learned the hard way Vixen wasn't soft.  When they got mean they got cut. Part of me thinks it was always only a matter of time.  Two people on parallel roads can only walk together until a fork arrives.  We went our separate ways, but we left a mark on one another. Signaling the clockwork waitress I watch her clitter over. "An-nuh-nuh-nother?" she asks. I shake my head, "Nope." A fat tip goes her way, courtesy of the late Black Jack.  At this rate the cash'll be gone soon.  I don't mind.  He doesn't need it anymore, and I'm pretty sure I can't buy my way out of what's coming. I ask the doll, "Is there a backdoor?" Pocketing the tip she points the way.  I thank her.  The band flourishes.  She tick-tocks away.  I finish my drink, and dive back into the night.  Maybe it's just the drink, however, though I'm still in over my head, I'm ready to go down swinging. # The upside to having one lead is that there's only one place to go.  After sneaking back to my bike I ride to a westside borough.  There's a pool hall there called Jamaica Greene's. Tobacco smoke fogs the joint.  Pool balls clatter constantly.  Occasionally low claps and intense murmurs tell of miraculous shots. It's a mixed bag inside.  Some folks here are just looking for a game.  Others are killing time between running numbers, or robbing the next liquor store.  That said, everyone here is a hustler. Those aspiring to be pool sharks cut their teeth at Jamaica Greene's.  The only rule, besides pay what you owe, is no falsehood.  There's no attempt to down play one's ability, though more than a few folks have overestimated their skills. I can feel eyes clocking me the minute I enter.  Whispers kick up all over.  It's a safe bet some here recognize me from news reports, and no doubt somebody is thinking about grabbing me.  Civic duty isn't the motivation.  Cops are on the hunt.  If they show up here, Jamaica Greene's doesn't want them thinking I'm the kind of person frequenting this place.  Tossing me out is the safe play, though calling the cops might also pay off.  Grateful police are never a bad thing.  The point being, I'm on borrowed time every second I'm in here. Over in one shadowy corner I spot a pool table surrounded by a tiny catwalk.  Scurrying along it is a mouse.  He lines up a shot, and sends the cue ball bouncing off three rails, ricocheting its way between obstacles until it softly kisses the nine into a corner pocket.  There's no whispered exclamations.  For him, the shot is almost guaranteed. Clapping as I approach I say, "Not bad Mortimer.  Looks like you're still good for one thing." Glancing my way the mouse, Mortimer Read, shakes his head.  Hurrying down the catwalk he heads towards me.  Along the way he pulls out a flick knife. Brandishing the blade Mortimer says, "You owe me some money motherfucker with years of interest." Backing away I say, "Chill Morty.  I sent you that cash."  Pointing to a nearby sparrow I add, "I gave it to Andy to give to you." Mortimer pauses.  He glares in Andy's direction. Mortimer says, "Rudy's a lot of things, but one thing he ain't never been is a liar." The sparrow starts to stammer out a response then bolts for the nearest window.  An otter slams it shut.  Mortimer nods, and Andy the sparrow gets dragged into the alley out back.  He'll be seen again.  Mortimer is severe, but no monster.  However, Andy won't ever be pretty again.  Twenty grand buys a lot of wreckage. Putting the knife away Mortimer says, "Now that that's out of the way, it's good to see you." "Good to see you too.  Look, I need some help." "Then here's some free advice."  Mortimer goes back up onto the catwalk, "Why ever you're killing those reindeer -- I don't care -- but it's time for you to get out of town." Part of me doesn't disagree.  There's only one problem.  I don't mind going down for something I did.  However, I'm not about to be the fall guy in this situation, and though Big Red tends to leave the Outskirts alone, I get the feeling killing his fliers is exactly the kind of thing he'll chase someone to the ends of the Earth over.  I need to clear my name if I want to be left alone. So I pull out the pages saying, "My hoof's out the door.  There's just one, or two things I need to know before I go." Mortimer hops the cue over a line of balls.  It clips a stripe into the side pocket.  He orbits the table, walking slowly to his next shot. He says, "It's been a while Rudy.  I'm not as well connected as I used to be.  The Shortage."  He shakes his head, "Things got desperate.  That strained a lot of relationships, ya follow?" Everything down to the bare minimum.  People starving in the streets.  No amount of money able to buy a crust of bread.  I can imagine everyone going at each other's throats.  On the Outskirts we did okay, though not much better.  Even good friends ate one another, some literally. Flashing the pages at him I say, "I'm not here for your connections.  I'm here for you." I toss the pages on the table.  Mortimer glances at them.  He gestures, and a cat clears the pages off the table.  After his shot Mortimer motions.  The cat holds the pages closer to him. He nods, "It's a pigpen cipher." Hearing it out loud connects all the dots.  Suddenly I remember the code.  Vixen loved to use it because the pigpen felt like alien writing -- "Something from another world," she used to say. I ask if Mortimer can read it.  He snorts.  He knows all the codes, invented a few of his own. So he says, "That's almost insulting." I smirk, "Then what's it say?" He reads, "'King Crimson is on the menu.  Three days.  Be ready to devour.'" A coded phrase in a coded message.  It makes sense.  Using a simple cipher made it easy to encrypt any messages, but also left it likely those letters, if intercepted, might get decoded.  An extra layer made the details a bit harder to figure. The rest of the pages are pretty much the same.  The only consistent bit is they all mention King Crimson.  It's a safe bet those three days are up, or damn close to being.  Something is about to happen if it hasn't already. Mortimer nudges the cue ball into the eight.  The black ball rolls along a rail until it stops just short of a pocket.  Sighing, Mortimer shakes his head. He says, "What've you gotten into Rudy?" I tell him, "Honestly, I don't know." A gesture from Mortimer, and the cat hands me back the pages. Mortimer comes around on the catwalk.  Looking over at me he seems to be considering something. He says, "You were never really a bad guy Rudy.  Trouble, yeah, but not bad.  Do yourself a favor, okay?  Just disappear." I say, "Would if I could, but you know the old saying.  'He sees you if you're sleeping,' and such."  A dim bulb brightens, "Of course." "What is it?" Mortimer asks. "I gotta go.  Thanks Morty."  Running out I shout back, "I owe you one." He hollers, "Where're you going?" "To see King Crimson." I'm on my way to Big Red's.