PART THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
((For those who would like to start from the beginning, Part One can be found HERE ))
Sunday
To pass the time, I pointed out the constellations to Gerry, recanting clever facts I had picked up from a life on the sea. It turned out she knew the basics, which impressed me. But I then went on to cover the more obscure ones.
“Okay, going back to the Big Dipper but this time follow the angle of the handle down. See that really bright one? That’s called Arcturus, and that’s the third brightest star in the whole night sky.”
On and on I waffled, more interested in watching her and the fascination she held then the stars that I’d been taught to navigate the globe with before I was ten.
“How do you know all this stuff?” she asked, after hours of idle chat.
“Life on the sea,” I answered, breaking away from her to lean back on my elbows. “I may not know much about television characters or pop culture or anything past what the guys have introduced me to, but nature has its own song to sing if you just learn to listen.”
Eventually, I heard her stomach growl and realised it had been ages since I checked the time. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and damn near died!
ELEVEN O’CLOCK!!
I used my elbow to jack-knife myself to my feet, at which point I swung around to help her up before brushing my pants off. The last thing I wanted to do was get any sand in her face. “Angel, we have to go!” I thrust my phone in my pocket and dusted her off when she didn’t move quickly enough. “And we haven’t even had dinner yet! Shoot! I’m so sorry, Gerry!”
“Why? I’m not,” she said, feeling none of the haste that was threatening to give me a heart attack. “This has honestly been one of the best days of my life.”
I stopped long enough to look at her. “But you have to be hungry…”
“Not really. I’m not used to eating takeaway, remember?” She patted her stomach. “It’s still sitting right here.”
I eyed her warily. If she was saying the food sat heavily in her stomach, that was one thing. But if she was implying it was percolating into imaginary fat cells, it was going to be a problem. I just had to work out which one it was. “Maybe we can get something light,” I said, already thinking of a substantial flaw to my suggestion. I had no idea what was open at this time of night. Even Prince Street Pizza would be closed. Lucas and Boyd were going to kick my ass to Jupiter for being out this late!
…especially on a school night.
…double especially one week before final, graduating exams.
“Awww, man,” I groaned, covering my eyes with one hand. “They’re gonna kill me.”
“What? Why?” Gerry slid her fingers through my free hand and squeezed. “What happened?”
“It’s after eleven and we have to go to school tomorrow. With exams next week! I’m never out this late! Oh, geez! Your folks have to be losing their minds as well …”
“Mine know I’m with you, honey-bear. And they trust you.”
Only because my name starts with N, ends in S and had a mile-long run of dollar signs for central characters. But that brought up a whole different set of problems I had with her family that didn’t involve getting my girl fed and taken home.
“But we could always swing by NoMad’s if you like. I can call ahead and have the order ready for us to pick up along the way.”
“I’m paying for it,” I insisted, digging out my wallet. I may not have known where this restaurant was, but it was my credit card that was going to be used.
She sighed but begrudgingly took my card. “You sure about this, Sam? It’s not …”
“When you’re ready, Angel, give them my numbers. I’m not joking.”
She dipped her head. “Okay.” She dialled the number and placed her order for aged beef. Then she looked at me smirking, her eyes dancing mischievously.
I thought she was about to do a two-step around the numbers on my card, but then she shook her head and said into her phone, “No, no sides of caviar, thank you.”
My jaw hit the ground. “It’s a seafood restaurant?” I screeched when she finally hung up the phone.
She giggled and shook her head. “No, it’s a French-style restaurant, which means they cover all the bases. Reef and beef … and chicken. I ordered the beef.”
“Oh,” I said, immediately deflating. “Well … that’s okay, I guess …” So long as we’re getting takeaway and it’s nowhere near me.
She passed me back my card and kissed the tip of my nose, still grinning. “I’ll never eat seafood again, just for you, honey-bear.”
And that right there, was one of the many reasons I loved her, even though I shook my head and said, “I can’t ask you to …”
“You can’t stop me either. It upsets you a lot, so as far as I’m concerned, I’ve eaten my last oyster. Done.”
“Well, I’m not holding you to it then, how about that? If you want to change your mind, go for it … just not around me.”
She draped her arms over my shoulders, resting her elbows either side of my ears. “So, no surprise seafood smorgasbord for your twenty-first then, huh?” she grinned.
“Someone is seriously asking for it,” I smirked, my grin just as large as hers. I hooked my hands under her ass and lifted her to sit on my hips, giving her curvy butt-cheeks a cursory squeeze. She had several pounds on me, but what was the point of having genetically enhanced strength if I couldn’t make my girl feel special and light as a feather?
She squeaked, then took my head in both hands and kissed me. It lasted quite a while before she pulled away.
And a little bit longer for me to open my eyes with a sigh. “You know, there’s a Russian custom where at the reception, the newlyweds kiss as the guests count out the seconds clapping.”
“And what does that mean?”
“They say it indicates how many years of happiness they’ll have.”
Gerry combed her fingers through my hair. “Then I guess we’d better figure out how to breathe through our butts before then.”
I chuckled and began to carry her back towards Coney Island. “I definitely like the sound of that.”
* * *
Thomas went in and picked up our order while we sat in the car. While he was gone, Gerry turned to me, tightening the grip she had on my hand. “Despite the ups and downs, I had a really, really good time this weekend, honey-bear. “
“Yeah, that Cyclone was intense…”
She pinched her lips in an amused fake way and slapped me on the leg with her free hand. “You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I did. The most important thing about the weekend was we're still together. That despite all the crap that happened, we made it through to the other side. “I love you, Geraldine Portsmith,” I said as I kissed her knuckles, not wanting to weaken the statement by using her pet name.
“I love you too, Samuel Nascerdios.” We kissed again and didn’t feel particularly inclined to break apart when Thomas knocked to say he’d returned.
I wondered what he was waiting for until I realised Gerry and I had enjoyed sex in the back of the car … a few times now.
I pulled away from Gerry and reached over her to wind down the window. “Thanks, Thomas,” I said, as he passed the takeaway bag and drinks through to us.
“Yeah, thanks,” Gerry agreed after I nudged her knee.
“Very good, sir, ma’am,” he said and stepped away from the car.
Gerry looked at me and I smiled encouragingly.
And then we opened the bag and started to eat.
Or rather, she ate. I ate just enough to make it look like we were splitting everything in half. Because I knew what would be waiting for me in the fridge at home. Robbie leftovers. And then I realised … Thomas hadn’t eaten all afternoon either.
“Can you find somewhere to park the car, Thomas?”
“Sir?”
“I want to stop for a bit. Can you find us somewhere to park?” As I spoke, I was already using the lid that came with the meal for a makeshift plate, dragging meat and vegetables across from the containers.
Gerry seemed to realise what I was doing, and instead of complaining, she placed her fork in the middle of the salad bowl and pushed it across as well.
A few minutes later, Thomas found an empty car park and swung into it. “Awesome,” I said, passing forward the plate between the front seats for him. I included my fork as well. “Here you go, man.”
“Sir!” But he didn’t look at me. He looked at Gerry, who nodded her consent. “Ahh…thank you, sir,” he blustered, taking the meal. Then he noticed the fork. “Sir, won’t you need the fork to eat …?”
I shook my head. “I can use my fingers. It’s not as if I’m touching the steering wheel or the thousand and one controls you have up there, and I’ve got napkins back here for when I’m done.”
Again, he looked at Geraldine, and again my girl nodded. Which made me giddy with pride.
That’s my girl.
* * *
​
PART THREE HUNDRED AND NINE
​
Previous Part 307
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work including previous parts or WPs: Angel466 or indexed here
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

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Elenia
During lunch, I discovered something strange. Garanor’s presence had a stun-gun like effect on me. A double dose of Horos could be, if not fatal, then at least very harmful to the health of an overly sensitive fairy. Feeling the gaze of one brother on myself was a test of will, but both at once was like torture.
By the end of our lunch, I felt, to put it mildly, broken. To hell with the job and thoughts of bouquets and wedding cakes. I’d like to get home as soon as possible... Or just hide in some hole until I could process my feelings and organize my thoughts.
I shouldn’t have worn that dress. It would’ve been better if I had put on that old turtleneck in which I basically spent last winter because under Xanor’s piercing gaze my décolleté seemed to be getting deeper with each passing second, and the fabric of the dress more transparent. He was interested in me without a shadow of a doubt.
His Supreme Majesty should be pleased. True, judging by his sour expression, he felt quite the opposite thing when Xanor invited Lita and me to Alicantar. I didn’t know how to react to this unexpected invitation at all, and I tried to just block the thoughts of a weekend in the company of the Dark Ones until the torturous dinner was over.
Fortunately, all bad things come to an end sooner or later. The Horos brothers left us after about an hour. Garanor went back to work and took his brother with him, even though the latter was keen on staying for dessert and at the same time looked at me like fairies were being served as the said dessert.
Felicia and I spent some more time together, enjoying coffee and fluffy cakes (each about the size of half of a walnut), and then she ran off, saying that she promised a friend to go shopping with her. I walked out of the restaurant, my head still buzzing, and headed to the Aeroexpress stop. Wrapping my jacket tightly around me, I cast an absent-minded glance at the black aircar with tinted windows, near which a uniformed chauffeur stood motionless.
At the sight of me, he seemed to come to life, pressed a button, and the car door smoothly slid to the side.
“Sonorina Lei, please,” he addressed me politely.
Confused, I ran down the stairs and decided to confirm, just in case.
“Is this car for me?”
“Yes, Sonor Horos ordered me to take you to your new apartment.”
So, I moved, apparently... But what about my things?
The driver extended his hand to me, and I got into the aircar. It was warm inside; it smelled of leather, expensive cigars, and a bitterly spicy cologne, which made me think of Garanor. He smiled less often than Xanor... Or rather, almost never! I doubted he even knew how to smile. Dismissive and arrogant smirks didn’t count.
He and Felicia made such a beautiful couple. I hoped that she was happy, although, perhaps, being happy with someone like him was difficult. But if she was, I’d sincerely be happy for them.
I couldn’t say that these thoughts made me happy, as something incomprehensible had been going on in my head the past two days, but I tried not to pay attention to it. I’d rather focus on my new job and my baby. I forgot when was the last time I came home at three in the afternoon. If I didn’t have dinner with Garanor this evening, I would’ve let Dina go home early and spent time with Lita. But, we needed to discuss the contract.
The flight from the restaurant to the high-rise building located behind the second circle took no more than fifteen minutes. I never dreamed of living there. I wondered how much it cost to rent an apartment in such an area and such a building. And who’d be paying for it? I started worrying again and made a note to myself to ask Garanor about this as well. This, of course, was a wonderful place, but I wasn’t sure if I could afford it. Even with the salary that he promised me.
The driver offered to walk me to the apartment and we went down from the rooftop parking lot to the twenty-ninth floor. After one and a half years of living on the first floor, it seemed as if we were in the clouds. I admired them as the transparent elevator carried me to my temporary home.
“Apartment number 297.” The driver smiled a little, and we walked down a wide corridor with a fluffy carpet. Everything here was bright and elegant, and my inner aesthete was thrilled. So many plants, so much light...
The driver gave me a key card, reminding me that I could set up a biometric lock with my fingerprint. I thanked him and said goodbye. Upon entering the apartment, I almost fainted with delight.
Lita was running around the spacious living room, laughing. Dina was looking around, confused. Apparently, they had just been brought here.
“Hi.” I kicked off my shoes and hugged Lita, but she quickly broke free and went back to making circles around the room. “So, what do you think?”
“This is awesome,” Dina said enthusiastically. “It’s a dream-come-true, not just an apartment!”
The said dream had huge panoramic windows in every room, giving us a view of the elite districts of Kadris. From the bedroom that I fell in love with at first sight, I could see the yard and the playground. The bathroom next to the bedroom was insanely sweet and cozy. There was even a nursery in which all of Lita’s toys and things were already neatly arranged. The playpen should’ve been in the bedroom, however, as I was used to her sleeping next to me, which meant I’d have to move it.
My things were also arranged on the shelves in a small dressing room. Someone had done an amazing job in just a few hours.
“Lenny, if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave early today. I have an important test tomorrow, and I haven’t really had time to prepare...” Dina surprised me when the three of us settled down in the living room to have some tea.
Rather, she and I were having tea, while Lita was already on her third glass of apple juice
“You’ll explode.” I kissed my daughter on the cheek but still poured her some more juice. Big occasions like moving to a wonderful home should be celebrated.
But what would I do without Dina? Perhaps Garanor and I could discuss the contract here? We didn’t really have to go anywhere. Dina was already missing classes because of me, I didn’t want her to have problems in college.
“Of course, go study. Lita and I’ll go inspect the playground.”
“Yeeees!” Lita happily agreed with me, splashing juice on the table. Several drops fell on my phone, which lit up, showing a new message.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
After giving the whole situation some thought, I replied.
“How about we don’t go out tonight?”
A short answer arrived very quickly.
“?”
With a sigh, I explained.
“I don’t have a nanny for tonight, so I propose to discuss the contract in the mansion that you rented for me.”
“Okay.” He replied after a few seconds and I calmed down.
After the walk, Lita quickly fell asleep. Taking advantage of this, I took a long shower, continuing to fall in love with the spacious bathroom and everything else around me. Then I dried my hair, collected it in a messy ponytail, and put on my favorite clothes — sweats and a hoodie. I’d change before Garanor arrived.
While Lita was sleeping, I cooked dinner using the ingredients that were already in the fridge. From time to time, I looked out the window at the gradually deepening twilight and thought about how drastically our life had changed in just two days. Hopefully, for the better.
Once I was done cooking, I glanced at my watch. It was time to wake Lita up, otherwise, she’d stay awake all night. However, I didn’t have time to reach the nursery. The bell rang. Quietly swearing, I went to open the door for His Dark Majesty, who showed up a whole hour early.
“You’re early,” I stated the obvious.
What are you doing, Elenia?! This isn’t a delivery man or even your friend. Although I’d never say that to a friend. But to the future ruler of our country — no problem. Probably because I was nervous. In his presence, I was sometimes angry, scared, numb, and sometimes, like now, insolent, for unknown reasons. What I should be was calm and collected.
Pull yourself together, Elenia! It’s just a Dark One. And just the future (possibly!) ruler of Grassor. Just think...
“I forgot how incredibly hospitable you are...” He chuckled and glanced at me.
And then I remembered, because of his gaze, what I was wearing and how I looked. Awkwardly, I tried to fix myself up, noticing, for some reason that I was wearing socks with pink polka dots. Gods, I didn’t even want to think about my hair.
“Come in.” I stepped aside, letting Garanor and his entourage pass.
But they stayed in the hallway. And we were, again, left alone in the apartment he rented for me. To which I flew in his aircar, into which I was escorted by his driver. Gods, how could I not be nervous and worried? I could start feeling like his mistress.
Then again, that was the role he was preparing me for. Only, he intended to put me not in his arms, but his brother’s.
“Maybe I could make some coffee for your bodyguards?” I asked, looking over his shoulder.
I didn’t know how long our conversation would take.
“So, you’re worried about them, but you can just leave me standing at the door, while you’re standing there gritting your teeth?” He grinned.
“I did no such thing!”
“But you’re doing it now.” He pointed out.
He was about to go into the living room, but I stopped him. I almost touched his chest, and quickly pulled my hand away.
“You gotta take your shoes off first.”
“Are you from a family of housekeepers?” He squinted.
“What else have you learned about me?” I crossed my arms over my chest while he took off his expensive shoes.
“Right now, that you like to be bossy.”
“And before that?”
“That you’re from Creut. You’ve never met your father, and your mother worked as a housekeeper for some not too famous, but rather wealthy director. Before starting college, you lived with her, then you moved to another city. A very short story, but there are gaps in it.”
After the last words, I tensed up.
“What do you mean?”
He walked into the living room, looked around, and nodded in satisfaction.
“Nice place.” Turning around, he answered my question. “There’s no mention of how you learned to use magic, and where you met the father of your child. Where did you meet him?”
He looked straight at me. His eyes were gradually darkening, filled with golden reflections of light, while mine must have been widening with fear.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, Elenia, it does,” Garanor said sharply. “Everything I ask about matters. To me. To my family. I want to know everything about you before I let you in, albeit temporarily, into my brother’s life. Now, answer me.”
And then I’m the bossy one...
My heart stopped. For a few moments or an eternity, I couldn’t tell. A heavy silence hung in the room, and it made the noise in my head louder with every passing second.
I bit my lip but the pain didn’t sober me up. I couldn’t collect my thoughts or find a way out of this situation. I stepped back and I started speaking in an unusually low voice.
“Then, perhaps, I should start packing, and you and Sonorina Solt should look for a new wedding planner.”
I shuddered, bit my lip even harder, trying to hold back a scream that was ready to escape from my chest at any moment. Behind Garanor, darkness spread, poisonous splotches scattered from him. It was that terrible, unnatural force that had almost ruined me and Lita.
“Let me go!” I tried to break free, feeling his fingers on my shoulders.
But he only squeezed harder, almost hurting me. Making me feel what I hoped I’d never feel again.
“Sooner or later, I’ll find out everything about you, Sonorina Lei. It’ll be better for you if you tell me everything yourself. And don’t ever try to be insolent and give me ultimatums. I and I alone decide when you need to pack your things. Don’t forget, your life is in my hands. The future of your child is in my hands. You’ll do whatever you’re told and agree to all my terms. Now you’ll sign the contract and I’ll leave. Are we clear, Sonorina Lei?”
Everything inside me screamed in panic. Confusion and indignation quickly caught up. No, we aren’t clear! And I disagree! If I have to, I’ll bend over backward for Lita’s sake, but I won’t let anyone break me. I won’t repeat Leticia’s mistakes and I’ll never submit to a Dark One!
“I’m not your pet fairy, Sonor Horos! And I—”
I heard Lita cry and rushed to the nursery. I immediately knew that everything that happened before wasn’t so bad. The worst thing was about to begin — her attacks.
Lita screamed, banging her fists on the bed. Every tear and cry tore my heart up. Waves of darkness ran over her little fingers and hands as if harmful stains were spreading under her suddenly translucent skin.
I picked her up and heard Garanor’s quick steps behind me.
“Don’t turn anything on! The light will hurt her eyes.” I hugged Lita and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling how hot her skin was...
“Let’s take her to the hospital.” His voice remained calm, while mine trembled as tears rolled down my cheeks.
“No. I have a box of medicine here somewhere. Where... Where did they put it?” I looked around in panic, trying to spot it.
You idiot! That was the first thing you needed to check! I saw it somewhere... But where?!
“Elenia...”
Lita continued to cry.
“Why did I move here…?!”
“Elenia, give me the baby and find the meds.”
Without waiting for my response, Garanor took her, and I rushed to the shelves with her toys, inspected the wicker baskets in the corner, and only then I remember that I saw the medicine in the bedroom. I flew out of the nursery, returning after a few seconds, and realized that something had changed. Lita was no longer screaming, just softly sobbing, and the darkness in her seemed to have dimmed, turning ash-gray.
“What have you done?” With trembling hands, I unsealed a syringe.
“I’m holding her power back. Let’s put her here.” With these words, he put Lita on the sofa, knocking off some toys. “Do you know how to give injections?”
“I do.” My hands, unfortunately, continued to shake.
I had already been through this. I couldn’t even count how many times I saw her like this... And then Dina appeared in my life. Gentle and friendly. But when Lita had seizures, she was firm, tough, unyielding, she made me leave and did everything herself. At first, I didn’t want to, and then... I started to run away every time it happened. I’d lock myself in the bathroom, hide, just so I wouldn’t hear Lita crying. Just so I wouldn’t see her pain. I hated myself for being such a coward, but I continued to run away.
“Better give it to me.” Garanor took the syringe, which I managed to fill — to me, that liquid was one of the most outstanding achievements of magic and medicine.
I didn’t argue, even though I felt completely worthless and useless. What kind of mother was I when I let a stranger take care of my child?! I got down on my knees and started stroking Lita’s head, my fingers tangled in her soft curls, whispering words of affection, not even really processing what I was saying. Meanwhile, Garanor quickly rolled up his sleeves, disinfected the needle, and skillfully, as if he had been doing this his whole life, gave Lita the injection.
“How quickly will the medicine start working?” He looked up at me.
“The attack isn’t strong, everything should go back to normal in a few minutes.”
“That wasn’t strong?!” Probably for the first time, I heard surprise in his voice. I also saw it in his eyes and on his face... Which looked a bit menacing. “If you’d just tell me the father’s name…” he said in a muffled voice.
“Please, not now,” I implored him quietly. “She needs peace and quiet now.”
Garanor fell silent, just like Lita, and only then did I remember to breathe. I continued to stroke my little girl’s head. Color started to return to her cheeks.
We sat in silence. Garanor on the sofa, me on the floor. We sat and watched as Lita, exhausted after the attack, fell asleep. I picked her up gently and put her in the crib. She’d definitely sleep until morning. Sometimes, after an attack, she could sleep for a whole day, but this one was really not that strong. Perhaps I should thank Garanor for this. He managed to quickly help with her darkness. I didn’t know he could do that... I hadn’t come across Dark Ones for a long time and always hoped that it’d stay that way.
Having returned to the living room, the first thing I did was look for my phone.
“Have you lost something again?”
My brain, I guess.
“My phone. After all, I need to sign the contract and...”
After what had just happened, I’d sign anything no matter the terms. Yes, I clearly got ahead of myself when I thought that I wouldn’t allow myself to be broken. I would! Lita’s future was literally in his hands.
“Do you see it anywhere?”
He came up to me and grabbed me by the shoulders. Not like before, rough and mean, but on the contrary, rather gently. His hands were warm.
Garanor brought me to the dining table, made me sit down at it, and asked.
“Do you have some sedatives? Or some alcohol?”
“I think I saw a bottle of whiskey somewhere...” I tried to get up, but he gently pressed on my shoulders, forcing me to stay in the chair.
“I’ll find it.”
And he did. He found the bottle, filled up a glass, shoved it into my hands, and ordered me to drink every last drop. Then he began to lay out plates, glasses, and cutlery on the table.
“You know how to set a table?”
“Drink,” he replied, placing a napkin under my knife and fork. “That’s is the only thing that you should do now.”
And I drank, sip after sip, slowly glancing at him. Once he was done, he plated up the roast that hadn’t yet cooled down. He rummaged through the fridge and, having found a jar of caviar — a delicacy that I had no idea when I last had, he generously spread it on slices of bread. Then he sat down at the table next to me (not across from me!), poured some wine, and put it in front of me. After all this, I half expected him to put a napkin on my lap and start feeding me.
A nervous laugh escaped my lips.
“Do you think that if you get me drunk, I’ll quickly accept all terms of the contract?”
“I think this’ll help you relax and calm down faster. Eat, Elenia, it smells delicious.”
“Thank you.” For some reason, I felt embarrassed and concentrated on my plate. We were sitting so close to each other that I couldn’t possibly relax. “I hope it tastes good as well.”
I loved to cook, although I didn’t always have time. Usually, I only did it on weekends.
Garanor closed his eyes for a moment, and after eating a bit, actually complimented me.
“You cook well, Elenia. I guess fairies simply aren’t capable of doing anything badly.”
And again, I caught those mocking notes in his voice that appeared whenever he talked about fairies.
“Oh, we are...” I grumbled, continuing to drill the roast with my eyes.
“I can’t believe that… Unless you’re trying to influence someone without permission,” he recalled the incident with his fiancée, but, fortunately, he didn’t dwell on this problematic moment. “So what don’t you like in the contract?”
“The fact that for its duration, I’ll actually become your property.”
Garanor rolled his eyes.
“Don’t be dramatic, Elenia. There’s no slavery in Grassor and you belong only to yourself.”
“And who, just recently, told me that my life was in their hands?”
Whiskey and wine on a half-empty stomach was a dangerous mixture. I wouldn’t say it helped me relax, but to grow bolder (or tipsy?) instead. I no longer looked away from Garanor’s eyes.
We continued to stare each other down, and I realized that I had every chance of winning... I just shouldn’t lower my gaze to his lips... Why would I even look at his lips? They weren’t appealing to me, nor his eyes, nor he in general.
He reached for his glass and I heard him speak.
“Okay. I’m ready to make some compromises, but you, too, will have to agree to some things.”
“Great,” I declared joyfully, but under his strict squint I added with a sigh: “And I, too, will try to compromise, Sonor Horos.”
Strangely, his eyes became a few shades darker.
“That is, I won’t try, I’ll be ready to compromise,” I corrected myself.
“Glad to hear that, Sonorina Lei,” he said with hoarseness in his voice.
I wondered what exactly we were talking about now.
I didn’t have any more wine. For the next half an hour, or maybe even an entire hour, we argued about each item of the contract. Instead of sobering up, I seemed to be getting even drunker, because an arguing and feisty fairy was an abnormal phenomenon.
“Sonorina Lei, if you talk with my brother like that, he’ll leave you on the way to Alicantar.”
“Sonor Horos, are you a woman?”
“I’m sorry, what?” He frowned in a funny way.
Everything seemed funny to me now, especially his attempts to teach me how to deal with people like Xanor.
“No, you’re not a woman,” I reassured him and patiently explained my point. “This means that you understand very little about the art of seduction.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” He frowned again, and for some reason, I wanted to smile when I looked at him.
He really was funny. After a glass of whiskey and a glass of wine. Without alcohol, he was a nightmare, and tomorrow I’d definitely realize that. But today, more precisely, right now, I wanted to smile. Lita was asleep and the worst was over. He was no longer interrogating me, and he didn’t threaten to hand me over to the police. Everything was fine. At least for now, which meant that I could breathe freely.
“I know my brother well.”
“And I’m well versed in feelings and emotions. He’s hooked, rest assured. So much so that even Lita didn’t scare him away. So let me decide how to get a man’s attention. It’s the result that’s important to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s important for me to get the result I need, yes.”
“And you will,” I assured him.
Did he doubt my talents? The talents of a fairy?!
“I promise, I’ll constantly be with Sonor Horos and won’t let him do stupid things to the delight of proper journalists.”
“Okay.” Garanor nodded gloomily, after which he signed the contract.
I also signed the revised contract and returned the device to him. Unfortunately, the point about friends, like a couple of others, remained unchanged, but on the whole, I managed to bargain for more freedom and reduce the number of obligations.
“Now I’ll leave you to rest, Sonorina Lei. Take your nanny with you tomorrow, or if she’s busy, I’ll find you a new one.” He got to his feet and picked up his jacket.
“I’ll talk to her,” I promised, and, clearing my throat, quietly added: “Sonor Horos, I have one last request before you leave.”
He raised his eyebrows.
I bit my lip and, awkwardly rocking from toe to heel, said: “Can you help me move the playpen to the bedroom? I can’t do it alone.”
​
Next [~~~]

The World rework (yes 273737364642838 the world rework time yes haha me funny)
"Too slow, too slow!"
Obtainable via arrow (2%)
(how the hell is twoh a recolor of TW in ntjjg)
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STATS:

Destructive Power: A
Speed: A
Persistence: A
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PASSIVES:

Passive A - "My hands are already struggled!":
The user regenerates 2% HP per second
Passive B - Hamon Allergy:
The user takes more damage from hamon users
Passive C - "Behold.. The World!":
The user has a bar on his bottom screen, the more the user attacks someone the more the bar fills up, if the bar is full the timestop lasts 5 seconds, if the bar is half-full the timestop lasts 2.5 seconds
Passive D - Sun Allergy:
The user takes low damage each second under the sun (1 damage each second) this effect can be cancelled by using a umbrella
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STAND OFF:

Lmb - uppercut:
The user does an uppercut, why do I even have to explain this
[cooldown: 3 seconds] [8 damage]
E - "Too slow, too slow! The World is the ultimate stand!":
The World briefly appears for a second kicking the enemy (holy fuck dude you ruined my 700 yen legs bitch euhdjsjdk)
[cooldown: 10 seconds] [25 damage]
E + Hold - "I'M GOING TO SMASH YOU FLAT! WRRRRYYYYEAHHH!":
The user slams the enemy on the ground stunning him for a short second
[cooldown: 15 seconds] [30 damage]
R - roundhouse kick:
The user performs a roundhouse kick doing Great Damage at the enemy
[cooldown: 12 seconds] [19 damage]
R + hold - "Hinjaku Hinjaku!":
The user dashes forward at the enemy, if the hit lands the user slashes the enemy dealing OK damage
[cooldown: 21 seconds] [38 damage]
T - "You've gone pale.":
The user throws 6 knifes leaving a bleeding effect to the enemy each knife for 1 second
[cooldown: 19 seconds] [3 damage each knife] [+1 damage each knife with bleeding effect for 1 second]
T + hold - "It's over. I'll add one more just to be sure.":
The World gets summoned throwing a knife at the enemy with a 2 seconds startup animation, if the hit lands the user teleports behind the enemy draining it's blood throwing the enemy
[cooldown: 19 seconds] [20 damage] [+20 HP's] [+10 damage finisher]
Y - "That wasn't an illusion.":
The World gets quickly summoned shooting a shotgun pellet, if the hit lands the enemy gains a bleeding effect gaining damage over the time
[cooldown: 18 seconds] [20 damage] [3 damage each second for 6 seconds]
Y + cursor on target - "Right in front of me?!":
The World appears under the enemy striking him doing great knockback (19 studs)
[cooldown: 19 seconds] [32 damage]
U + cursor on target - "He's gone?!":
The user teleports in front of the enemy striking forward with medium knockback
[cooldowm: 14 seconds] [15 damage]
F - "I haven't mastered it yet.":
The user does a timestop with a 1 second startup which lasts for 2 seconds
[cooldown: 40 seconds]
F + cursor on target - flesh buds:
The user plants a flesh bud on the enemy's head, the enemy in this state can't control itself attacking the nearest enemy
[cooldown: 38 seconds]
G - "This is truly the end for you! JOTARO!":
The user takes a stop sign from the ground chopping a random part of the enemy, the more you hold it the more damage it deals leaving a bleeding effect
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [20-60 damage] [4 damage each second for 3 seconds]
G + cursor on target - shoot the man laying on the ground over there.":
The user grabs a cop npc by the neck making him shoot the enemy draining the cop npc HP giving the user HP
[cooldown: 18 seconds] [20 damage] [+20 hp]
H - "This suits me well!":
The user runs at a 24 walkspeed in one direction, if the hit lands the user drains the enemy HP's making the enemy lose low damage each second
[cooldown: 29 seconds] [+30 HP] [2 damage each second for 12 seconds]
H + hold - "It won't hurt a bit!":
The user charges it's eyes shooting epic lasers 😳, the more the user holds the more damage it deals to the enemy
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [20 basic damage] [50 damage if hold]
J - "Hmph. I suppose I shall rise to your silly provocation, and test you just a bit more.":
The World punches 6 times teleporting behind the enemy doing a heavy chop doing stun (This move can be bypassed with block)
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [3 damage each punch] [heavy chop damage: 20] [1 second stun]
Z - "I've seen enough. I'm satisfied.":
The user gets surrounded with a yellow aura flying in every direction he wants (not up and down)
[cooldown: 29 seconds] [lasts 8 seconds]
V - Outside of DIO's world:
The user teleports within a 50 studs distance
[cooldown: 7 seconds]
B - "fetch my leg from over there":
The user lays down on the ground with a half chopped leg, if the user gets hit the user grabs the enemy's neck SOMEHOW absorbing it's blood
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [+30 HP's] [30 damage]
B + cursor on target - "Do you believe in gravity?":
The user summons a Pucci NPC, if the user holds B the NPC has higher chances to get these: (this move can be cancelled with any move)
60% (30% if hold) - WhiteSnake: Stand Disc steal (makes the enemy unable to attack for 7 seconds)
30% (40% if hold) - C-Moon: Surface inversion punch (40 damage)
10% (30% if hold) - Made In Heaven: Throat Slice (60 damage)
[cooldown: 40 seconds]
X - Freezing Technique:
The user blocks using thejr vampiric abilities, if anyone hits the user they'll automatically turn into ice for a short second gaining damage each second getting stunned too
[cooldown: 12 seconds] [0.9 damage each second for 6 seconds] [2 seconds stun]
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STAND ON:

Lmb - double muda punch:
The World does 2 punches dealing low damage each punch
[cooldown: 1 second] [2 damage each punch]
E - Blazing Fists:
The World Performs 60 Punches at an incredible speed doing good damage each punch slightly pushing away the enemy each punch
[cooldown: 6 seconds] [5.8 damage each punch]
R - "I don't have to touch your hamon to attack you!!!":
The World does a total of 30 punches on the ground throwing 6 rocks dealing good damage
[cooldown: 8 seconds] [3 damage each rock]
R + cursor on target - This is.. The World!":
The user and the world disappear reappearing in front of the enemy doing a heavy punch
[cooldown: 12 seconds] [29 damage]
T - "What just happened?!":
The World grabs the enemy stopping time (the user can't attack during this) for a short amount of time striking the enemy dealing knockback
[cooldown: 18 seconds] [38 damage]
Y - "MUDA!":
The World grabs the enemy throwing him at a great distance within a 30 studs distance
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [20 damage]
Y + jump - "My stand is full power!":
The world performs 40 leg kicks at a great speed stunning the enemy for a second slightly pushing away the enemy each kick
[cooldown: 14 seconds] [5.8 damage each kick]
U - high kick:
The World does an high kick stunning the enemy for a short time
[cooldown: 20 seconds] [30 damage] [0.9 seconds stun]
F - "THE WORLD! STOP TIME!":
The user stops time, GER and SP can bypass this, during TimeStop nobody can see you attacking people except for SP's users
[cooldown: 60 seconds]
G - knife throws:
The World grabs the enemy throwing him at a 19 studs distance firing 10 knifes
[cooldown: 15 seconds] [3 damage each knife]
H - "Absolute Weakling!":
The user poses with a yellow aura, if the user gets hit with a close ranged attack the user immediately teleports behind the enemy, right after the world gets summoned punching the enemy
[cooldown: 30 seconds] [40 damage]
J - "ROADA ROLLA DA!":
The user flies up in the air for about 2 seconds, then dashes down with a road roller, dealing 45 damage. The user will then punch the Road Roller rapidly dealing 6 damage with each punch, after that the user will perform a heavy punch, blowing up the Road Roller and creating an explosion which will deal 65 damage.
[cooldown: 140 seconds]
V - stays the same
B - "I'VE WON! SHINEI JOTARO!":
The World does a high leg kick at a incredible speed dealing gud damage to whoever was hit
[cooldown: 59 seconds] [56 damage]
Z - "I've seen enough. I'm satisfied.":
The user gets surrounded with a yellow aura flying in every direction he wants (not up and down)
[cooldown: 20 seconds]
X - unique block:
The world blocks in front of it's user, if the enemy hits the user with any ranged move The World Deflects the projectile/knife/emerald splash back to the enemy
[cooldown: 8 seconds]
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TIMESTOP MODE:

F + stand on E - "WRRYYYAAAH!":
The World does a plenty number of punches (70) dealing low damage each punch striking the enemy
[cooldown: 50 seconds] [0.8 damage each punch] [heavy strike damage: 18]
F + stand off R - "Farewell.":
The user chops the enemy with it's right arm doing good damage
[cooldown: 60 seconds] [40 damage]
F + stand off T - "five more seconds":
The World and The user fires 50 knifes at a great speed, giving knockback to the enemy + bleeding effect
[cooldown: 50 seconds] [1.2 damage each knife] [2 damage each second for 12 seconds]
F + stand off T (hold) - "MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA^AAAA ":
The user takes out a single knife, with a long startup animation making the timestop last for longer (can't do any other attack during this state) and fires the knife at the enemy's throat
[cooldown: 50 seconds] [40 damage]
F + stand on R - "SHINEI! KAKYOIN!":
The World does a heavy strike in the enemy chest with a huge knockback leaving a bleeding effect
[cooldown: 50 seconds] [50 damage] [2 damage each second for 10 seconds]
F + stand on R (hold) - "Feast your eyes on my Power!":
The user teleports behind the enemy, right after the world get summoned doing a heavy strike in the enemy chest with low knockback
[cooldown: 50 seconds] [41 damage]
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Stand on Pose music
Stand off pose music
Pose music (under 25 HP's)
Stand on pose
Stand off
Pose (under 25 HP's) stand off/ Stand on
Unique death
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QUOTES:

"Oh? You're approaching Me? Instead of running away, you're coming right to me? Even though your Grandfather, Joseph, told you the secret of *The World*, like an exam student scrambling to finish the problems on an exam until the last moments before the chime?"
"I've seen enough. I'm satisfied."
"You're next Jotaro!"
"Behave like a flight attendant, bringing a drink and caviar to a first-class passenger!"

Continuing…
He smiles, pockets the money, and scurries off to accomplish his tasks.
I’m sitting in the darkened, warm, and well-used pub; sipping at my drinks, puffing on my cigar and noting that I was more or less alone here. I was enjoying my comfort of solitude and familiar surroundings greatly.
Suddenly, a gruff hand grips my right shoulder.
I hear a guttural voice complain “Why don’t you put out that fucking smelly cigar?”
My Hapkido training kicked in as I was about to spin around and clock the klutz that dared intrude on my seclusion and risked to grab my person.
However, there was something familiar about the voice that made me hold my hand in the split second before I was to deliver a stunning kidney-punch.
“Toivo!”, I shouted, “You gnarly bastard! What the actual flying fennec fox fuck are you doing here in Moscow?”
Toivo has already backed up, out of swing or kick range, and is laughing out loud.
“You should have seen yourself jump!”, he chortles, “I didn’t know you still had it in you, ya’ old fart.”
“Yeah”, I snicker back, “And you’re still one deaf MOFO.”
Toivo laughs long and loud as he helps himself to one of my cigars, and the seat on Mahogany Ridge next to me.
“Still, Toiv”, I continue, “You haven’t answered me. What the hell you doing in Moscow during this briskly foul month of the equally foul year 2020?”
“Just whorin’ around for money”, Toivo chuckles as he instructs the just returned barkeep to make with new rounds of drinks. “As usual. No one else out schmoozing for oilfield services during the lockdown. I can’t afford not to have work, so I’m taking advantage of having a working immune system and flying all over setting up contracts. Working a treat, I might add…”
“So”, I reply between sips, “Still have your own service company. That’s rare in this day and age. With all this COVID crapola, even the big guns are hurting bad.”
“That’s right”, Toivo adds as he filches my new Montgolfière lighter and fires up his cigar.
“They can’t just order people indefinitely indoors and want everyone to work from home. Does not work that way for me or my guys. Seriously difficult to do a workover or well completion over the phone. I pay real well and ensure my people take all precautions and get tested after every job. A few got the ‘Vid’, and I paid for everything until they feel they can return to work. Haven’t lost a soul and damned if I’m going to let that happen on my watch. But damned if I’ll let any of my people go, cut hours, half-time, or close-up shop either. Common sense, situational awareness, and ‘don’t be a fucking idiot’ goes a long way in the world today.”
“Having a well-tuned and actively working immune system doesn’t hurt as well”, I add, as I finish up the bowl of Irish Stew; which was incredible, as usual.
“So where you off to this time, Rock?”, Toivo asks. “Or are you just returning from a vacation out in Yakutsk? I mean, it is November…”
“Nope”, I reply between sips and high signs to our bartender for another round. “I’m only here for the convenience of some of my handlers. I’m actually headed to South America, and that’s as much as I can tell you unless I immediately neutralize you afterwards.”
“Ya’ know”, Toivo says without a hint of irony, “That line is a trite cliché. Except when it comes from you. Fine. Need to know basis and I don’t need to know. Gotcha.”
“Sorry”, I reply, “It’s really nothing personal, but the fewer who know what I’m up to these days, the better off the world will probably be.”
“Yeah”, Toivo replies, “I thought you were doing some academic schtick. Getting another couple of degrees or some shit like that.”
“Who says I can’t do both?” I chuckle in return. “Yeah, I’m teaching at [REDACTED] university and getting my DSc. In the meantime, I take odd jobs for fun and profit.”
Toivo accepted that and as long as I was on expenses, he decided to see how much hypermath he could use in running up an enormous bar tab. Over drinks and some bar snacks, he told me he was headed back to the US and home for the holidays.
“Shit!”, I exclaimed, “I completely forgot that it was Thanksgiving this week. Thanks, Toiv. I’ve got to make some calls and get some food catered.”
Toivo snickers and makes some reference as to how I can recall the chemical formula for Eggletonite [(Na,K,Ca)2(Mn,Fe)8(Si,Al)12O29(OH)7.11(H2O) if you must know], but can’t remember my own damn phone number.
“Priorities, Herr Toivo, priorities,” I say as I’m dialing the local caterer back home. I make certain Es and the girls have their Thanksgivings taken care of…
A few hours later, Toivo’s flight is called and we part after a manly handshake ensues. We pledge to get together, families and all, once the holidays are over. Maybe the new year might just be a little less revolting than the year we just endured.
Flight time from Moscow to Caracas is just under 15 hours and I’ve got at least two more to wait until boarding. I check the flight tote board and note that besides Aeroflot, there’s another flight to Caracas on another airline, this one from Turkey. It leaves in an hour, but a quick call to the airlines quashes the idea that I can get out of Dodge, as it were, a bit earlier.
So, I waste an extraordinary amount of time and money in the Irish Pub. I can’t smoke on the flight, nor in the waiting area, nor anywhere outside the Pub, so I sit and fume like a foundry chimney until they call my flight.
Once again, it’s Business Class on Aeroflot and once the snickering over my attempts at Russian die down, the flight crew were top-notch. The plane seems almost brand new, it was clean, painted where it was supposed to have paint, carpeted where carpet would be a good idea and even the heads sparkled.
After a short taxi to our take-off runway, we were wheels-up once again, heading west this time.
The flight was 15 or so hours long so I had several pre-nap tots, took a great snooze in the mostly empty aircraft, tried to watch the Russian version of an Avengers movie (The Guardians, 2017. Get a copy. You won’t regret it.) while trying, and failing, not to laugh too much. After a lovely Russian repast of black and red caviar, smoked sturgeon and salmon, blinis and borscht, I decided to have another nap, to bank some snooze-time as I had no idea what I’d be excepting once I land in Venezuela.
I am jolted awake by Captain Kangaroo and his overly bouncy touchdown at Maiquetía "Simón Bolívar" International Airport. Here we taxi for what seems like another eternity before we finally find an empty jetway and squeeze the oddly non-Russian-built Boeing 777-300ER into space for our deplaning pleasure.
Caracas airport is not world-renowned, or perhaps it is more than just infamous. Many, many airlines, including all US carriers, refuse to fly here due to labor strikes, crime, shortage of qualified ground personnel, stolen baggage, and problems with the quality of jet fuel and maintenance of runways. Needless to say, add the COVID to this stew of infamy, and the whole bloody airport is practically empty.
I’m off the plane, down the jetway, and am greeted by a for once, a non-euphemistically monikered brace of Federales.
“You are Dr. Rocknocker”, the one on the left, blocking my passage, asks.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.” I reply in my inimitable style of international amity.
“You will come with us.” The brusquely says.
“Ah. Well, umm, you see, no I won’t. There’s this little problem of identification.” I note, “You characters may know who I am and should be awed enough by that, but I have no idea if you say you are who you really say you are. Papers, please?”
Yep. That’s me. Giving the police and/or military the business in their own country.
“We need to show you nothing. You will come with us now.” The other unsmiling dolt says.
“Now gentlemen”, I say as I pull out my cellphone telephone, and hit speed dial. “Let’s see what Senor Nicolás Maduro has to say about all this.”
That’s right. I’m ringing the president of the country. I have a ‘special number’ to cut through all the red tape.
The two Federales look on in either hilarity or despair.
“Hello? Senor Maduro, por favor? Bueno. They’re going to connect me” I say to the befuddled guards.
“Buenos dias, Cilia...Com esta?” I cover the phone, “It’s his wife Cilia. Evidently Sr. Maduro is indispose.”
The two federales go white when I put Cilia Flores on speaker.
“Si, gracias. Just got in, and there’s these two characters here demanding I go with them. Did Carlos arrange a welcoming party for me? He did? Bueno. Their names? Let me ask…”
“You, on the right. Name for Senora Maduro?” I ask politely. “Come, come, let’s not keep the president’s wife waiting”, I say, snapping my fingers.
“César Fontana Braz” stammers the first.
“Armando Quadros Garcia” stutters the second.
“Cool. Cesar and Armando. Names go in book.” I say as I ring off the phone after politely asking Cilia to have Carlos give me a ring when he is not so occupied.
“Now, Cesar and Armando, where were we?” I asked, smiling like a reptile.
They were falling all over themselves getting airport transport so we could go and collect my luggage, and get the proper stamps through passport control and customs. They blanch when they see my Red Diplomatic Passport. The Russians are the only remaining friends of the current administration and that situation is tenuous as best.
Hanging by a Damoclean thread is more appropriate.
Once we breeze through customs and passport control without so much as a flinch, I get a message that my reservations at the JW Marriott hotel have been received and approved. The hotel is only a dozen miles from the airport and Cesar and Armando are trying mightily to ingratiate themselves by finding the least corrupt taxi.
As if by magic, Lucas shows up and makes a big scene that he will take the situation over from here. There is some staccato, machine-gun level hypervelocity Spanish going on, and I’m in way over my head linguistically.
So, I do what I normally do in such situations.
I pull out an emergency flask and fire up a cigar to await the outcome of this verbal boxing match.
Suddenly as it started, it ends with Cesar and Armando skulking off empty-handed and Lucas looking at my cigar longingly.
Of course, I offer him one.
And ask what that was all about.
“Each wanted a different cab for you as it was one run by his relations. Everything here is relations and kickbacks. You will quickly learn anything is available, just have to ask the right cousin, uncle or monster-in-law” Lucas chuckles at his own little joke.
“Right, Luc”, I quickly agreed, “Things never change around here. It was that way when I first came to Venezuela some 35 years ago.”
Lucas realizes he’s trying, metaphorically speaking, to teach his grandmother to suck eggs, as I was in Venezuela way back when even before he was born. Just a little humility lesson from the Doctor, free of charge.
Lucas stashes his filched cigar, grabs my luggage, and stows it in the boot of the car. I have to sit in the back of the sedan as Lucas has all his tat covering the passenger seat. Laptop, cellphone, GPS, several errant dossiers, a bottle of Diplomatico Reserva Exclusiva Rum, an eight pack of Cerveza Tovar, his service revolver and a couple of speed loaders, his sap…just the necessities.
I barely have time enough to sit and Lucas is punching the throttle, blaring the horn and we’re off to the hotel.
I do love driving in South America so much. I quickly tuck my hot-loaded Glock into a shoulder holster and don my Agency vest.
Just as a precaution. There are banditos at large around here.
But, they were all either siesta-ing or couldn’t keep up with Lucas as he careened around one corner and slalomed around another. Soon, I found myself standing as the only gringo. Hell, the only other vertical biped, at the front desk of the hotel, waiting for my check-in.
Suddenly, appearing apparently out of the vapor, one Chief Hotel Clerk, one Jose Antonio Hidalgo Juan Antonio Enríquez, Jr., asks if I have a reservation and if I was alone.
“Yes to both”, I replied as Lucas had someplace where I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell me where he was bunking for the night. Just that he would be calling around 0900 so he could partake of the hotel’s famous buffet breakfast, all 100 or so meters of it. Then he’ll take me to the Presidential Palace as I have an appointment with my old buddy, Herr El Presidente.
I am checked in and escorted by the bellman to my suite. I thought it was odd that when we got off the elevator on my floor, he was replaced with another person, one Chief Bellman Xabier, and he’d be escorting me to my room.
“Things is just plain weird in Venezuela”, I mused to myself as we made the slog down the long, carpeted hall towards my “Vice Presidential” suite. Seems the Presidential Suite was constantly on reserve in case the real President wanted a room.
As we’re shuffling down the corridor, I notice the nametag on my “Chief Bellman” looks as if it had gone through the laundry many, many times, it was that battered and washed out. And while he had one hand on my luggage as we wheeled along, he kept his other hand in his right front pocket.
“Must be concerned about pickpockets thereabouts”, I thought to myself.
We arrive at my suite and he asks for my card-key, which was unusual even in Venezuela. Most bellmen, particularly the Chief Bellman, would be carrying a master-card to unlock the doors for any swell or VIP (vaguely important person).
“Well, here you go”, I said with a flourish, as I swiped the card myself and let both of us into the suite.
Xavier entered first, and I followed close behind.
I tossed my briefcase with all my irreplaceable papers and emergency flasks and cigars on the bed when Xavier asks if I’d like for him to hang my clothes.
“Sure”, I said, from the depths of the minibar. I was interested in seeing if there was any Pisco Capel available, as I like that stuff just fine.
Xavier is taking his time going through a couple of shirts, a spare pair of pants, and my unmentionables from my Scramble Bag, when he sees that I have a spare wallet, a couple of Zenith's and my Breitling Emergency watch in a separate zipped close but unfortunately not independently locked case. He suddenly stiffens, as he doesn’t realize that I’m watching him from the mirror in the back of the minibar.
He looks at me, at the watches, at me, at the watches again, the door, out the window, and around the room.
He pockets my Breitling and Zenit watch quick as a bunny fucks as I pretend to be ever so engrossed in with what the minibar was stocked.
I’m making idiot noises to distract him as I see he’s finally hung all my clothes. Without turning, I ask him if he’s going to return those watches or if I will be forced to kill him.
He solidifies some more, stammers, and pulls out a scabby looking straight-bladed knife. He stands there behind me making the first overtures of a series of really bad life decisions.
With a fresh cold beer in my left hand, I turn around and point my Glock, of caliber millimeters ten, point-blank between his eyes.
“Now I’m not saying that you should drop that knife. Nor am I saying that you should return my watches. However, this is a Glock ten-millimeter pistol, one of the most powerful handguns in the world, and at this range would blow your damn fool head clean off. It carries eight ‘Eviscerator 145 grain Black Talon’ hollow point cartridges in the magazine, along with eight 10mm ‘Auto 155 grain Xtreme Penetrator Defense®’ loads with another up the pipe. The one question you have to ask yourself is would I miss ventilating your skull all 17 times or only 16? The real question really boils down to: ‘do you feel lucky, punk?’
“Well, do you?” I asked as I sipped my beer while tapping my foot in irritation waiting for his answer.
Xavier suddenly has an attack of the mutes. I think he’s trying to say something, hoping to whatever deity he prefers that they won’t be his last words. He is also transfixed by what appears to be the Holland Tunnel that suddenly appeared and is staring him right in the face.
I set my beer down on the table and rack a round into the Glock’s guts just to let Xavier know that I’m not fucking around. If he doesn’t make a choice pretty damn quickly, that I’ll gladly paint the back wall of my suite with a fascinating new color: “Hint of brain”.
He drops the knife to the floor, and slowly, painfully slowly retrieves my watches and sets them on the table. He also irrigates his trousers soundly as I snort all sorts of nasty, and personal, derision his way and nary vary my aim one millimicron.
“OK”, I say, “Good boy. Now, drop your wallet, keys, and anything else you have in your pockets on the table as well.”
“Oh, señor…” he begins to protest.
I nudge his forehead with the Glock and remind him I’m not anywhere near the mood for fucking around.
“Look, Scooter”, I say in my most threatening ‘you do know that you’re keeping me from my drink’ voice. “Either you do as I ask, or your family will be meeting to split up your belongings. When I see President Marcos tomorrow, we’ll both have a good chuckle about some idiot fake bellman and how they can’t catch high-velocity lead slugs worth a damn.”
“But, señor”, he continues to protest, “I am poor. My family is poor. I only have a few céntims…”
“I didn’t ask for your biography or family history, dick-cheese”, I growled, “Now give, asshole” as I pressed the Glock a few millimeters forward.
He empties his pockets and I eventually lower the Glock.
“Now run, you cur”, I growled even louder, “You run and tell all the other curs that Doc Rock is comin’ And hell’s comin’ with me. You hear me? Hell’s comin’ with me!”
He evidently didn’t get the movie reference, but he hit the hallway flat-out running as I slammed the door, parked the Glock back in its holster and called the front desk.
“Hello? Front desk? Yeah, Doc Rocknocker here in the VP suite. In about two minutes you’re going to see some sorry schmuck in soggy slacks come screaming through the lobby. He tried to rob me in my room, but I got the drop on him. Please send someone up to recover his possessions. What you do about and with them is of no concern of mine. And send up a bucket of ice, some bitter lemon and a bottle of best vodka. Got that? Cheers.”
“Fucking local idiots”, I muse.
The real concierge arrives a few minutes later with my order. He also carefully takes the departed miscreants' belongings, telling me that maybe they can get his fingerprints and have him prosecuted.
“One more minute and I’d have all the blood spatter analysis for DNA you could handle”, I snorted as I tipped him generously and bade him out the door.
I drew a bath and double-checked the doors were soundly locked. I’m not paranoid but it’s a good thing the Glock is primarily made of polymers. They don’t rust.
The next morning, I’m fresh as a daisy downstairs at the breakfast buffet with Lucas. Of course, I had on my best shorts, Hawaiian shirt, and Agency vest, but I decided to leave the Glock behind in my room in the safe. The magazines I left in the safe behind the check-in desk. Not every day you get a private meeting with the president of a country.
I need to be a bit vague about the meeting, but other than the fine rum and cigars I was offered, I was given a series of tasks by El Presidente in exchange for carte blanche travel in his country.
He wants a signed copy of the book I am researching in Venezuela when it goes to print.
He also wants a copy of the data I uncover before I leave the country. Believe me, the original data will be scrubbed and gone long before I present it to El Presidente. He’ll get the ‘Reader’s Digest’ version.
Finally, he wants me to extend an invite to Esme to come to Venezuela and meet with him and the First Lady.
I can’t promise anything, but if shopping is involved, I doubt even a shooting war could dissuade Esme.
Figuring that I’ve done a full day’s work as it stands, I decided to have Lucas drive me back to the hotel where I need to makes some serious notes in several dossiers. I also need to call Esme to tell her of the invitation at the behest of El Presidente and the First Lady.
I place a cellphone telephone call to my darling Esme and we have an absolutely lovely conversation. She’s thrilled at the prospect of going shopping with the First Lady of the country and hobnobbing around the land as a VIP. She regales me with the tales of Khan and the ravens. How they steal from his outside food bowl and he’s absolutely inept on chasing them because they take flight before he can get within 20 feet.
Perhaps if he wasn’t barking a blue streak, he’d be more stealthy and successful.
Esme tells me that Agents Rack and Ruin have been calling all day, wondering where the hell I was.
“Is there some problem there?” She asks me.
“Well, the country is on the brink of civil war. There is factional fighting. Rampant inflation: a cup of coffee now costs 1.55m bolivars; an increase of 6,639% in the past 12 months. The economy’s all but collapsed. Bolivars are damn near worthless, the US dollar is the hardest of hard currency. Millions have left the country and there’s widespread crime, cases of killings, torture, violence, and disappearances. Shortages of staple items, as well as medical care…you know, sort of the ‘Just after the wall fell’ sort of Russia Syndrome.” I replied.
“Well”, Es replies, “Rack and Ruin are having kittens. They’re desperate to talk with you. Call them and tell them it’s not all that bad.”
“Well”, I reply, “It’s actually worse, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Are you safe?” Es asks.
“Aw, hell”, I snort, “I’m fine. I’ve been through a lot worse. Still, if Rack and Ruin are antsy, best pull the big brown box out of my office. After I talk to R&R, they’ll probably be wanting to send me some bits and pieces. I’d prefer my own stuff if you know what I mean.”
“Will do”, Es replies. She knows the shorthand for ‘I want my own large-caliber weapons’ and associated items of personal defense.
“I’ll get ahold of Rack and Ruin”, I note, “They are going to want to send me some kit, if things are all that nasty, even though I only saw a bit of low-octane attempted crime. Just pull my ditty-box and I’m sure they’ll send someone over to collect it.”
We covered a few more items, professed our undying love and I rang off.
Once I had procured about 300 milliliters of Old Thought Provoker, on ice, I placed the call to Virginia.
Agents Rack and Ruin are more or less unflappable, but today, they were flapped.
They wanted me to exercise(!) extreme caution. They wanted me to only spend a few more days in-country. If nothing else, they wanted me to chuck the whole fucking project and hightail it home.
“Are you high?”, I asked of the perpetually sober Agent Rack. “Quit a job before it’s finished? You know as well as I that’s not the Agency way. And it’s not my way either. Perish the thought.”
Agent Ruin takes over the phone and tries to reason with me.
I reply that I’ve never failed to complete an assignment before and I’d be goddamned if I’d let a little thing like a shithole country’s 33 and 1/3rd revolution run my happy ass off location.
“OK, then”, Agent Rack exhales in defeat, “Then sit tight for a day or so. We’ll get you a parcel through the Diplo Pouch. It’ll contain a few items that will make us all rest easier here.”
“OK, that I can do”, I reply with a snort, “Pantywaists”, I sneer under my breath. “Since you’re sending some goodies my way, have someone who’s not afraid of huge dogs drop by the house and have them include my big, brown box in the DP.”
They readily agreed and told me to expect the pouch, which can vary from the size of a tin of tobacco to something big enough to overnight an aircraft carrier, within 24 hours.
“OK”, I relent, “I’ve got a bunch a writing to do after meeting with El Presidente today. This will work out great. I get ample time to update my dossiers and you don’t have to worry so much about your best agent getting a boo-boo.”
“Doctor”, Agent Ruin ripostes, “Please treat this situation with all affordable circumspection. This is no charade; this is a potentially real, and doubly dangerous, situation. Pay heed.”
“Agents”, I snort after pouring another 300 mils of Old Thought Provoker over ice, “You are speaking to a Doctor of Geology, one who is an international Master Blaster and plays with home-made nitroglycerine for shits and giggles. ‘Circumspection’ is my middle name.”
“We thought it was ‘Danger’…”, They replied as one.
“Well”, I chuckled back, “That’s my Confirmation name…”
Somewhat mollified, Agents Rack and Ruin again warn me to be careful and to keep an eye out for a parcel that should arrive within 24 hours.
“Thanks, guys”, I say before ringing off, “What would you ever do without me?”
I hung up before they had time to formulate a reply.
So, with nothing much else to do, I resigned myself to getting all my necessary writing out of the way. I needed to formulate another of my unbreakable codes, encrypt all my writings and do the dossier needful so I could send off the information before anything goes south.
To be continued…⇝

Though i’ve never admitted it, I’ve also been a little bit afraid of the moon. The ghostly shadow of the sun, always lingering with no warmth and little light, so what motive does it have?
I could never predict the moon. Its size, position, shape and colour could change at whim like a sinister skinwalker serving only vampire bats and just by stretching high, endangering man. The only constant reliable fact I knew was that the moon appeared at night.
And yet, at day it sometimes lingered like a grossly misshapen cloud, a too perfect circle for nature alone to carve.
I always felt threatened by its looming presence. Once, on a winter’s night, I was driving home along the M4 Motorway and the moon had consumed the entire horizon. It was larger than I’d ever seen. A yellow wall of unpunctured brick stood seemingly on the hills to my left Despite the road ahead I couldn’t look away. My speed of 90k remained unreigned and while gazing out the passenger window. The moons presence was so powerful, like the white of a wolf's eyes, I felt a tense wind rip through my skin as if I was covered in cold fur. I stared, neglecting my growing speed I plunged into the back of the station wagon ahead. I was fine, so was he. The only pain was a shortly missed breathe and a dent in our vehicles, one each. Nothing my insurance wouldn’t cover.
It seems funny now, looking back to that night, that the end of the world would come from an inconsequential speck which lay idly aside the moon's awesome presence. And there was no insurance for the damage that it would cause.
It appeared in April. One night we went to bed and one morning we rose to see the stain of the sky. It had no formal name despite its relevance, no wonder, there wasn’t anything characteristic about it. It was a dot, no more no less, smaller than the moon and sun respectively. Black, it was just a dot.
They delivered the news with stoicism. Domesticated tongues contradicted with their eyes. Their eyes where the truth could always be seen. Ripped red and and darting, their eyes screamed their minds truths while the tame tongue spat word after scripted word. So too, you could see the stains on their shirts begin to seep through their teets. Coffee, in cups jittering seconds before the cameras went live, began to taint the purity of the cotton.
The politicians of course had a plan, an elaborate speech where nothing was said followed by inaction. They said we had three years. “A lot can change in three years, three years ago a different man stood in place but I am here now for my country.”
Of course they turned this into a game of boasts.
None of us knew how or why but the black dot hailed the world’s end. It was a hostile spaceship filled with exterristal armies. It was god’s wrathful finger aimed with like arrow, a rogue asteroid, a russian laser satellite, a black of hole for you to fill in. What it was we may not have known but it was cancerous nonetheless. Though the world could see it, the first to mark was a man named, Isaac O’dea. A NASA involved astronomer, who briefly after his discovery drew a black dot of his own, right between his eyes.
In the first year, of the three that remained the world remained relatively quiet. At first I admired our race for keeping our heads unified in such a crisis, though in hindsight I now see it as just clear denial. Surprisingly, for a straying christian based society who’s need for god has been long outgrown, many scurried to mass. A lot, of whom, had never been. The churches became more and more packed with each Sunday that passed. When the door’s were forced shut, some folk took matters to their own hands. Cults sprouted like weeds, charming and ambitious men, who’d never live to their destined potential, built ranches, land, churches and ‘safe haven communities’ for those desperate enough to outlive the apocalypse. “ARE YOU WILLING TO WORK IN THE NEW WORLD” poster’s would read that littered the streets “ARE YOU WORTHY TO OUTLIVE THE RAPTURE” wrote some Scoutmaster types.
Though these were mostly extreme cases, and had little effect on the real world. For the tamer, grounded population life’s focus shifted to life’s pleasures. Parties were rampant, personal disputes were disbanded, everyone became a thrill seeker, doing the things they’d spoken of doing for decades, now. With no time to waste and consequences becoming futile fears, why not go hang gliding in Brazil? Fuck it, we’ll go next weekend. And so my parents took one last holiday, my friends choked on copious amounts of coke at clubs, my boss abandoned his multimillionaire company after no buyer saw value, and I,

I just kind of waited.
I carried on as normal, though I suppose my normal life was already one of hopelessness. In truth I had given up long before the world began to end. Its rot and decay meant nothing to a heart beating faintly as mine. I had no aspirations, never dreamt a lot or desired much.
In truth, another first admission, my only true goal was to father children (and maybe, I suppose get a published piece of writing.) But when Olivia left a year before that dream and further aspiration had gone with her.
After she blocked my number, I’d write her letters, seal , address and date them.
But not one was ever sent. I don’t know why I did it, it started as my take on an exercise my therapist had given me but grew into a shameful obsession. I think it was just the closest I could get to closure, or contact, but it was never enough to settle my seeking mind.
And on the topic of fleeing, my therapist left late during the year, though he was a good man doing his best to allocate his time to helping the dying, depressed and damned, he was but a man. In these times the world was focused, focused on whatever foolish endeavours they thought would save them. Preachers screamed louder and on higher soapboxes. Protesters marched tighter and implored political action. One man I passed in the street, waved a sign with a vigor akin to a patriot with his flag. “The solution is simple” he told me as if I had asked, “we empty a town, any will do, fill it to the brim with military and nuke the shit out of that fucker.”
On another rare venture past my mailbox, I saw a young woman, pissing out the front of a police station, clearly intoxicated at eleven in the morning nonetheless. The officer, a clean shaven bloke with a pressed shirt, who, if not driven by professional matters, must of been the less bit personally distrubed by this unhygienic act, didn’t move. “It doesn’t matter we’re all fucked any way, we’re all fucked anyway.” she slurred in scream at passers by, and the officer must’ve agreed for he looked, laughed and carried on.
In the second year, the smiling stoicism and “fuck it, C’est la vie” attitude of the prior had dulled. In place of laughter came a silence. For months, Depression both economic and behavioural consumed the world. Most small, family businesses had shut, focusing their limited income on the remaining twenty-odd months to come. The big dogs, billionaires babies, brands and businesses stayed open, though you’d often see a lack of casual staff running registers. The supermarkets turned to an honesty system of self checkouts.

I’d started to keep a diary, another one of the shrink's ideas. If the world isn’t evaporated instantly someone may very well find it and read the account of the most pathetic protagonist imaginable. I’m sure it’ll confirm the aliens narrative of our incompetence.
It seemed that the world had stopped, laid down and prepared to die. The polictions vanished and the streets became unkempt. As the buildings and roads deteriorated so to did the social structures of man. Suicide rates jumped (poorly toned pun intended.) in my quiet isolation, which was really no different than majority of my life, I thought more and more of her. God what I’d give to spend the last year and a half with her. Sure I had nothing to lose but that also meant that I had nothing to sacrifice.
I found myself on a walk once. I had to see what, if any, life remained in the desolation. Subconsciously I must’ve taken myself to her place, I swear I didn’t mean to show at the time but there I had walked. Standing outside her door. This was probably the first time I cried since the announcement in the April prior, and I mean I really cried. I considered myself unfeeling, unnerving and cold as a common and pathetic defense but lies are fragile things and lies to yourself are the weakest type because you already know the truth. My wailing had drawn attention by some others out for a walk. Three boys approached me and mocked me for my display. At least it wasn’t her.
The strangers shoved me into the semi-secluded path weaving between the complex of townhouses in which I stood. This spot would normally be tucked in a nightly shadow if not for the bleeding sun, and it’s small black nameless friend, above.

I was further mocked, before being kicked, beaten and robbed.
Looking back it’s so funny. “Why” I asked them “Why do you even need money now.”
“Well there’s not much else we can do” they laughed.
“I can see your face.” I commented blankly. It wasn’t meant to be a challenge It was just curious to me how little it mattered to them. The boy from the back stood forward and flashed a knife. God, he flung it fast. Narrowly timed, I managed my hands to face and the blade tore through my pale flesh. Blood seeped and squirted like a crimson cascade onto the pavement. I didn’t yell, just turned heel and ran.
Olivias house was nowhere near my home, It was stupid to take such a long walk. Thankfully I knew off a local health clinic a few blocks over. Well, in all honesty it was a vet but it mattered little because upon entry I was greeted by a vacant silence with only the resonating sound of my blood dripping to keep me company. It was midday, midweek and I was robbed and alone in a vet, It was just so funny.
By November, the streets spoke again. One of the major cults, The Repented, marched on a city long since abandoned, they had weapons but no one cared less. The Repented theorized the dot was a doorway for the raptured, the holy souls who’d be taken to heaven on the day of the worlds end. The Repented believed they were the new disciples of Jesus Christ and when the rapture came they’d be excluded for past sins and instead they were chosen to stay and spread the new gospel. I think they’re vision of Jesus is a high school jock or something because these guys didn’t come across as the helpful happy folk who had locked the church doors a year before.
An opposing cult, The Welcome Party, believed in fact the dot above was a mothership containing an entire population of higher beings who would take earth, and (in accordance to plan) use the members of the Welcome Party as slaves and servants to rid the world of infidels. It didn’t take long before the cults began to clash, driven by the powerful motivation of fear and inadequacy.
If only isaac o’dea had told us what he saw.
In the chaos of the crazies, the more ‘grounded population’ was taken up by gangs. They’d rob, wreck and riot because the hanggliders were closed and the “fuck it, c’est la vie” attitude demanded stimulation.
I was torn. I spent my time in a house with faltering power and resources. My isolation drew on my mind. Before I found comfort in the thought of being alone, I was defiant to a world which wanted to help me, which wanted me to live. Now what was I? I couldn’t rebel where there was no system. Outside the world was red and rampaged in the setting sun of civilization. Inside, the darkness drew closer and my sanity slipped with each bottle I drained.
The third year began somewhere along the way.
I don’t know… Who was counting the days?
Maybe she was. I thought, maybe, I should ask her what the time was.
Or the day.
That was a good enough excuse. No?
I just had to see her before the end.
This time I drove to her house, not wishing to go scurrying for bandages again. I drove, about 90k consistently. Not caring about the road rules but lacking the confidence to drive faster.
I just had to see her once more.
The moon that night was high. It looked far, far away yet it was looking straight down at me, bathing me solely in its meaningless light. I didn’t need it.
I just had to see her.
Rain fell lightly yet failed to dull the fire that pranced. I stood in her driveway, bathed in a nightly shadow.
I just had to have her one more time.

I drove home in the oncoming lane. Only one car passed me, he was going 160 at least.
My internals had taken a vile plummet and bile leaked through my tears. When I got home, I ripped open the door and left it ajar, leaving just as much a path of reckoning as I had done at hers. I pointed a gun into my mouth.
This was the only other time I cried. My finger never twitched as it closed in on the trigger but I still chose not to pull it, not because I feared death, and not because I made peace but because i didn’t deserve the quick way out, I wouldn’t allow myself a death so seductive. The wolves, the ones that howled at the inverted moon. I would let them pick me apart. Either that or when the end came, I'd embrace whatever horrible hell it meant for us, after all there wasn't much time left.
I took a walk. To the centre of town I trodden slowly wanting for the wolves to pick at my poisoned flesh. In typical fashion, none paid mind, some things never change, I guess. My sin was shameful, it was evil, it was animal, it was the new normal. The wolves and vampires I walked past were too occupied with pointless violence. Bodies lay coughing and choking on their own swallowed teeth and mere metres away, groups of naked figures fucked in piles. I didn’t know what started it, I’d been inside for too long but I know it was in them us along. The moon, god how I wish it was blood red, I just want some confirmation that it all meant something but it didn’t, no one was driving our hand.
As the hands closed on the doomsday clock nothing changed. We stood there and howled, howled at the moon and it’s lesser, darker, twin which hid from us behind the stars. When the sun rose, and the fires dimmed we looked up to see the black dot was gone. With it, every act of sincerity and sin cleansed with the sunrise of April first.
Later they’d come from below. The devil somehow wore the cleanest suit. As it turns out, the stain on the sky was nothing but a fucking projection that NASA imposed. The apocalypse had happened, these three year last a detox for the elite. While we ate the flesh of our sons they chowed on caviar crackers and vintage vino. While we’ve been out here, suffering, dying and mentally decaying they’ve been biding their time in brumation like snakes awaiting a winters pass. The population has been significantly lowered with poor killing poor and those who remain, so drenched in heavy blood that they’ll either sink or be subjected to unarguable capital punishment.
We’ve bought solely from those rich enough to keep the lights on. But in all fairness, they did nothing to force our hand. In a way it was a rapture, a waterhole poisoning suicide that killed whatever lies we, as a society had told ourselves. God did not make us, and if he did he made us no different than the lions, wolves and apes. We were only chosen by our fathers and like them our legacy is nothing but a continuing path of biology.
Tomorrow the world resumes, I think I may go see my therapist.

If you haven't visited London since the fall, due to a range of reasons as wide as the underzee, you may think that some of the stories about it are false: lies, boasts and misinterpreted rumors. While you are correct in thinking so of some of them, most of those will be false for the polar opposite reason to the one you might expect: It is hard to put into words the terror of seeing a calm man( or woman, or other...) suddenly go completely berserk and murder anything that moves around them. It is harder still to explain that this happens due to the possession of the knife by a semi immortal spirit called Jack of Smiles. Or by being hunted by a murderous dream wolf. Or from reading one letter too many from a language that defies physics and reason, and really shouldn't exist.
That being the case, it is best I address, at least briefly, the most common and interesting beings you might encounter.
I will only address beings from this realm, and ones with sentience. The others will have their own chapters, perhaps.
So, first and foremost: Humans. Though London fell into the Bazzar and the bizzare, it is still a human city above all else.
The second group may cause unease to any devout believer: The Devils. Yes, hell's worst and finest are no strangers to the people of the Neath. In appearance they resamble the traditional picture of a vampire: pale skin, sharp fangs, glowing eyes, the works. The key difference is that they feed on souls rather then blood. Dreadful as that may sound, they do tend to prefer aquiring souls through fair(to them) trade rather than brute force. The price of a decently interesting soul can be quite hefty, so don't sell yours for cheap. I've seen people who traded the essence of godhood that inhabits their body for a single bottle of beer. A waste, to say the least.
Now, from the geographically lowest, let us move to the socially weakest- the Rubbery men. Despite the name, I have yet to see any sort of sexual dimorphism in this species. They are kind and gentle folk, but due to their appearance (as if a squid grew long and learned to walk) and their inability to speak any human language (from dissecting a corpse of one on a case, I learned that their vocal chords are substantialy different to any other humanoid) they are social outcasts, shunned by many. If you can, treat them kindly- the gratitude they show in Amber and slime (with miraculous healing properties, I might add) is second only to the secrets of their masters that they might share. (As abrief aside, I believe that they are beings from another planet visited by the Bazzar, though I am yet to receive definitive proof).
Moving up the social ladder a bit, we have the Clay Men- unlike the previous group, these individuals fo have two clearly distinct genders , despite being made of, well, clay. This is no joke or metaphor. They come from Polytherme, a place second in its strangeness only to the Elder Continent and Parabola themselves. I remember performing surgery on one of them, who was injured during dock works- a strange mix between pottery and medicine. The Clay Men are somewhat lacking in emotions and social grace, though reaserch has shown they can be tought (imagine explaining the joke about a priest, a shepared and a mermaid to a living statue...). They are invaluable workers, as they don't seem to eat or drink and rearly sleep.
That being said, not all clay dries the same way- the unfinished Clay Men deserve a separate mention, as they seem almost a separate species. Unfinished men will have a piece of them missing, or malformed. It can be as obvious as a missing arm, or as subtle as twisted inner organ. For an unknown reason, the Unfinished men also seem to have a disregard and sometimes even disdain for life, having no qualms with violance to even other Clays, who are quite docile.
Speaking of diligent workers, I must bring up the Rattus Fabber- the speaking rat. As a general rule, if it was alive when on the surface, it will learn to talk in London. They are as numerous as ever but, while they can be a nuisance, the Neath knows no better Craftsman. A tool crafted by them will take eons to break, their clockwork is exquisite, and a gun made by a Rattus Faber will never misfire.
At this point I would be remiss not to mention that the rats natural enemy, the cat, is equally plentiful here. Cats go where they please, and do what they want, usually hearing quite a few secrets all the while. If you treat them right, they may even share a few. The Dutchess is known for her love of these felines, and always keeps a few close by.
Now let's move on from those with nine lives to those who tire of life: The Tomb Colonists. Death is odd in London, and to truly die is a rear occurrence. However, the human body is not built for such prolonged mistreatment, and slowly breaks down. After a while, the person is a shambling collection of frail bones and whithered scar tissue held together by loose bandages. When it gets to this stage, most prefer to leave the exitments of London behind them for the peace and seclusion of the Tomb Colonies. Other than that, they are as varied and different as any other group of humans.
From the bearly alive, the natural link would be to the unliving, for lack of a better word. The Drowned men of the zee, Sirens of the deep, followers of the Fathomking. Or Drownies, in common vernacular. These damned souls travel the currents of the Unterzee, wailing their complaints and singing their melancholic tune of salt and sorrow. If you are a captain, strong of will and mind, command your crew ahead of time to stuff their ears and be at arms. Show no fear to them and inspire courage, for the drowned smell the fear of zailors. Then again, a few of them can be reasoned with, for the right price, and even be quite pleasent company. And if you find that company truly pleasent indeed, you may earn some Drownie caviar, which is quite a rare delicacy that, supposedly, is worth the judgmental looks you'll get for the next fortnight.
At long last, the final entry on this depressingly long list, the Masters of the Bazaar- Mr. Stones, Mr. Fires, Mr. Irons, Mr. Veils, (\censored by orders of the ministry of public decency) and the others. The Masters have a close, if seldom understood, realtion to the Bazaar- while they do have some control over it, they seem to depend on its power quite a bit. These constantly hooded figures are some of the most powerful beings in the Neath. From Gems, Silk, metal and souls all the way to cups, fish, wines and even words, they are the curators of every good that passes through the Bazaar. While each master is distinct, personality and domain wise, it is hard to tell how many of them there are, not least because they never gather together at the same time, not to mention their tendency to own multiple names and change based on the one they wield at the moment. Annoying as they maybe to deal with, they rule the Bazzar, and thus most of the Neath. For the right price (I suggest tales of romance- tragic or Innocent, make sure they are grand.), or the right favor, they may even come to be indebted to you. If that occurs, use it wisely: the Masters aren't quite as unified as they would like to appear.
EDIT:added a paragraph about Drownies

Though i’ve never admitted it, I’ve also been a little bit afraid of the moon. The ghostly shadow of the sun, always lingering with no warmth and little light, so what motive does it have?
I could never predict the moon. Its size, position, shape and colour could change at whim like a sinister skinwalker serving only vampire bats and just by stretching high, endangering man. The only constant reliable fact I knew was that the moon appeared at night.
And yet, at day it sometimes lingered like a grossly misshapen cloud, a too perfect circle for nature alone to carve.
I always felt threatened by its looming presence. Once, on a winter’s night, I was driving home along the M4 Motorway and the moon had consumed the entire horizon. It was larger than I’d ever seen. A yellow wall of unpunctured brick stood seemingly on the hills to my left Despite the road ahead I couldn’t look away. My speed of 90k remained unreigned and while gazing out the passenger window. The moons presence was so powerful, like the white of a wolf's eyes, I felt a tense wind rip through my skin as if I was covered in cold fur. I stared, neglecting my growing speed I plunged into the back of the station wagon ahead. I was fine, so was he. The only pain was a shortly missed breathe and a dent in our vehicles, one each. Nothing my insurance wouldn’t cover.
It seems funny now, looking back to that night, that the end of the world would come from an inconsequential speck which lay idly aside the moon's awesome presence. And there was no insurance for the damage that it would cause.
It appeared in April. One night we went to bed and one morning we rose to see the stain of the sky. It had no formal name despite its relevance, no wonder, there wasn’t anything characteristic about it. It was a dot, no more no less, smaller than the moon and sun respectively. Black, it was just a dot.
They delivered the news with stoicism. Domesticated tongues contradicted with their eyes. Their eyes where the truth could always be seen. Ripped red and and darting, their eyes screamed their minds truths while the tame tongue spat word after scripted word. So too, you could see the stains on their shirts begin to seep through their teets. Coffee, in cups jittering seconds before the cameras went live, began to taint the purity of the cotton.
The politicians of course had a plan, an elaborate speech where nothing was said followed by inaction. They said we had three years. “A lot can change in three years, three years ago a different man stood in place but I am here now for my country.”
Of course they turned this into a game of boasts.
None of us knew how or why but the black dot hailed the world’s end. It was a hostile spaceship filled with exterristal armies. It was god’s wrathful finger aimed with like arrow, a rogue asteroid, a russian laser satellite, a black of hole for you to fill in. What it was we may not have known but it was cancerous nonetheless. Though the world could see it, the first to mark was a man named, Isaac O’dea. A NASA involved astronomer, who briefly after his discovery drew a black dot of his own, right between his eyes.
In the first year, of the three that remained the world remained relatively quiet. At first I admired our race for keeping our heads unified in such a crisis, though in hindsight I now see it as just clear denial. Surprisingly, for a straying christian based society who’s need for god has been long outgrown, many scurried to mass. A lot, of whom, had never been. The churches became more and more packed with each Sunday that passed. When the door’s were forced shut, some folk took matters to their own hands. Cults sprouted like weeds, charming and ambitious men, who’d never live to their destined potential, built ranches, land, churches and ‘safe haven communities’ for those desperate enough to outlive the apocalypse. “ARE YOU WILLING TO WORK IN THE NEW WORLD” poster’s would read that littered the streets “ARE YOU WORTHY TO OUTLIVE THE RAPTURE” wrote some Scoutmaster types.
Though these were mostly extreme cases, and had little effect on the real world. For the tamer, grounded population life’s focus shifted to life’s pleasures. Parties were rampant, personal disputes were disbanded, everyone became a thrill seeker, doing the things they’d spoken of doing for decades, now. With no time to waste and consequences becoming futile fears, why not go hang gliding in Brazil? Fuck it, we’ll go next weekend. And so my parents took one last holiday, my friends choked on copious amounts of coke at clubs, my boss abandoned his multimillionaire company after no buyer saw value, and I,

I just kind of waited.
I carried on as normal, though I suppose my normal life was already one of hopelessness. In truth I had given up long before the world began to end. Its rot and decay meant nothing to a heart beating faintly as mine. I had no aspirations, never dreamt a lot or desired much.
In truth, another first admission, my only true goal was to father children (and maybe, I suppose get a published piece of writing.) But when Olivia left a year before that dream and further aspiration had gone with her.
After she blocked my number, I’d write her letters, seal , address and date them.
But not one was ever sent. I don’t know why I did it, it started as my take on an exercise my therapist had given me but grew into a shameful obsession. I think it was just the closest I could get to closure, or contact, but it was never enough to settle my seeking mind.
And on the topic of fleeing, my therapist left late during the year, though he was a good man doing his best to allocate his time to helping the dying, depressed and damned, he was but a man. In these times the world was focused, focused on whatever foolish endeavours they thought would save them. Preachers screamed louder and on higher soapboxes. Protesters marched tighter and implored political action. One man I passed in the street, waved a sign with a vigor akin to a patriot with his flag. “The solution is simple” he told me as if I had asked, “we empty a town, any will do, fill it to the brim with military and nuke the shit out of that fucker.”
On another rare venture past my mailbox, I saw a young woman, pissing out the front of a police station, clearly intoxicated at eleven in the morning nonetheless. The officer, a clean shaven bloke with a pressed shirt, who, if not driven by professional matters, must of been the less bit personally distrubed by this unhygienic act, didn’t move. “It doesn’t matter we’re all fucked any way, we’re all fucked anyway.” she slurred in scream at passers by, and the officer must’ve agreed for he looked, laughed and carried on.
In the second year, the smiling stoicism and “fuck it, C’est la vie” attitude of the prior had dulled. In place of laughter came a silence. For months, Depression both economic and behavioural consumed the world. Most small, family businesses had shut, focusing their limited income on the remaining twenty-odd months to come. The big dogs, billionaires babies, brands and businesses stayed open, though you’d often see a lack of casual staff running registers. The supermarkets turned to an honesty system of self checkouts.

I’d started to keep a diary, another one of the shrink's ideas. If the world isn’t evaporated instantly someone may very well find it and read the account of the most pathetic protagonist imaginable. I’m sure it’ll confirm the aliens narrative of our incompetence.
It seemed that the world had stopped, laid down and prepared to die. The polictions vanished and the streets became unkempt. As the buildings and roads deteriorated so to did the social structures of man. Suicide rates jumped (poorly toned pun intended.) in my quiet isolation, which was really no different than majority of my life, I thought more and more of her. God what I’d give to spend the last year and a half with her. Sure I had nothing to lose but that also meant that I had nothing to sacrifice.
I found myself on a walk once. I had to see what, if any, life remained in the desolation. Subconsciously I must’ve taken myself to her place, I swear I didn’t mean to show at the time but there I had walked. Standing outside her door. This was probably the first time I cried since the announcement in the April prior, and I mean I really cried. I considered myself unfeeling, unnerving and cold as a common and pathetic defense but lies are fragile things and lies to yourself are the weakest type because you already know the truth. My wailing had drawn attention by some others out for a walk. Three boys approached me and mocked me for my display. At least it wasn’t her.
The strangers shoved me into the semi-secluded path weaving between the complex of townhouses in which I stood. This spot would normally be tucked in a nightly shadow if not for the bleeding sun, and it’s small black nameless friend, above.

I was further mocked, before being kicked, beaten and robbed.
Looking back it’s so funny. “Why” I asked them “Why do you even need money now.”
“Well there’s not much else we can do” they laughed.
“I can see your face.” I commented blankly. It wasn’t meant to be a challenge It was just curious to me how little it mattered to them. The boy from the back stood forward and flashed a knife. God, he flung it fast. Narrowly timed, I managed my hands to face and the blade tore through my pale flesh. Blood seeped and squirted like a crimson cascade onto the pavement. I didn’t yell, just turned heel and ran.
Olivias house was nowhere near my home, It was stupid to take such a long walk. Thankfully I knew off a local health clinic a few blocks over. Well, in all honesty it was a vet but it mattered little because upon entry I was greeted by a vacant silence with only the resonating sound of my blood dripping to keep me company. It was midday, midweek and I was robbed and alone in a vet, It was just so funny.
By November, the streets spoke again. One of the major cults, The Repented, marched on a city long since abandoned, they had weapons but no one cared less. The Repented theorized the dot was a doorway for the raptured, the holy souls who’d be taken to heaven on the day of the worlds end. The Repented believed they were the new disciples of Jesus Christ and when the rapture came they’d be excluded for past sins and instead they were chosen to stay and spread the new gospel. I think they’re vision of Jesus is a high school jock or something because these guys didn’t come across as the helpful happy folk who had locked the church doors a year before.
An opposing cult, The Welcome Party, believed in fact the dot above was a mothership containing an entire population of higher beings who would take earth, and (in accordance to plan) use the members of the Welcome Party as slaves and servants to rid the world of infidels. It didn’t take long before the cults began to clash, driven by the powerful motivation of fear and inadequacy.
If only isaac o’dea had told us what he saw.
In the chaos of the crazies, the more ‘grounded population’ was taken up by gangs. They’d rob, wreck and riot because the hanggliders were closed and the “fuck it, c’est la vie” attitude demanded stimulation.
I was torn. I spent my time in a house with faltering power and resources. My isolation drew on my mind. Before I found comfort in the thought of being alone, I was defiant to a world which wanted to help me, which wanted me to live. Now what was I? I couldn’t rebel where there was no system. Outside the world was red and rampaged in the setting sun of civilization. Inside, the darkness drew closer and my sanity slipped with each bottle I drained.
The third year began somewhere along the way.
I don’t know… Who was counting the days?
Maybe she was. I thought, maybe, I should ask her what the time was.
Or the day.
That was a good enough excuse. No?
I just had to see her before the end.
This time I drove to her house, not wishing to go scurrying for bandages again. I drove, about 90k consistently. Not caring about the road rules but lacking the confidence to drive faster.
I just had to see her once more.
The moon that night was high. It looked far, far away yet it was looking straight down at me, bathing me solely in its meaningless light. I didn’t need it.
I just had to see her.
Rain fell lightly yet failed to dull the fire that pranced. I stood in her driveway, bathed in a nightly shadow.
I just had to have her one more time.

I drove home in the oncoming lane. Only one car passed me, he was going 160 at least.
My internals had taken a vile plummet and bile leaked through my tears. When I got home, I ripped open the door and left it ajar, leaving just as much a path of reckoning as I had done at hers. I pointed a gun into my mouth.
This was the only other time I cried. My finger never twitched as it closed in on the trigger but I still chose not to pull it, not because I feared death, and not because I made peace but because i didn’t deserve the quick way out, I wouldn’t allow myself a death so seductive. The wolves, the ones that howled at the inverted moon. I would let them pick me apart. Either that or when the end came, I'd embrace whatever horrible hell it meant for us, after all there wasn't much time left.
I took a walk. To the centre of town I trodden slowly wanting for the wolves to pick at my poisoned flesh. In typical fashion, none paid mind, some things never change, I guess. My sin was shameful, it was evil, it was animal, it was the new normal. The wolves and vampires I walked past were too occupied with pointless violence. Bodies lay coughing and choking on their own swallowed teeth and mere metres away, groups of naked figures fucked in piles. I didn’t know what started it, I’d been inside for too long but I know it was in them us along. The moon, god how I wish it was blood red, I just want some confirmation that it all meant something but it didn’t, no one was driving our hand.
As the hands closed on the doomsday clock nothing changed. We stood there and howled, howled at the moon and it’s lesser, darker, twin which hid from us behind the stars. When the sun rose, and the fires dimmed we looked up to see the black dot was gone. With it, every act of sincerity and sin cleansed with the sunrise of April first.
Later they’d come from below. The devil somehow wore the cleanest suit. As it turns out, the stain on the sky was nothing but a fucking projection that NASA imposed. The apocalypse had happened, these three year last a detox for the elite. While we ate the flesh of our sons they chowed on caviar crackers and vintage vino. While we’ve been out here, suffering, dying and mentally decaying they’ve been biding their time in brumation like snakes awaiting a winters pass. The population has been significantly lowered with poor killing poor and those who remain, so drenched in heavy blood that they’ll either sink or be subjected to unarguable capital punishment.
We’ve bought solely from those rich enough to keep the lights on. But in all fairness, they did nothing to force our hand. In a way it was a rapture, a waterhole poisoning suicide that killed whatever lies we, as a society had told ourselves. God did not make us, and if he did he made us no different than the lions, wolves and apes. We were only chosen by our fathers and like them our legacy is nothing but a continuing path of biology.
Tomorrow the world resumes, I think I may go see my therapist.