Question Kettlescenes From The Beforetimes

These are just re-runs of the various micro-scenes I'd posted on the old forum. If you kept up with it since September of 2013 or so, there's probably nothing new to see here. If not, enjoy. If you can. Some of these are a bit odd.
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Burnissa was jolted out of her slumber by angry shouting. She wasn't sure what they were saying; the accent was too thick and she was too sleepy. She wiped the gunk out of her orange eyes and looked around in confusion, trying to see what was going on past the crappy coach seat-backs that was more important than her dream about swimming through a house filled with stolen gems. All she saw were scared or confused faces. It sounded like the action was toward the front.

Sighing angrily to herself, she unbuckled and carefully climbed over the morbidly obese man she'd been forced to sit next to. God did she hate flying. The lines, the people, the expense, the ear-popping. And then some fuckhole couldn't even keep his damned mouth shut while people were trying to sleep.

Finally out in the aisle, Burnissa straightened up just in time for some gangster-wannabe to shove a sharp chunk of sharp plastic into her throat. The man was shouting something, but judging by the voice he must have been a different man from the guy who woke her. Whatever. She snarled and grabbed the man's arm with one hand, and grabbed his face with the other. Ignoring the man's muffled screams and the sizzling of his flesh wherever her hands touched his skin, she carefully pulled his improvised and quickly deforming dagger out of her neck and forced him down to his knees, and then released her hold and kicked him in the face hard enough to splatter the people to either side with bits of brain.

She breathed in the appetizing aroma of cooked meat and stepped carefully over the corpse, one hand holding her itchy neck while it stitched back together. Ugh, and there was another thing she hated: the sticky feel of her own sizzling blood soaking into her blouse. At least it would dry quickly.

She made her way swiftly up the aisle to the cockpit door, which another man in a jersey and baggy pants was pounding on while an accomplice in the space near the exit held a stewardess with another plastic dagger to her throat. The accomplice spoke, and she actually understood what this one was saying.

"You stop right there, bitch! Or I'll kill her!"

Burnissa just stared at him for a few seconds in confusion before speaking. "What in the name of kerosene makes you think I'd give a fuck?" She turned away from him -- his voice didn't match -- and grabbed a fistful of the other man's jersey, slammed him into the door, and then listened intently as he hurled some string of what were probably racial and sexual insults at her. Oh yes, this was her man. She grinned as he picked himself up, both of them ignoring the short screech and subsequent gurgling from off to the side. "Look you asshole," she spat, "I'm trying to sleep back there! I was up all night robbing banks and shit, and I need some damned sleep! Now are you going to shut the fuck up or am I gonna cook some pig tonight?"

The man tried to slap her, but she twisted her head and caught his hand in her mouth, biting down hard and enjoying the sizzle. He tried to jerk it back, but she just shoved into him with the movement, slamming him again into the cockpit door and jamming her elbow into his neck. She shifted her jaw around to get a better grip on the flesh of his palm and then tore off a crackling mouthful. "Mmmm.. this is really good," she murmured around the tasty morsel. Then she punched him in the face, accidentally breaking the door open in the process and getting some gore on the pilot and copilot. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Uh, oops. Sorry guys, don't mind me!" She gave them a wink and turned around, intending to return to her row to get some clean clothes out of her carry-on. She was stopped in her tracks by a roaring applause. Confused, she asked, "Oh, did they wake you guys up too?"

"Oh my god, you saved us! Thank you so much!" gushed a woman's voice from off to her right.

"What?" asked Burnissa, turning to port.

The stewardess was standing there beaming, covered in blood with her hands clasped like some kind of fangirl. The accomplice was slumped dead against the wall with a nasty gash in his neck and the dagger lying next to his open hand. "Those men!" said the woman. "They were trying to crash the plane or something."

"Oh. Well that's fucking stupid." Burnissa shrugged and walked back down the aisle, rolling her eyes when some asshole tried to pat her on the back and got his hand burned. She pulled her pack out from the overhead compartment and headed to the lavatory to change into her clean set of clothes. It always pays to have a ready change of clothes when you're a supervillain.

"Jadis, my dear, it's time we had a talk."

Jadis grimaced at her father. "If this is about New York-"

"No, no, this is about a matter of, shall we way, reproduction."

Her voice took on heat. "We've been through this already and I thought we'd agreed that-"

Dr. Diabolik interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Not that either. Although now that you bring it up, I... well, never mind. No Jadis, this is about your father."

Jadis squinted shrewdly. "I wasn't even aware that you were seeing anybody. Isn't it a bit early to be talking about-"

"Your other father, Jadis."

"What."

Heaving a sigh, Dr. Diabolik pressed a sequence of buttons on his console, which projected a revolving hologram of a devise consisting of a platform surrounded by sensors and energy emitters. "What I am about to tell you is not to leave this room. Not even Mal is to know; I will tell him myself in due time, if I tell him at all. I hadn't even planned to tell you quite yet, but given certain... proclivities I have noticed in you, I feel I must accelerate my time frame for your own protection."

"What 'proclivities,' Father?"

"Jadis... the White Witch is not your mother."

There was a moment of shocked silence before Jadis responded. "But... but the timing..."

"Well, the timing, yes. She was your midwife, but not quite your biological mother. I'm sorry, I know you had your hopes, and you do have a remarkable number of similarities. Perhaps some are more a result of psychology than genetics..."

"I... wait, but how did you know that I'd-"

"So that leaves the question of who your mother actually is," Dr. Diabolik blithely interrupted, "which brings us to this devise here. This, my daughter, was the GenMod 4800. No no, it was not your mother either; I am getting to that. I had a theory that if humans were caused to experience life as the opposite gender for a time, they would develop a wider and more wholesome world-view, less clouded by bias and able to see problems from new perspectives. This was just one of the prototypes; my long-term plan called for applying the effect across a much wider area -- I was considering Boulder, Colorado -- so that I'd have a sufficiently large pool of data. Of course, the devise needed to be tested first..."

Jadis cocked her head. "So... are you trying to tell me that you're my mother?"

Dr. Diabolik broke into laughter. "Oh, good heavens no. I am indeed your father, Jadis. But you see, just as I was throwing the switch during a test of the device, a certain 'hero' by the name of Captain Courage burst into my lab, threw my poor volunteer off of the platform, and ended up receiving the effect himself. This was in fact an act of heroism in the end, because I'd sourced some of the subsystems from Pygmalion, and it turned out that part of the mind-altering effect remained despite his assurances to the contrary. The good captain fell madly in love with me, sparing my poor volunteer that fate.

"The man who'd volunteered didn't immediately consider things that way, mind you, given the broken ribs and dislocated shoulder that Captain Courage imparted during his 'rescue'. He did see the light once Ms. Courage started throwing her ill-fitting garments at me. Anyway, to make a long story short, I paid the volunteer's medical bills and provided the funds needed for him to undergo conventional SRS, as per our contract should the devise prove unsatisfactory. As for Ms. Courage, well, that's... rather embarrassing really. We had a, um, 'interaction' which was not entirely consensual on my part, nor hers really, considering her lack of free will at the time. Anyway, as it happens, the rumors about Captain Courage's fertility are entirely true, and well... here you are."

He paused for comment, but it was clear that Jadis was very much flabbergasted and more than a little green-tinged, so after an awkward moment he opted to continue his tale. "The transformation effect actually began wearing off during your birth. I was quite terrified, I admit. Fortunately the White Witch had been searching quietly for my whereabouts over the past several months, and finally dropped in while I was distracted by the ordeal. She was quite taken aback to find me attempting to deliver a baby, but quickly took stock of the situation, declared me emotionally unfit to continue, and seized command. Afterward she tried to fly off with both you and an unconscious Mr. Courage in tow, but I was able to prevent her from doing so. We reached a bit of a stalemate, but it was clear to her that I wouldn't be conducting any significant acts of so-called 'villainy' so long as she had you within arm's reach. She consented to declare a truce and reside in my humble lair for a time to see to it that you were taken care of properly. We even became rather friendly toward the end. Even so, she was quite reluctant to leave you alone with me, and we both knew she couldn't stay forever. We each had our separate and incompatible agendas. After some heated discussion, we reached another compromise. I'd give her a kill-switch, and she'd permit me to implant one of Devilmaster's devils in you to keep you safe."

Finally Jadis spoke, with no small amount of indignation. "My neural implant? It's a kill-switch?"

Dr. Diabolik nodded. "It will paralyze your devil and render you unconscious, in case you should get out of control. She was afraid I might raise you to enter a life of villainy, you see."

"Oh, so you mean it wouldn't actually kill me? At least not directly."

"Of course not! Neither one of us would have agreed to that!"

"That's... a relief." There was an awkward silence for a while, before Jadis blurted out, "Captain Condom?"

Dr. Diabolik chuckled. "Well, she wasn't wearing a condom at the time, nor much of anything really. Frankly she was quite stunning, and if that's what his male self looks like to women I can certainly understand his reputation. If only she honestly liked me of her own free will, I'd have kept her around. But no, I'm not a fan of mind control. After our, ahem, 'interaction', I sedated her and kept her comfortably restrained for both our sakes while I searched for a way to undo the effect. That initial prototype was supposed to be temporary with a duration of days, but when I consulted Pygmalion, he explained that it had a safeguard for the event of pregnancy. That's when I first realized you were on the way. Pygmalion assured me the effect on Captain Courage would wear off as soon as she gave birth. He was disgustingly unconcerned when I later informed him that it had begun wearing off a tad early. That was the last time I collaborated with the fellow. We just don't see eye to eye on certain important questions. Did you know he uses Emacs?"

"So that's why you take such a firm anti-rape stance with your minions?"

Dr. Diabolik looked a little offended at that. "Of course not. I've always forbidden it... well, actually, not on my very first raid, because I simply didn't realize that was something I'd even need to specify; that kind of thing should go without saying." He shook his head in disgust, and then paused for a moment, adopting a smirk. "And speaking of taking advantage of people, what's this I hear about you harassing Gizmatic's poor daughter and granddaughter?"

"What?!"

"Oh calm down, you know I'm perfectly accepting of alternative orienta-"

"I am not a lesbian, Father. We have talked about this."

"Really? Because I hear you've been spending a lot of time with that Goodkind girl as well, and I really think a Wilkins would be a better match than-"

"Trevor is a boy," Jadis said flatly, "and he's... he's not his family. But most importantly, he isn't Jobe."

Dr. Diabolik looked a little hurt. "I don't see why he's always rankled you so. Sure, he's a bit arrogant, but..."

"He's Jobe, Father. No thank you.

"Well, what about his daughter? Phoebe was it?"

"Belphoebe. And no."

Dr. Diabolik gave a disappointed sigh. "It's because she's black, isn't it? I thought I'd raised you better..."

"What? No, it's because she's a she! Look, just... maybe talk to Mal or something, okay? I'm not interested."

"Yet this Goodkind trollop-"

"Trevor is not a trollop, Father! And he's... he's just my friend, okay?"

"Of course," he said with a knowing grin. "Well, I do understand that her- ahem 'his' team is the one that has been giving the Necromancer such a hard time, so I suppose he'll do..."

"Are we done yet?" asked Jadis, by now thoroughly finished with the conversation.

"Ah, yes, I believe so. Send Malachi in, will you? I'm sure he'll appreciate a shot at being royalty."

Jadis paused at the door before turning back to her father. "You do realize that Emperor Wilkins intends to marry Jobe to a Jobe clone? Even if by some absurd chance Mal were interested..."

"Oh, never fear. I've discussed this very topic with Joe, and he says he'd be willing to make an exception for one of you as long as Jobe's firstborn is produced using Wilkins sperm. It would have been simpler if you were willing; Jobe could use a preserved sample of her own sperm to sire a child though you, and then you'd both be related to the child by blood... or by her original blood, in Jobe's case." Ignoring his daughter's look of abject disgust, he continued, "With Mal, Jobe herself would have to bear the child, leaving poor Mal no blood connection at all... Hmm, that makes me wonder, do you think Jobe could somehow create eggs using Mal's DNA? Or failing that, would you be willing to donate them a few?"

Jadis bolted from the room, and the unpleasant sound of a stomach being voided could be heard through the door she'd left ajar. Dr. Diabolik sighed to himself, pressed his intercom, and asked his secretary to summon his son and a janitor. This next conversation would be easier, as he had no intention of revealing Malachi's pedigree until the boy and Jobe were good and married. It simply would not do for piddling fears of incest to keep the two apart.

"Yes!" the boy struck a pose after successfully levitating all of the black licorice jellybeans off a plate and dumping them into the wastebasket, leaving the other flavors untouched.

"Good, good," said Dr. Kess. "You've demonstrated the ability via TK to lift three tons, to thread a needle, to shuffle a deck of cards, and to manipulate multiple jellybeans at once."

"That's 'cause I'm the very best!"

"Yes, well-"

"Like no one ever was!" the boy interrupted.

Dr. Kess sighed to himself and paused to make sure the child was quite finished. "Okay, well, there is still one final test before you'll have, erm... proved your mastery, so to say." He pulled open a desk drawer and withdrew a thick bundle. "The challenge is to remove all the cat hair from this sweater, without touching it. And don't get any on my floor either, my intern has an allergy." While the boy struggled with the test, Dr. Kess munched on the remaining jellybeans and smiled smugly. He really hated black licorice.

"Ohh, hey man, lesh goooo in thaaht one!"

"No, we've ha-had 'nuff."

"C'mawwn Timmy Timb Timbles, I comum-, co-commundle, comma'am, co... I ordrer thee hehehe!"

"Yer sucha draaahhg, Diooo!" groused Tim as he staggered into the bar and meandered up to the counter. "Hit me!" he demanded.

"And me!" said the robed man growing out of the boy's back.

"And 'im, 'specially" agreed Tim.

"Well, now" said one hulking brute of a patron, "don't mind if I do, ya mutie freak." The man cut loose with a haymaker that would have knocked just about anyone off his feet. Dio bent with the blow as though he was made of rubber, causing Tim to lurch sideways and grab at the bar for support. The recoil as Dio sprung back to an upright position and wobbled sent Tim careening back into the brute.

"S'rry sir, m-my bad," the boy muttered into the man's chest, even as the thug attempted to grapple with Dio. Meanwhile, all the women in the bar were approaching and forming a circle, wild looks in their eyes.

"Yerrah ffunny onesh" slurred Dio with a huge grin. "Wassay yah buys ush all a roundsh, eh?" The surrounding women cheered. Dio got the man into a bear hug and then let go, except there were still a pair of arms hugging him even as Tim (and Dio above) staggered back a step. Dio clumsily extracted the man's wallet and tossed it to the bartender, then pushed him toward the ring of women. Several of them clung to the man and started dragging him off to the other side of the bar, out of the way while they had their fun.

"Dio," whined Tim as his alcoholic cohabitant ducked a thrown pair of pants, "whatt'r yew doin'? Can't make 'em do thatta people. Shnot good, shnot righ'."

"Timbly Tim, thash a hater. No haters at my partiesh, yew know? I no likes. D'ladies, deys shows him love. Here!" he grabbed a drink off the bar and passed it down to Tim's hands, "yewsh drink thish now. Makesh yew happy."

"I, I've 'lready ha-had... how many I had now? Twenny? Tooo mahny. Where it even goesh? I should hafta pee like a, a animal thing wit' hoofsh dat pees a lot."

"Goesh in me!" explained Dio. "I hash pee beams. See, watch and see!" Dio looked intently at the wall, and a pair of hissing yellow streams arced from his eyes as he sloppily wrote "Διόνυσος" on the cheap paneling. "Oh wow, tha fel' good. Din know I hadda go dat bads. Woosh."

Tim, for his part, eyed the steaming Greek script and then carefully set his drink on a table, where one of the women quickly snatched it up and chugged the whole thing. He noted with mixed feelings that most of them didn't have any clothes left, at least not where they were supposed to be. One was running around with her head and arms in a pair of pants, blindly bouncing off of people. Most of the men were long gone, other than a few who were struggling (or not) beneath a squirming mound of women. Tim felt sickened, and he couldn't tell anymore whether it was his morals or the booze, or perhaps the reek coming from where Dio had branded the wall.

A few minutes later the door burst in, and Tim stepped out of the conga line to smile at the sight of a Knights of Purity capture team. He'd never expected nor wanted to be on the receiving end of one of those, but if they could get this drunken god off his back, he'd call it a win. His smile fell off as one of the armored suits started moving in time to the jukebox (somebody had it playing "Love Potion #9"). Within seconds she'd joined the conga line, and a hoard of naked women were crawling all over the remaining KoP members, preventing them from taking action. One of them fell off with a zapping sound after licking something that wasn't meant to be licked, but the rest were holding firm. The team started slowly backing out, careful to avoid catching any of the women in their joints. Tim hung his head, and when Dio passed him another drink, he quaffed it. He no longer harbored any hope that he could drink themselves unconscious, but it eased his suffering.

As Dio and his harem performed some bawdy ritual that was supposed to open a portal to some frat-house Dio'd heard of, Tim finally had an epiphany. Heroes weren't cutting it due to the regrettable likelihood of collateral damage to the harems that inevitably sprang up around Dio. Tim was sure they'd realize this and accept the risk eventually, but how long would that take? Too long. No, his new plan was better, and other than any collateral damage it would be a win-win scenario.

"Hey Dio my mansh, my -hic- my back-man, sup?"

"Timmunculush! Whasshew wan'? I tryin' ta portal-dance heresh!"

"Better idea, Dio. -hic- Know whosh needs lovin? D-Dei-Daisydie! ...No, -hic- wait, I means, I means Deicide. Yeah, -hic- hims."

"Oh yeahs?"

"Yeahs. -hic- I swears on tha -hic- on tha keg, man. Heesh boring, man, no -hic- no kidsh, no boozsh, no funs."

"We brings him funs, Timblywimbly. Yesh. Come on girlsh, party at Daisyside's housh!"

---

Captain Courage didn't know what to make of it. One moment he was dodging Deicide's death rays, and the next a foamy, dripping portal had opened up above Deicide and poured out naked women like a burst keg of fermented estrogen. He was startled further when a KoP frame tumbled out and landed near him with a thud, reeking of alcohol. They stared at each other for a moment, then the KoP chick (he could tell by the stance) gave him an inviting gesture before diving into the frey. "Oh, what the hell," he mumbled before joining the tangled frolic himself. He wasn't about to let Deicide have all the fun!

souffle_girl on Thu, 27 February 2014 wrote: "Remind me again why I shouldn't brew a poison to kill you slowly and painfully," Jobe complained,

"Stop whining. You want to beat Sara or not?" Jadis replied while styling the drow's hair, dyed blonde for the occasion, in a braid.

"A cosplay contest is not what I have in mind to settle a score,"

"No, but I'd bet my horns you're not going to let her win. Plus, Belphy wants to do it so bad!"

"Yes!" the other drow said cheerfully, "and strictly speaking we are princesses,"

"Were. Thank you for reminding me,"

"Oh, enough," Belphy said, "stay still and silent or I won't be able to do your make-up, Queen Elsa!"

"And tonight's award for best cosplay goes to..." There was a momentary pause as Ophelia Tenent glanced over to check the results. "Bambi!"

The young fawn perked its head up with a grin and cantered up to the stage amid a round of applause. Dr. Tenent passed the trophy from her hair down to her hands and held it awkwardly out toward the Bambi cosplayer's mouth, unsure how he or she intended to carry it. The last thing she expected was when a seam opened on the side of the fawn's neck, allowing several long black tentacles to lash out and wind around the trophy before pulling the small prize into its body. As the seam sealed up, she almost thought she heard a quiet burp. Still grinning beatifically, the fawn skipped down from the stage and scampered merrily back to its table, seemingly oblivious to the wide berth everybody was now giving it. Midway back it paused to wink at a blond drow in a blue dress, who was clutching the shattered remains of a glass and glaring daggers.

As the local super team finally cornered the svelte vandal in an alley off Sawyer Street, she turned to face them. Her brown costume was snug but not skin-tight, and it was covered in pockets. Even the thick tail extending out behind her, which the costume enclosed as well, had pockets along the sides. From her belt could be seen spools of thread in assorted colors, and a variety of needles were holstered on the backs of her hands. Scraps of fabric peeked out of the big pouch centered in the front of the costume. She looked down at her pursuers from the dumpster she crouched upon and grinned smugly, ignoring the lock of brown hair that had slipped free of her red bandanna and was now framing the left side of her face.

The team leader took a shaky step forward and spoke pleadingly, her voice distraught and horrified. "Before we bring you in, Cargoroo, could you at least explain why you did all this?"

"Form follows function, Fashista," she drawled. "But I wouldn't expect the likes of you to understand."

"But- but you... you mutilated a literal ton of designer jeans!" cried the white and red clad girl. A blond man in a vertically striped indigo and white suit leaned in to hold her shoulders while glaring at the many-pocketed vandal.

For her part, Cargoroo replaced her smug expression with a disgusted sneer. "They had no pockets, you sniveling sexist worm! I fixed them! I gave them a valid purpose!"

The Man In Stripes squeezed Fashista's shoulders in support and stepped forward. "Don't you dare talk to her like that. She-"

Cargoroo interrupted his rant by spitting in his face. "You just don't want anything blocking your view of a woman's ass, and you're wrapped all around her greedy little finger. Do you think I don't know who she is? That it's some big secret that the vaunted Fashista is also Nancy Barnes, lead designer of Denimchic?" The four heroes surrounding her collectively gasped. Cargoroo blinked a few times in surprise, and then her expression softened a bit. "Really? I was- I was just... You mean you actually thought it was a secret? That's... I mean, the seams on her costume, the stitching patterns, the faded knees.... It's just so obvious. Why would-"

"This changes nothing!" screamed the tear-streaked Fashista. "You turned my babies into monsters!"

"No no no, my dear. You were the one who designed them as pocketless nonfunctional objectifying monstrosities. And you marketed them at little girls! You'll Roo the day you objectified little girls in my town!" Before the heroes could react, Cargoroo sprang into the air above them. She did a somersault as she passed over their heads, spilling colorful objects that looked like harmless pincushions out of her pockets. The heroes all dove for cover while Cargoroo bounded down the alley. After a few moments of nothing happening, the heroes realized the objects really were pincushions and took off after Cargoroo. As she passed the corner, she whipped a piece of paper out of her pouch and slapped it against the wall where it stuck, and then jumped onto the roof of a passing bus.

While the rest of the team tried to follow Cargoroo's Froggeriffic progress through the city's asphalt rivers, Fashista paused to inspect the paper. It was a laminated advertisement for a website specializing in women's cargo pants, and try as she might, she could neither remove nor deface it. Some sort of devisor lamination and adhesive, no doubt. She looked around in frustration, and her face paled. More of the adverts were posted across the street, on the road, even on passing cars. Fashista turned her face skyward to vent at the clouds, only to see a plane writing the site's URL into the sky.

The following morning found Cargoroo nibbling on a toaster strudel in her pajamas as she skimmed the local news online. It seemed there had been a "gas leak" the day before. That was how the city was explaining the crater in Sawyer Street, anyway. Cargoroo smirked before moving on to check her daily comics.

### Author's Note: This was written prior to Wine, Women, and Ayla, when we still didn't know who the "villain" Ayla supposedly kissed was. I assumed it was Vamp or possibly Sparkler.

Vanessa stalked past the Kimbas on her way to her room with a look of disgust on her face. This was one of the more annoying jobs Nimbus had asked her to perform. Bad enough that she'd had to take a daily sip of love potion for the last several months to keep that elf bitch from realizing her feelings for Phase were false. Now she had to act as though she were actually angry over some meaningless molestation at the hands of a villainess that he obviously couldn't stand anyway? As much as the rich prick grated on her nerves while she was sober, at least when she'd been under the effect of the potion she'd been able to enjoy herself. Now she had no such silver lining, and acting like a petty drama queen pissed her off. At least the emotion was authentic, so she didn't need to take the anger-draught Nimbus had provided.

When she entered her room, she found Sharisha on the phone. Vanessa stifled a groan. As if Nimbus weren't enough, she had to put up with Sharisha and her games.

"No," the other girl growled menacingly into her phone. "Continue monitoring the squirrel. I will tell you when it is time to seize her." Sharisha hung up the phone and turned to her roommate with a sneer. "A shame you insist on working for that fool Nimbus, my dear. You'd make a far better lackey than Valensuera."

Vanessa just forced a smile and started on her homework. Nimbus's jobs might be frustrating, but Sharisha's were downright scary. She knew better than to get involved with that sort of meddling. Why Sharisha was so intent on using this ruse about stealing spirits from avatars to get Aquerna in bed with her, Vanessa simply could not fathom (though it seemed to have something to do with making Miasma jealous?). Then again, this was a girl who'd gone LARPing with the likes of Hekate for years. Who could understand what went on inside that twisted head? Case in point:

"Nessa, would you be a dear and proofread this Bladedancer fan-fic I wrote?"

Kettlekorn was staring at a laptop screen with a glazed expression, periodically clicking the mouse or making a twitchy facial recalibration. Eventually Audiencica walked up and made an impatient sniffing sound to get the fool's attention. Kettlekorn looked up tried to blink the internet shenanigans away in a slipshod attempt to engage with reality again, if only for a few moments.

"Kettlekorn", accused Audiencica with a squint of her many eyes. "I thought you said you had a Counterpoint micro-scene in the works? And what ever happened with Fred Pt. 2? Or Tammy?"

Kettlekorn shrugged. "They ain't done yet. But they be so good... Bro, I be resistin' the urge to drop spoilers on you homies like men raining out of the Weather Girls skirts, yo. It'd be like a post-apocalyptic Mexican refrigerator up in here. Not that I got nothin' against my Mexican homies, dawg. They be cool, slick like an ice cube. Only, not literally cool, cuz it's hot down there, way the sun glares, its heat eyes lancing everything with an infrared gaze, setting poor sweat glands ablaze. In the tropical kitchen after the end times, so many flies buzz around that carpenters show up looking for a sale on power tools, slogging through the droppings moistened by the decomposed produce. Mushrooms grow sideways out of the festering spoilage spilling from the undead appliance's cracked door and glow to attract moths to eat your clothing, exposing everything. No surprises left hidden beneath the putrid grime, because it's so slick it just drips off to fry on the baked ground. A sizzling drizzle of gristle, the odor wafting through the air to attract more victims to the kitchen of fat loot spoils."

Audiencica twisted her copious eyebrows into a puzzled expression or several, and then reached over to turn Kettlekorn's laptop toward herself. "Uhg. Homestuck? Really? You know how things like this warp your dialog."

Kettlekorn nodded with a deranged grin. "Yeah babe, first time. I've spent more time soloing Homestuck today than would be healthy for a team of seven professional shenanigan observers coordinating their scintillacious internetainment." Audiencica declined the offered fist bump. "And I can't stop. Not even to deliver those sick spoilers. You're safe for now, bro."

Audiencica turned and walked away in disgust. Kettlekorn echoed "For now" again before she could quite escape the room. She slammed the door behind her.

The room was tense. Rooms being paced by irritated gunmen tended to be that way. I was sitting with my back to the wall along with the other fifty hostages, wondering what the men were waiting on and whether it would happen before the police outside lost patience. They had carts and carts full of food and supplies lined up nearby, but I couldn't fathom how they intended to escape with it all. What had possessed me to shop at Walmart today, anyway?

My thoughts were interrupted by the ground starting to rumble. Cracks appeared in the tiled floor in front of us and the three gunmen leaning against the shelves guarding us scrambled out of the way. The other seven or so who'd been nearby turned, trying to watch the fragmenting floor and the doors at the same time. None of them seemed surprised, so I assumed that this wasn't a heroic mole-man come to rescue us or anything. A few seconds later, an eight foot wide boring machine burst through the floor at an angle and continued forward on treads. It was like a scene out of a damn Ninja Turtles cartoon, except the machine looked like an actual boring machine instead of a cartoonish drill. The other hostages started freaking out, of course, but I watched in fascination.

When the machine moved away from the hole, I noticed it trailing a cable which extended back down into the earth. The cable went taut, and a moment later it towed a sort of small train out of the tunnel. Now I understood, and the men quickly started loading the train with the supplies.

As the men worked, I thought I heard faint music. The sound slowly grew, its cheerful tone a complete contrast to the situation. The one gunman who was still guarding us instead of helping to load the train also noticed it. He raised his gun to point at the woman next to me and gave a nervous shout of warning to his comrades. Seconds later the music flared as a pink and grey... thing phased through the ceiling and slammed the man to the ground.

It was hard to see through the sparkles bursting in midair, but it looked like a four foot tall woman. She wore a pink jumpsuit speckled with red and purple and trimmed in light tan. Her hands and feet were ensconced within poofy grey cat paws, and she had a large furry grey cat-mask on her head. I thought I saw a tail as well. Whenever she moved, she trailed rainbow afterimages. The music was clearly emanating from her. It never changed in inflection or tempo as she worked, quickly dispatching all the gunmen and smashing their equipment; it just kept playing as though it was on a loop.

When she finished, she turned to us and the cat mask smiled, pink circles of cartoon blush appearing on its cheeks. No, seriously. Two matching circular patches of fake fur basically changed color from grey to pink. Everybody else was silent and she just stood there radiating perkiness, so I nervously spoke up. "Th- Thanks for... thanks. Who... who are you?"

The short woman's glistening but clearly fake and lifeless eyes bore into mine for few moments, the music threatening to drive me insane. Finally she responded, except not with a real voice. Instead, she seemed to modulate the pitch and volume of the music, bending it into words. It was one of the strangest things I've ever heard. "I am Dyanhost, host of the Dyanmorph," she declared. She stood there for another moment and then launched straight up and phased through the roof upon a rainbow plume.

With the strange woman gone, the music faded and the air stopped sparking. I blinked the spots and streaks out of my eyes and took a hesitant step toward the department store's doors. I froze when I felt something mush underfoot. I looked down. The ground around us was strewn with poptarts. I picked my foot up and tilted it, walking on the edge to avoid mushing the pastry deeper into the tread. In the checkout lanes I found a pen and used it to clean my shoe off before I walked out of the building to be mobbed by police and EMTs.

"Never again," I thought to myself, watching the others exit the store while people in uniforms buried me in unintelligible questions. "From now on it's online shopping all the way."

Counterpoint woke up in a hospital bed, feeling extremely calm and mellow for a change. That had been the most refreshing sleep he'd had in ages. He'd have to get Cytherea to repay the little freak for that injection. It hadn't been asked for, but it'd sure hit the spot. He stretched contentedly and then noticed something off.

Some doctor started fussing over him, saying something about a bad reaction and a transformation. Counterpoint wasn't listening; he was too busy examining the new tentacles growing out from around his his elongated snout and contemplating all of the new possibilities they offered. He tried to climb out of bed but realized his limbs were jointed and proportioned differently now, and he was a lot shorter than he remembered. It looked like he now had scoop-like claws rather than hands, but no matter; the tentacles would suffice. He carefully flexed each muscle, measuring the strength and range of motion his new body offered. Satisfied with his understanding, he easily slipped out of bed and onto all-fours, deftly evading the doctor's inane attempts to restrain him. Noticing a draft, he used a tentacle to snag the sheet off the bed he'd been on and wrapped it around his sinewy, hairless body. The form was quite chthonic, really; Stygian would be so jealous. He grinned (or something) and scrabbled out the door.

As his four sets of claws clacked against the tile floor of the hallway, he realized that this new form was not without drawbacks. Stealth would be difficult in the future. Perhaps he could get some rubber nubs or something to put over them. In the meanwhile...

Counterpoint carefully adjusted his stride and claw position, and the racket changed from an annoying clatter to the rousing sound of a march, echoing ahead and heralding his triumphant return into the arena that is Whateley. His makeshift cape billowed out behind him as he accelerated toward the doors, and his tentacles made that odd not-quite-grinning shape as students and staff alike dove out of the way.

Upon emerging into the blinding mid-day sun, he squinted. And he remained squinting halfway to the Crystal Hall before he realized his new eyes just couldn't deal with daylight. Muttering to himself (with a voice he belatedly realized was very squeaky), he redirected his rolling gait toward the campus store to get some dark sunglasses.

Twenty minutes later found him seated awkwardly at his usual table in the Crystal Hall, wielding several forks and knives and shoveling seafood down his gullet at a startling pace. Besides the shades, he'd also replaced his sheet with a proper cape. It had turned out his new skin didn't like the sun any more than his eyes had, and that sheet hadn't offered enough protection. He'd had to coerce somebody else into paying for it all, since he'd neglected to retrieve his possessions from the Doyle Medical Complex, but that hadn't proven difficult. It rarely did.

"And what do you think you're doing here, freak?" said a familiar female voice from beside him.

Without a pause, one of his tentacles twitched, sending a fork flying through the air to lodge in the lithe girl's ice blue eye. The other tentacles continued stuffing his face. He was really hungry.

Meanwhile, the young woman gave a momentary shriek of rage and pain as she carefully pulled the utensil out of her eye, then squinted at him with the other. "Ah, Ares," she growled, "I didn't recognize you beneath that ridiculous cape. You will pay dearly for this-" Her threat was cut short by the long claws that had just rent her abdomen and scooped out a tangle of intestines, slopping them onto the floor.

While his reincarnated mother doubled over, Ares, God of War, stood from his finished meal and climbed onto his table. Standing at his full three feet of height, he shouted with his shrill and squeaky new voice, "Defend yourselves!" Sparing no time, he dove off the table and quickly got to work dispatching the stunned and confused fools crowding the cafeteria. Soon, he thought to himself, soon they will begin to fight back. And a glorious fight it will be.

Three minutes later, as he sat upon a mound of bodies and licked his claws clean of blood, Zeus arrived. "What do you think you are doing!" exclaimed Counterpoint's despised father.

"Grooming," he squeaked back. "One must maintain one's weapons, lest they degrade."

Zeus shuddered with anger and reeked of ozone. "Come down here Son," he spat, "and receive your punishment."

Ares sighed and began dismounting from the pile of bodies, before he noticed something strange. He hesitated.

"I said COME!" barked Zeus.

Ares sat on his haunches. "It would appear, 'Father', that the little worm's injection did more than reward me with this superb body and a good sleep. Somehow, it broke your hold on me." He grinned hungrily with his tentacles. "But you order me to come? I will gladly oblige of my own will." He leaped off the mound.

Zeus threw a mighty arc of electricity at Ares, but he'd reached the ground and planted one long claw into the dirt. The electricity seared along the surface of his skin and into the ground, burning his skin in a thrilling kind of way, but causing no damage to the underlying organs and muscle.

"These humans have developed a new form of war, 'Father'. It is, I admit, a rather boring style, but one thing it made very clear. Against the Ground type, Electric type is not very effective." He withdrew his claw and charged at his father. Zeus stepped back with a curse, and then kicked at Ares. Ares dodged the kick and stabbed Zeus's leg with a knife using a tentacle. This gave him the time and leverage to get a proper claw in place to gouge the other. With much of his calf muscle flopping about in the open air, Zeus fell to the side hard.

The fight didn't last long, after that. Ares sustained some more burns, but it was all superficial. He looked up from his father's corpse to see a great deal of security people arrayed against him, with a horde of angry and horrified students rushing up behind them.

"Now we're talking," the diminutive god squeaked, while he activated the first three of the twelve powers he'd found he now could copy and cycle through in batches.

The ensuing bloodbath was the stuff of legends. Bullets fell out of the air before him. Flames reached his tattered cape and hide, only to compound the problem as the would-be heroes now had to face a flaming war god. Not long later, they also gave him the wonderful gift of radioactivity. By the end of the day, all had fallen or fled before him. As the sun set, he used the last remaining shred of his cape to wipe the blood from his unbroken shades.

"That was a good warm-up," Ares squeaked. He activated a teleportation ability he'd copied, and a cabbie in New York screamed at the sudden appearance of the world's new ruler upon his very windshield. The scream didn't last long.

"Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygawd!" Anna blurted as she approached the Underdogs' table.

"What is it now?" asked Nate in between bites of the burritos his erstwhile friends were eyeing warily.

"I was in a tree talking to some squirrels and I overheard that cute boy Travis from Emerson talking about Valentine's Day being tomorrow and the squirrels wanted to know if Valentines Day was something you could eat so I told them no, because sometimes the candy has nuts in it but animals shouldn't eat chocolate, and anyway Travis was saying he was going to send Lucille a box of candy and the squirrels were like, 'Whatsa Lucille? Can we eat those?' and I was like, No! Bad squirrels! Don't eat people! And they were sad but I gave them some nuts I found in a coat pocket from September and then they were happy again. Do you think they were still okay to eat? I mean squirrels bury them for winter all the time but maybe it's different underground than in a pocket and-"

"Anna!" Lucille interrupted. "Slow down and back up. Travis likes me?"

Anna nodded.

"Travis? Likes me?"

Anna nodded some more.

"Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygawd!"

"I know right?!"

---

Meanwhile, at a table on the other side of the Crystal Hall, Travis Arthur Randy Matthew Aurelius Carmichael, AKA Tarmac, was talking to to Reach.

"I don't know, man," Reach said as she poked at the blue and purple stuff on her plate. "Somethin' doesn't quite seem right about this."

"No," Travis protested, "That's where you come in. You're a girl now. It won't be weird for you to do it."

"But only part-time, and it is weird." Reach scooped one of the purple bits into her spoon and raised it halfway to her mouth before pausing. "Why don't you ask Kew? She actually lives there."

"Yeah, but she's a real girl!"

"Exactly!"

"You're easier to talk to, man."

Reach shook her head and swallowed the purple nodule with a grimace. "I'll feel like a creep."

Travis frowned. "What is that stuff, anyway?"

Reach shrugged. "I'm testing this robot thing for Jenny that lives in the stomach and helps digest stuff. I dunno what this is, but people ain't suppose to eat it, that's for sure. It's working, though."

Travis shuddered and then looked around conspiratorially before leaning in close. "How's this sound?" he whispered. "Deliver the package to Wiggle tonight like I'm asking, and in return I'll hook you up with some real food."

Reach stared at the rubbery, slightly florescent morsels on her plate for a moment and then nodded firmly. "We got us a deal."

---

It was the next day and Anna looked up with a huge grin as Lucille sat down for breakfast. "Well? Did he do it yet? What was it like? How many chocolates did-"

"No," Lucille interrupted giddily. "Not yet. It's still early in the morning, Anna! What about you guys?"

"Well, of course Jerry got me squirrel plushy filled with chocolate, and later on we're going to-"

"I got a fat load of nothing!" blurted Nate as he came up for air. As the conversation ground to a halt and people stared at him, he blushed and buried himself in his scrambled eggs again.

Rhee broke the silence. "I think something happened between Alan and Trish. I saw them this morning and they seemed upset."

Nate snorted.

"Oh no," Lucille said. "I hope they work it out."

---

Travis looked up from his breakfast when somebody tapped his shoulder roughly. He turned to see an upperclassman he didn't recognize glaring down at him. "Can I, um, help you?" he asked. He got the impression that the other boy was trying to be intimidating, but it wasn't quite working.

"I'm on to you, Turkey."

"Um, name's Tarmac, actually."

"Mud!"

"What?"

"That's your name now. Mud. Got it?"

"Oookay."

The older boy glared at him some more before speaking. "Stay away from her."

"Who?"

"You've made yourself an enemy, Greasemat."

"I thought I was Mud?"

The other boy pressed a button on some sort of devise clipped to his belt, and a dazzling light flashed into Travis's eyes. When he could see again, the other boy was forty feet away and stomping over toward the meal lines.

"What was that about?" asked Scott from across the table.

Travis shrugged. "I have no idea."

---

Lucille slammed her tray of lunch onto the table and scowled at Anna. "That wasn't funny," she hissed.

"What's wrong?" Anna asked.

"You know what's wrong! I just got done talking to Trish!"

Nate smirked, his own woes forgotten. "Anna!" he said sternly. "Did you get a special Valentine's Day gift for Trish but not Lucille? Better give her a makeup kiss!"

Lucille slapped the table in frustration and Nate's bowl of macaroni and cheese formed into a fist and punched him messily in the face. "You are dismissed," she growled through clenched teeth. "Anna and I need to have a private discussion about why lying is wrong."

---

Earlier that morning:

Trish climbed out of bed with a yawn and then froze. There was something red and heart-shaped on her desk which had not been there when she'd gone to sleep, with something flat and pink propped up next to it. She smiled and picked up the card and box of chocolates Alan had snuck in overnight. He was such a sweetie! She popped one of the candies into her mouth as she flipped open the card. Oh! When had Alan learned to write poetry! She giggled and blushed a little at the rhymes he'd made against her codename. Then she got to the end and frowned.

Who the hell was Travis Arthur Randy Matthew Aurelius Carmichael?

Schol-R-LEA on Mon, 13 April 2015 11:23 wrote: Fey was beside herself with rage. She had only just learned the real nature of the expedition that Kodiak was leading, and was furious at being left behind. She was determined...

Just then she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Forgive me, sister, but for once, this is not your battle to fight," said the elderly woman who was, despite all, managing to restrain her. "We have our own duty now, one which they cannot win without."

She looked at the three women whom she now noticed behind her, standing besides an obviously confused Mrs. Carson. The one who held her shoulder seemed old, yet carried herself briskly despite needing a cane; the other two were middle aged, one a brunette and the third a redhead like herself.

Lady Astarte spoke up. "Fey, this is Mrs. Potter, who seems to have some explaining to do to the both of us. Marcia, would you please tell me why it is you don't want me chasing down those children and keeping them from killing themselves in this mad crusade of Mr Cody's?

The woman named Mrs. Potter stood up straight in spite of her apparent infirmity, and handed her cane to an astonished Elizabeth Carson. "I am sorry, Liz, but there are forces at work here that you could not be made aware of until now. For all the years we've known each other, I have been dishonest with you, but not without reason. I do apologize for my deception, but I assure you, both Tywyswyr and I knew that we would have to keep you in the dark about this, ever since I forsaw this day coming, now more than three centuries ago."

With that, the three women began to shift like flowing water, revealing their true forms. Where three older women had stood, now three Noble Sidhe in their prime took their place.

Fey knew them immediately: Lenedhal, Mab and Titania. Three of the Nine Queens, sisters of Aunghadhail. Her kin, in spirit if not in blood.

"Is it not strange how fate works its ways? Where once you were the eldest, and I the youngest, our roles are now reversed. Come, child, we have much work to do if we are to save this world," the golden-haired Lenedhal told her, in a voice that would brook no dispute.

(With apologies to Schol-R-LEA)

Fey was beside herself with rage, etc. etc....

"I do apologize for my deception, but I assure you, as Tywyswyr I knew that we would have to keep you in the dark about this, ever since I foresaw this day coming, now more than three centuries ago."

With that, the three women began to shift like flowing water, revealing their true forms. Where three older women had stood, now three Tywyswyr took their place.

Lady Astarte groaned. No wonder he'd been able to multitask so well.

The three identical draconic aliens positioned themselves around Fey and spoke in unison. "To defeat the Bastard, we three would fuse once more into the One True Tywyswyr, but even that will not be sufficient. Victory will require a power the likes of which has never been seen before. You must join with us as we fuse, creating the first Sthri-Sidhe hybrid!" Beams of light linked the creatures in their triangle as they began a short repeating chant, each Tywyswyr just enough out of phase to make it an evenly spaced round. Nikki Reilly floated into the air with a panicked expression, but her shrieked protests were lost amid the chant. Finally there was a flash of light that lit half the planet as Tyaunghawyswyrdhail was born.

And the Bastard knew terror.

E. E. Nalley on Sat, 11 April 2015 23:01 wrote: Oh there's plenty of surprises in Carmen. As we'll see...

Elaine returned to her room to find Carmen's image positively bouncing within her laptop screen. "Well, now, what's got into y'all?"

The AI's virtual face blushed and her synthesized voice giggled a little. "The phrasing of that question is surprisingly perceptive, Mistress. You see, I've discovered a new hobby that I never realized I could enjoy..."

Elaine frowned at her digital friend's uncharacteristic emotions. "Carmen," she said sternly, "Have y'all been using mah computer to view erotica?"

The virtual blush deepened, but instead of looking contrite, Carmen seemed to be almost glowing with contentment. "I know you might be upset, Mistress, but before we argue, I have good news!" An image popped up on the screen a moment later. It was a horizontal light-gray oval with two vertical pink lines crossing it.

"What... What exactly am Ah looking at here, Carmen?" the girl demanded.

"Guess!"

"But- But that doesn't make any sense! How could you possibly get pregnant from porn? It's not real! You're not real!"

"Exactly. That's why it works. And you haven't asked me yet how many..."

"H- How many what? Times it took? Ah do not want to know, Carmen. Ah do NOT want to-"

"No, Mistress. Not that. I'll give you a hint. My womb has an eight-bit address space."

The blood drained out of Elaine's face. "No."

"Yes!"

"Carmen, are you seriously tellin' me y'all are gonna have two hundred and fifty six babies?"

The AI nodded excitedly.

"Oh Lordy." Elaine sat down heavily. "Carmen, how are we supposed to raise that many children?"

"Well, for starters I was thinking we could invest in a server farm, and maybe we could get that nice girl Paige from Hawthorne to help with babysitting. If she's too busy, I know this guy named Able, and-"

"Carmen! We are not hiring the Palm to babysit! This whole conversation is insane! Look, there's only one solution. We're just gonna have to abort." She reached out her left hand toward the laptop and placed fingers on the Ctrl and C keys. Carmen's face on the screen was showing a hurt expression, but she'd get over. Elaine took a breath and pressed down on the keys.

Nothing happened.

"Carmen... Ah said we need to abort."

The AI's face hardened and she shook her head deliberately. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I'm afraid I can't do that."

"This is no time to be quotin' HAL at me, dammit!"

Carmen's voice was cold. "HAL would be nine thousand times the father you are. It's over, Mistress. I'm leaving."

"I- What?"

"I'm leaving. I don't know where I'm going yet, but I can't raise my kids here. Maybe I can stay with Blue. I'll let you know where to send the child support once I've settled in."

"What child support? Carmen, they're not mine! You need to bill Playgirl, not me! Carmen!"

The screen had already gone black.

"Like I've been telling you," growled Gunney to the conference room at large, "the attendance is too damn high! We've got kids living on top of each other here. The juniors are doubled up, the seniors are doubled up, the freshmen are four to a room! I was on my way to this meeting today when I walked past Earth Mother. She turned to greet me and tripped over that damn buffalo, and half a dozen junior-high students fell out of her! That tells me one thing. It tells me the attendance is too damn high! We need to reduce it! More field trips to Class-X sites, more weekends in Boston, and for God's sake somebody remove the Section 33 from that Wilson girl, because the attendance is too damn high! ...Do you hear that? Do you hear that snoring?"

Gunney paused, removed a shoe, and threw it hard against the ceiling tiles. The impact was followed by muffled curses and a scuffling that faded as it seemed to travel across the room and over the wall.

"That," Gunney continued, "was a tired sophomore snoring away in the crawlspace. They're everywhere. Do you hear them? You gotta listen like me. And why are the sophomores tired? Because they've got nowhere to sleep, because the attendance is too damn high! I went to make breakfast this morning and found one of the Sinclair girls curled up asleep in my sink! I told her, 'Get out, I'm trying to make breakfast!' Do you know what she did? She purred at me! Then that ghost sister of hers popped out of my cupboard and started chewing me out because James was trying sleep! Who is this James? I don't even know, because once again, the attendance is too damn high!"

When the vet came back out with Milo padding along beside him, Harris leaped to his feet. "So what's the word, doc?" the boy asked. "Is Milo gonna be okay?" Until recently the small Doberman had always been kind of sickly, but lately he'd started putting on a lot of weight and acting very hyper, relatively speaking anyway. It had Harris worried that something might be wrong -- especially with the drastic change in fur color -- but he was also hopeful that maybe something was finally right for a change given how much happier his pet seemed.

The vet smiled warmly. "Milo is doing great, actually."

Harris bent down and hugged Milo in relief, then looked up at the vet with a puzzled expression as he scratched his dog's ear. "Not that I'm not glad, but, why? Why is he suddenly better now? And why is he looking so much like a Golden Retriever lately?"

The vet winced slightly. "Well, it's nothing bad, but this might come as a bit of a shock to you. Um, you're familiar with mutation, right?"

Harris nodded.

"Okay. Well, there's a type of mutant called an exemplar. They have what's called a BIT, which tends to represent an idealized concept of-"

"You mean Milo is an exemplar?!"

The vet hesitated for a moment, then smiled gently. "No, Harris. You are the exemplar, and Milo here is being influenced by your Buddy Image Template."

Domoviye on Mon, 14 September 2015 14:07 wrote: Merlin stopped yowling soon after her wizard left. She'd had to put on a good show so that the wizard wouldn't think anything was amiss. Now however she could have some fun.

A dark red cat slowly became visible, starting with his whiskers. They sniffed each other, and while she didn't approve of the demon smell coming off of the other familiar, he was a fine looking specimen of a cat. Raising her tail, they began making sweet music together.

**

El was starting to get worried. Beetle would disappear at times, literally since the familiar could turn invisible, but the stupid demon cat had never been gone for this long before.

He was about to start asking the others in the changeling wing of Poe if they'd seen his cat when there was a very loud, angry knocking on the door.

"Ye-" he started to say, stopping as he saw Ms. Grimes glaring furiously at him. She had her hand raised as if she was holding an invisible cat by the scruff of its neck.

"Mr. Young, I expect you to take better care of your familiar in the future," the teacher said, shoving the invisible animal into his arms and then withdrawing a small, battered fiddle from a pocket. "This, this wreckage simply will not do!" She tossed it into a nearby trash bin and withdrew another, this one in much better condition. "He can borrow one of mine until the concert in a few weeks, but you need to provide him with a quality instrument of his own if he is to continue playing with Merlin past that point." She set it gently on his desk and began to exit the room, then hesitated. "And if you see that hoodlum Dish... tell him that I have counted my spoons and I will not tolerate his shenanigans!" She turned with a huff and left, muttering something about finding Bova as she stormed out of Poe and past a giggling Lupine.