Music: Simple Gifts (and various other titles)

Played by Lee Leavenworth:

Music: Burn Down This Town

Roseanne Cash:

It comes and goes...

I'm finally starting to dig my way out from the huge load of work that fell on my head with the big upgrade at the end of December, and we're bringing in some additional resources to deal with a Big Important Project that seemed to have run aground on some fairly intractable issues, so my stress levels have suddenly gone down...

...Which is weird. Like, on the one hand that's a good thing. Less stress! Hooray! I can function better! And then on the other hand, my whole system is like, Wait? What happened? How does this 'relaxing' business work, again? Overall, it's good. I'm just glad it didn't take any longer. 

Burnout is a real thing, y'all. 

Writing Projects: Currently working on the portal fantasy, which means that the Weird West and Horny Superteens projects have been somewhat neglected. (There are only so many hours in the day, and my energy has been going into, well, being stressed out.) But, I'm still making progress... and I wrote a completely random short piece the other morning that I'm going to try to get published, if I can find the right venue for it. 

Also, with February doing its best impression of late April, my allergies have been acting up. At this point, I'd honestly prefer another ice storm. Some kind of winter weather, anyway. This time of year used to be pretty safe for my seasonal allergies...

I'm not going to talk about news or current events right now, because it's all so bleak and I will wear myself out with relentless rage. I'm limiting my exposure in an attempt to be informed without doom-spiraling, though part of me suspects that doom-spiraling may actually reflect an accurate evaluation of the current situation. 

Anyway, I have good friends and a good family, and a kitten who is determined to eviscerate the mechanical toy bird he got for Christmas. Good to keep those moments in mind, too. 

Music: I Know What Boys Like

The Waitresses:

Valthor's New Sword

The Fairy was more helpful than he would have expected, but she wouldn't tell him much about the rapier he'd taken from his sister's corpse, only that his sister had been desperate to get his blood on it. She wouldn't tell him why, or what his blood might have done; she just told him that it was his sword now... with the distinct implication that it was also his problem now. 

Which would be fine, he thought, if I wasn't so tempted to use it. 

He left the locker closed, and forced himself to move away. He had an attempted murder to investigate, and plenty of other things to do. The nature of the blade could wait...

...But it still tempted him. 

DoT: Lochlain Has More Troubles

There were things to expose, and things to keep hidden, and various elements within the clans who would disagree about which were which. Lochlain was fairly well fed up with it; his instinct was to share what he could with his new friends, and let them decide how much to share with the island at large. If he were going to trust any surfacers with the deepest of Clan secrets, he would trust these. He might ask Darvas first, but he would trust them. 

"It's me," he called, after pounding on the door. "Don't stab me."

Ilana and Tara had been practicing, and their tunics showed it in broad slices. Lochlain turned his head away, and said: "Let's get you both some armor, or at least leather coats, while you're still halfway decent."

Tara flushed; Ilana just grinned. "Maybe get us some practice weapons, too."

Lochlain said, "Shoo. Back to your room. Get fresh shirts, and I'll see about practice knives at least, maybe shortswords." Neither of them were actually exposed, thank the gods, but this was more than he was ready to deal with, especially after talking to Kalla.

"Your meeting went well?" asked Ilana.

"Well enough," he told her. "I'll be back."

He went back out the door, looking for Davvan. Hell below, he thought. I never signed up to be anyone's father... 

DoT: The Limits Of Divination

"I think I have her," Donnagun said, half-staggering into Vallista Greycloak's office. The dragonborn was usually showier than this, transporting himself magically and levitating rather than sitting or standing, and Vallista immediately straightened behind her desk. 

"Have whom, exactly?" she asked. 

"Divination," said Donnagun, sinking into a chair, "has its limits. It's good for finding things you know, but not so good for finding things you don't know. I had to contact a godling, which... anyway, the woman who killed your father is probably a half-elf named Rianma Blackblade, who can be found here on Hinnom, working in the library at the Palladium College."

Vallista raised her eyebrows. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected after something like that," he told her. "I'd have written it down and called a runner, but I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd forget."

"I see," said Vallista. She knew enough about magic to realize that this was a very real possibility. Contacting the outer worlds was not something that wizards did lightly, and it was only slightly less fraught for clerics.  "You've done well."

"Honor of the Gang," Donnagun told her. "I know you have people looking, but this was... fast. Quiet. Professional. Worth the effort to get a name and a location."

"Indeed. Gazin?" Vallista rose from her desk. Donnagun was on the edge of passing out in the chair in front of her desk, and she had work to do. 

The Lizardfolk woman stepped into the office and nodded. "Yes?"

"Help me get Donnagun to the apartment," she said. 

Gazin looked down at the near-unconscious wizard with something that Vallista would have sworn was genuine fondness. "No problem, boss."

Donnagun pushed up to his feet. "No, I can--" he staggered. "Well, yes, maybe."

Gazin got an arm under him, and Vallista went to open the door to the small sleeping-area she kept for herself when the nights ran long. Donnagun could rest there, while she followed up on what he'd discovered. 

DoT: An Unwanted Interrogation

The drumming had been a message: Come to me. We must speak. 

Lochlain left the two urchins behind with some misgivings, and opened the front door. Ilana and Tara were standing behind him, ready to bar it once he left; they might not understand what was happening now, but they knew how things could be. Both girls were armed, Tara possibly better than Ilana, but he couldn't afford to think about that any further. 

He stepped out onto the small platform at the base of the ladder. 

"Over here," said a woman's voice, soft, from the underside of the spoke. 

The spokes connected the island's central tower to the stone and soil of its outer crescent, and supported the various cables and bridges and structures that formed the multi-layered habitations of the island of Hinnom. The hideout was suspended from the bottom of the lower eastern spoke, probably the least fashionable area outside of the mists which covered the ground along the eastern side of the crescent. It was a curiously liminal area; anyone living here was balanced between dropping further and joining the Mistlings below, or rising to some better prospect. 

The woman looked like an elf, but clung to the bottom of the spoke like a spider -- and Lochlain recognized her. He scrambled around the side of the hideout, launched himself up to the bottom of the spoke, and clung to it as well. He considered simply walking upside down, but decided it was better to follow her more discrete example and press himself against the eldritch pseudo-stone. He scrabbled forward until they were face to face, separated by a foot and a half of distance. 

"Lochlain," she said. 

"Kalla," he acknowledged. She was the chief Stalker of the Liverscar pack, and she hadn't approved his venture to the surface -- not least because he hadn't asked. He hadn't meant to overhear Darvas conversing with the surfacers in the Engulfed Cathedral, but having done so he couldn't resist coming up to take a closer look... and when given the opportunity, joining with them. 

"No trouble from the Forgotten?" she asked.

He paused, startled that that was her first question. Then he shook his head. "No. No, but... my surfacer friend and I left a tavern when two of them came in... and one of our charges ventured into the Temple and got herself infected. Hexblade, it looks like, but you know how little that means here."

"Are they looking for her?"

"If so, they haven't come down here. At least, not yet."

Kalla settled back, considering that. "You don't hesitate. It's good to see that you're still loyal to the Pack."

Lochlain hesitated, then said: "Yes. This was curiosity, not rebellion. Darvas is also in touch with these surfacers."

Kalla huffed thoughtfully. "As you say. And I think you've grown stronger from this exploration.Very well. I will trust you with this, and advise Elder Pallas to do the same. If you find yourself in need of guidance, speak to me or Darvas -- your presence here is not widely known, and for the sake of the Pack -- for now -- it should not be. I will visit you again if that changes."

Lochlain studied her. "You're worried we're headed for another Ravage." He hesitated, then added: "You should be."

"I'm not the only one," she answered. She hesitated, then said: "Protect the girl. Support her. An accidental Forgotten, outside of their organization... She might become a valuable ally. I will speak to Elder Pallas of this as well."

Lochlain nodded. "I would have done that anyway -- she's still a child. But it's good to have the clan's support in this." He hesitated, then asked: "How is Shethlana?"

Kalla smiled. "She is well. She asked after you, which is what brought me here. She grows, she learns, and she does not mind the darkness."

"She never did." Lochlain smiled fondly. "Tell her I am well, if you would. My time in the light has not harmed me."

"I will," said Kalla. "Good hunting."

"To you as well."

Kalla released the spoke, and fell away into the mist. Though he couldn't see her revert to her Ghūl form, he heard the faint clap of unfurled wings as she caught herself on the air and angled away towards the Engulfed Cathedral.

DoT: A Busy Morning

The main group had gone to see if they could locate Old Piter, the missing Mist Eyes fence, and left Lochlain behind to watch over the Urchins. The Ghūl could have been disappointed, but in this case he didn't mind; the interactions of the surfacer gangs didn't really interest him, except where they might affect his new friends. He was here on other business, and interacting with... well, mortal children... was bringing back memories he'd long ago forgotten.

Of the four urchins, Teagan the halfling was a little ways into the spoke, baking with the woman Shonya at the Bread and Board; Tara was still recuperating from her ill-considered attempt to infiltrate the Forgotten; Ilana was working on a series of locks that Krintal had left for her to practice on, and Pickle was off studying with the druids. 

"Finished!" said Ilana, just as Tara emerged from their shared bedroom. It was a lucky thing the urchins got on well enough to share a room;  Lochlain generally tucked himself into a small storage room to sleep -- essentially a closet -- or simply curled up in the entryway once everyone was back inside. He didn't need to sleep, but as a Stalker he could re-assume his mortality, and the urge to sleep came with that. It was strangely soothing, too, to relax so completely that he once again dreamed as mortals did. 

Tara was still yawning. "Food?"

Lochlain nodded. "Jans left some scones and a bit of tea. Let me..." He positioned the tea pot beside the sink, then hung the warming stone inside it. A minute or so, and the water would be back up to temperature. Tara was already halfway through a scone,  and Ilana came over to help prevent the tea from boiling by staring at the pot. 

"Could we practice fighting?" asked Ilana, looking up at Lochlain. 

"Well, let me--" There was a soft patter on the roof of their hideout: not an animal, but a gentle drumming, conveying a message that only he could translate. He'd only missed it at first because he was used to hearing it through stone. "...Ilana. Tara. Stay down here."

Ilana nodded and ducked back towards their bedroom; she came back out with a pair of daggers, and slid one across the table to Tara. 

Tara looked uncertain. "I'm not as good as you--"

Lochlain was halfway to the front door, but he hesitated at that. "Tara, I want you to focus on that dagger. Make it yours."

He paused, watching, and was rewarded by seeing the faint swirl of misty power that flooded out from the girl's hand and sank into the weapon. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Will you?" asked Ilana.

"If I'm not," he replied, "use the boat to escape."

DoT: Lochlain's Tale

I wasn't really much of anybody. I wasn't part of the guild, I wasn't a clerk for one of the merchants, and I didn't know nearly enough maths to work for any of the bankers or lenders. I did odd jobs around the docks: hauling cargo, which I wasn't especially good at; cleaning and repairing ships in dry-dock, where I wasn't good but I was persistent; painting and lacquering and carrying messages, which were all things at which I did fine -- but none of them paid well. 

To put it simply, I was eking out a living, and there was a girl... a woman, really. Gods, she was beautiful: smart, quick, and sharp. I could barely keep up with her, and I liked that. 

She wasn't... she wasn't unkind. She let me down gently. By then she was working as a clerk for one of the merchants, so she could afford to take me out to eat. She told me that, well, she admired my willingness to work, but she needed a partner with better prospects than I had to offer. I mean, what could I say? She was right. She deserved better than me. Or... No, that's not quite right. But to get where she meant to go, she needed someone who could get her there, and I couldn't do that.

The corpse-pits aren't the only way into the tunnels. You can ask around, or search around, and find others. I didn't see my prospects changing any time soon, so that was what I did. I took a lamp, and some food, and I went down. No, I wasn't dead... but I might as well have been, for all the good I was doing in the world.

They found me, of course. Offered to guide me back up, at first. I didn't yet know it, but this was the Liverscar pack. Told them no, I didn't want to go back. So they gave me two more options: they could leave me to starve, and then devour my corpse; or they could make me one of them. 

I guess you know which one I chose. 

We aren't entirely like other ghouls. I was bitten, and several times to make sure. Then... No, I can't tell you that part. Not yet. But I became part of the clan, and after a while some of the others started asking me about what I might like to do to contribute, beyond simply consuming the dead and the remnants of their deaths. I asked if I could go back to the surface -- I was always better at being quiet and clever than strong or magical or whatever else.

So they set me to a particular diet, one designed to adjust me to what I am now: a Stalker, capable of returning to a mortal appearance, assisting the clan with subtlety and stealth. We're the only ones who regularly venture up from the tunnels, the only ones who can take on a living form, and the by far the best at ambush and surprise. We keep an eye on the surfacers, like I am with you.

The woman? Nathalia? She married up. He was a fellow clerk, but he's been good to her and risen to a manager. Their oldest child is expecting her first child at this point, and they're well settled. Mostly, I'm happy for her. I only get jealous every once in a while. It would have been nice to have that life...

...But I have more important things to do. 

Neverworld: Lenore's Desk

Lenore Caskill had long since given up on ever leaving her desk. She enjoyed her work, and prided herself on being uniquely suited to it. Plus, she was the head secretary for the Chief of Operations, Derek Bond, and she liked her boss and was absolutely loyal to Telomere Industries. 

She hadn't been rooted here forever, she remembered. There was time when she'd moved around, gone outside, done other things. She didn't remember much about it, but she didn't miss it. Life had been more complicated then. Working here had shaped her, remade her, given her purpose after... whatever it was that had happened. 

She kept track of Chief Bond's calendar, sent him reminders when he needed them, and followed the online gossip when she wasn't busy. The city was well-run and orderly; she'd had an apartment out there somewhere, but everything she really needed was here in the office. It was better to just remain here: more convenient than commuting, more sustaining than having to cook and clean for herself, and safer. 

Telomere Industries would take care of her. Telomere Industries always had. Her life had only really begun when she came to work here; everything before that was a disappointment, better forgotten. 

And now her boss had a Prospect, and he'd asked her to set up an interview for him! Sure, Chief Bond would get the credit for bringing in someone with potential, but Lenore was a vital part of that process and proud of her role in it. This was going to be a very good day. 

Azzizazz: Fungus Rat King

"Lightning's not gonna work too good," said the Gith in the linen suit. 

Aziz looked at him, but Mac had his head slightly tilted. Feeling the monster out with his mind. 

There were some, no doubt, who would count Aziz as a monster as well. He was a dragon, after all, and he'd given up on trying to pass himself off as a human some time back. But the druid was a halfling, the paladin was a centaur and thus his own special mount, their explosives specialist was an Efreet, and the thing they were facing was a giant, monstrous amalgamation of purplish fungus and warped, infect rats. 

Aziz had really been hoping to blast it with lighting. Even now, after they'd worked out magical protections to keep from getting infected, he really didn't want to touch it. But lightning breath and a couple of low-level spells aside, he didn't have a lot of other options. 

This spell better work, he thought, and launched himself into the air. 

It wasn't what one might consider an elegant, dignified attack. He slammed into their opponent like an angry cat, clawing and tearing and hissing and spitting, buffeting it with the points of his wings. Adonis the paladin was attacking with his spiked chain, and Zaratas the Efreet was busy finding out that fire didn't work much better than lightning would have; it was simply too damp down here. 

They kept at it, and Aziz felt the moment the abomination came apart under his claws. He fell back, spitting and brushing at his tongue. Gods, he was going to have nightmares about the way that thing had tasted. 

Mac handed him a flask of water and said, "Good job, lad," and Aziz sagged. 

They'd done it. Somehow, they'd done it. And he didn't feel the tingling of the abyssal fungus' poison on his skin or in his mouth, so the protection spell worked. Which meant he could fight these things if he needed to. 

He had a feeling they'd need to. 

Blackhand: A Perfectly Ordinary Lunch

Mike -- Blackhand -- sat down at the table and looked at the girl across from him. "Do you mind telling me what you can do?" he asked. 

Robin smiled. "Oh, that's easy: I move air around. I think Ms. Salvatore classified it as low-level weather control."

Well, that doesn't sound too dangerous... Mike smiled back. It was easy to smile at Robin. "How much can you do it? I mean, could you use it to fly, or...?"

Robin was already shaking her head. "Push a door shut, blow some papers off a table, maybe knock over somebody's glass if I really tried. Nothing fit for the teams, or for support work. I can make my hair billow dramatically, but that's about it."

"Huh," Mike said, thinking that over. 

"Are you disappointed?" she asked. 

He shook his head slowly, still lost in thought. "No. I'm thinking that might be better than what I got, in some ways. You can't hurt people with it, accidentally or on purpose. It's just enough to be interesting, not enough to put you at risk."

"Really?" she asked, brightening. 

"Really," he told her. "I got recruited for the Hounds when I was... eleven or twelve? They wanted me because I could spot other D-- Anomalies, and because I could use my power for violence. And the result of that was, well... when it really came down to violence, I barely survived Harbinger."

Robin shivered. "I've heard about him. Scary stuff."

"Scary?" asked Mike. 

Robin watched him, and after a moment he admitted: "Maybe." He sighed. "But I can't help thinking that we brought that on ourselves. If the Program hadn't kidnapped him and most of his team, if the Alpha Hound called Mongrel hadn't deliberately picked a fight, he wouldn't be a mass-murderer."

Robin studied him for a long moment. "You... you like him?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't know about that. I know he let me live, along with two others, and I know he's been trying to make up for killing our Hunters." He hesitated. "You know how that works, right?"

"One Hunter, One Hound," Robin recited. "Yeah, there were a couple of emailed announcements."

Mike nodded, looking around the cafeteria for a long moment. "Let's just say I don't hate him. I can't, at this point. He set me to work on my powers with Jade, and she... she offered me a place on Team Phoenix."

Robin studied him for a long moment. "Are you going to take it?"

He sniffed. "After she pounded the shit out of me, and forced me to do things with my powers that I didn't know I was capable of?" He hesitated again. "Maybe. I'm thinking about it."

Robin reached across the table, touched his hand gently. "If it helps any, I hope you do. I'd... kind of like to have you around." 

Valthor: A Sister Unrecognized

I should have known, he thought. It wasn't just that the elvish wizard had abandoned her plans for escape to go after him instead, it was way she'd done it: slipping into the same style of Bladesinging that his mother had practiced. Likely the woman hadn't even been a half-sister, but rather a full sister that he hadn't known about. One which either his mother or his father had been holding in reserve. My mother, most likely, he decided. 

It would have been nice to have her as an ally, but clearly that hadn't been in the cards. And her blade... the scimitar was cursed, as Sy had made clear. The rapier, though... 

He pulled on his gloves, then took a handful of his cloak in his hand for good measure. Careful not to touch the weapon itself, he slid it back into its sheath and picked the whole thing up. He needed a box, to lock it away until someone could take a look and tell him whether or not the thing was safe to add to his own arsenal. For the moment, he could likely tuck it away in his locker.

The blades were another indication that this sister was one of their mother's tools. Their father hadn't sent his children out with anything more than minimal equipment, but these blades could easily be their mother's work. If she had held his sister back, trained her, equipped her... 

Oh, she's going to be furious if she ever finds out about this... 

Writing Process and Progress

You know, if there's one thing that I really needed to do -- now, while I've got two book-length writing projects in progress -- it's start on a third such project. But one of my favorite authors, Lilith Saintcrow, has a third Underdark book in the works, and that got me to thinking about how I might approach a similar format.

The Tales of the Underdark books aren't a series in the usual sense of the word. Instead, they're a collection of variations on a theme, with a woman who finds herself thrust into a strange but half-familiar world and forced to navigate unexpected dangers, unlikely allies and possible betrayers, and doubts about her own sanity. 

I'd like to try my own hand at this. It won't be set in the same world, of course, because the Underdark books aren't set in a single world. It will be a portal fantasy, and my protagonist will be male -- not because he has to be, but because that's the variation I'd like to introduce and (if we're being completely honest here) because I'm liking the fantasy of taking a mortal man of my age and giving him the chance to return to physical youth, forgotten skills, and magic. 

I also like the elements of Horror inherent in a setup like this: can you trust your own perceptions? Can you escape the things that are hunting you? How do you figure out who to trust? And, from an author's perspective, just how weird and terrifying can I make this world?

I don't write a lot of pure horror, and this book won't be that. But it will be a nice chance to wade out into those waters. 

Gunslinger's End

Duncan Dakota felt his horse shiver, and dismounted just before the beast keeled over and died. He wasn't entirely surprised; the horse was stolen, and he'd been driving the beast hard into the canyons, trying to shake the posse off his back. Maybe he shouldn't have gunned down that sheriff, but if the man didn't want a bullet in his pate he shouldn't have asked for Duncan's gun. Who'd've known a sheriff would have friends?

He took a few minutes to check the saddle, and came up with a half-full waterskin, a blanket, and not much else. Cursing the dead beast's owner under his breath, he rose...

A stone clicked against another stone, and Duncan spun. His pistol cleared leather, and he was ready to go down shooting, but...

He froze. 

The thing in front of him was near to his own size, shorter but wider, hairless and pale. Its features were half-formed, almost melted, and it blinked strange, orange eyes at him. Then it flowed forward. Duncan squeezed off a single shot, but by then it was too late. He fell back, screaming, as it surrounded him and overwhelmed his flesh, pouring in through mouth and nose and ears. 

Duncan Dakota stirred on the sands of the canyon floor, then sat up slowly. He climbed clumsily to his feet, then looked himself over. "Oh yes," he said, tasting his new language, his new understanding. "You'll do nicely." 

Dreams: The Empty Archipelago

Slept hard the night after we got back, and had one of those bizarrely lucid dreams that I sometimes do. I'm probably the better for it; these sorts of dreams tend to come along when I'm shaking something off. 

I'd been in an airplane, and we'd made an emergency landing on a stretch of road on an island. No idea where; the dream started after we'd landed, so we didn't get any dramatic speeches from the pilot or anything. I just came into the dream knowing that the plane was down, that it had landed safely but we didn't have any way to get it back up. Most of the passengers decided to stay put and wait for help, but I went exploring instead. 

So: island, tropical, built out but strangely empty. There were roads, sidewalks, buildings, a lighthouse off in the distance. No people, though. There was another island nearby, that looked close enough to swim to; I headed down a wooden walkway that went off in that direction. A few of the other passengers filtered out after me. 

The boardwalk ended in small, avant-guard museum, which was unlocked but uninhabited. I had a flashlight on me, so we made our way through to the back rooms, which had table holding massive vegetables -- like, a squash the size of my chest. Reassured that we wouldn't starve if things like this grew around here, I found the back door, and... 

Came out into a room with people in it. They didn't seem surprised by our appearance, or even very interested in it, but they answered questions. No, they didn't really know how they got here. No, they didn't know any way back. Yes, there was food and water -- I wasn't sure if they grew it, or if it just somehow appeared from time to time. As far as I could tell, they'd established routines and were content where they were. 

I meant to move further in, to see if I could figure out what was going on here, but I woke up before I could get any further. 

 

Burials, Grief, and Relief

We had a second service for my father's actual burial this past weekend. Lot of family who hadn't made it to the memorial service, a lot going on, a lot old ghosts -- good and bad. My wife keeps asking me how I'm feeling about this, and in the moment I'd have to say that I wasn't feeling much about it at all. I was just busy trying to make sure everything worked. 

Which it did. No major mishaps, no family drama -- that side of the family isn't much for drama anyway -- and even a little time the day before to roam around the mountaintop and do a bit of exploring. (Well, for the kids it was exploring. For us, it was revisiting.) I hadn't expected to put my legs through quite that much exercise, but apparently I'm still up to it. And after things were finished, we were able to go down to our little rental cabin where nobody would bother us, so it was even fairly restful. Secondborn would have liked to do a lot more roaming around with a sword, but the schedule simply didn't allow it. 

I am frankly amazed that it went as smoothly as it did, and as we were heading down the mountain on the way back what I felt most was a profound sense of relief. It's done now. It went well. It's over.

Student: Mutable

Name: Arthur Slater
Nickname: Mutable
Age: 13
Appearance: 5' tall with platinum-blond hair and square features, well-kept and neatly dressed. 
Quirks: Hates water pistols and sprayers, loves swimming, distrusts authority figures, huge Pokemon fan, terrified of hurting people.

Arthur Slater was taken from his parents at a young age and barely remembers them. He passed through a series of county homes and foster homes, and eventually wound up with the Folsoms -- a couple in their thirties who had very strict ideas about discipline and training. His powers first manifested themselves when his foster mother was spraying him in the eyes with a water pistol as punishment for not listening when she spoke (he'd been reading). He dissolved her arm, and then -- in horror -- sealed over the stump. He then fled the house, and wound up in the local nature preserve. 

Arthur is a powerful shapeshifter, capable of altering his own appearance at will, and that of others at range. He can make natural weapons -- claws, fangs, stingers -- but he can also rip people open, seal them closed, change them into giant slugs... the possibilities are mostly limited by his imagination, and by his desire not to hurt people. He needs to be able to see someone in order to use this gift, but other than that animal flesh of any sort is his to sculpt as he wishes.

He was found in the Preserve by the Alpha Hound Lynx, and her acting hunter, Hunter Dee -- Harbinger, from Saint Vincent's School for Exceptional Youth. They managed to convince the boy to return to the police with them and testify against his foster parents. Given a choice between remaining in the foster system, coming to Saint Vincent's, or joining the Hounds, Arthur chose to come to Saint Vincent's. 

StV: Blackhand vs. Jade, part five

"Keep your armor up," Blackhand warned, and Jade nodded behind her green-and-white helm. She raised sword and shield, and he stepped in, bracing his right wrist with his left hand and then shoving a lance of his power out and down to pin her foot to the ground. 

It was a new move; he'd never tried anything like it before, and he didn't know whether Jade could match his reach or not. If she could, she didn't manage it fast enough. Her armor held, but her foot was still pinned and she stumbled, stamping with her right foot to catch her balance. It was exactly what Blackhand had hoped for. 

He withdrew the lance and formed armor as he sprang, pushing her sword and shield aside so he could catch her torso, sweep her right leg, and drop her onto her back. She grunted as she landed -- surprise or pain, he couldn't tell -- and let both sword and shield withdraw as she converted her armor to be covered in spikes. 

It wasn't enough to get through his black skin, and with his power active he was stronger than she was. He slid around, less smoothly than he was used to, and managed to position himself for an arm lock. Her armor might absorb the impact of hitting the floor, but he was betting it wouldn't prevent him from dislocating her arm.  

Still, he was absolutely shocked when she reached up and tapped out, fingers impacting firmly on his thigh.

"There you go," she said, sounding pleased. "That would have taken me out, or at least reduced my effectiveness."

Blackhand let go of her arm, scooted back, and sat up. "Could I actually have dislocated your arm?"

"I think so. I haven't had to work on preventing that sort of thing, and you caught me off-guard, so yeah: if it had come down to it, that would've worked."

"Holy shit," he said. 

"Yeah," said Jade. "I didn't expect that at all. I should have known better than to underestimate anybody who could survive Harbinger." She hesitated. "If you're looking for work, I could use you on Team Phoenix."

"...You're serious."

"As a heart attack, as my gram used to say." Jade was sitting up as well. 

"You don't think our powers are too similar?"

Jade shook her head. "You can spot other Anomalies. I don't think anybody else on the team can except maybe Shunt, and he won't always think to look. And Team Phoenix is... I mean, we train for combat, obviously, but we're we're much more of an investigative, exploratory team. So yeah, I think we could use you. Plus, I like the way you think."

"That's... You know I'm part of DAAT, right?"

Jade nodded. "I know. And if that's a problem for you, you can always say No and I won't push it. Wouldn't want you on the team if you didn't want to be there."

Blackhand fought down a moment of panic. Mongrel would rip his heart out of his chest if he defected... but Mongrel was dead, along with his mother and a lot more of the upper leadership that had shaped DAAT into what it was. The old guard just didn't have the grip it once did on the Program.  "That's... I've got to think about that."

Jade nodded. "Just let me know." 

StV: Blackhand vs. Jade, part four

Fuck me, Blackhand thought, after their third pass. Jade was holding back, being careful, letting him experiment. She had her armor up, and his power couldn't get through it. If he kept himself fully armored, he had no reach and couldn't get past her sword and shield -- but at least she couldn't really hurt him either. If he shifted his power to form a blade, he could at least attack her effectively -- but if she connected with him, she'd cut him in half.

By the time their fourth pass started, he found himself drenched in sweat and switching back and forth as quickly as he could: blade-strike-parry-slide-shield-blade-armor-claws-grasp-miss-blade, until all his focus was on coordinating his power with the movements he needed. Jade's training wasn't flawless, but it was every bit as good as his. 

He fell back, panting, and Jade raised a hand. "Catch your breath," she said. 

"This is... I can't..." 

Jade shrugged. "We're not all evenly matched, but that isn't the point of this. You're already doing things I bet you never tried before."

Blackhand sagged, let himself relax and breathe. She was right, he realized. It didn't make him feel particularly better, but she was right. He'd trained to fight with claws, or with his power concentrated to form a blade. Switching back and forth between them was new; switching between either of those and his full armor was newer still. "Yeah. Okay. Good point." He took a minute or so to get his breathing under control. Jade, to his irritation, didn't even look winded -- though he suspected that she was at least sweating under her armor. "If I could make contact, I could weaken you and strengthen myself, but..." He shook his head. "That armor of yours is something else."

"Do you want to stop here, or keep going?" Jade's voice was gentle; she wouldn't judge him either way. 

"One more," he said after a moment. "Maybe two. I've got a couple of things I'd like to try if I can manage them."

"All right," Jade drawled. "As soon as you're ready. 

StV: Blackhand vs. Jade, part three

"I can spot Anomalies," Blackhand said quietly. "That's the big thing. That's why they recruited me. But the reason I'm an Alpha Hound..." he shook his hand out, then encased it in that strange black tissue that turned everything from his wrists to his fingers into oversized claws.

Jade studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "That, and you're trained to do violence with those."

He nodded. "I really only had to once. Domestic violence situation, and the wife turned her husband in as a... an Anomaly. He freaked out when we showed up at the door, tried to kill his wife. I had to cut him up pretty badly to get him to stop, and by then he'd broken a bunch of her ribs and both her arms. Fucking wonder her spine was intact."

"She lived, though?" Jade asked quietly. 

Blackhand sighed. "I don't know. They don't tell me anything. Official word was yes, job well done, dangerous deviant now in captivity, but..."

Jade nodded. "You don't know."

"I don't know," he repeated. "Anyway, when Harbinger tried to kill me I probably protected myself like this." He called the black growth out, covered himself in it, and stood there, faceless, for a long moment. Then he let it pull back in. 

"Lucky," said Jade. "I'm glad you made it. Okay, so now you know you can use it for armor, not just to make claws or blades."

Blackhand nodded. "But I'm pushing my limits, and if I cover myself with it I don't have enough left to make proper claws, let alone blades."

Jade considered that. "Well, we're all working with our own limitations," she said. "Here." She covered himself in a milky green armor, equipped with sword and shield, and stood facing him, shield first. "Can you form it into a sword?"

StV: Blackhand vs. Jade, part two

Blackhand looked around curiously. Despite the plaque above the door, this was very definitely not a pickleball court. He hadn't expected it to be, not after what Jade had told him outside the door, but...

"Wait a minute. Jade? Like, the one we captured -- or kidnapped?"

She turned back, smiled, and nodded. "The very same. I was still inside the medical wing, waiting to keep you from coming in and killing everyone, or else we'd have met earlier."

Did Harbinger just send me to the captain of Team Phoenix for training??? Apparently he had. "Um," he said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Was it your idea to kidnap us?" she asked. 

Blackhand shook his head. "None of us even knew you were there. It was just a breakout, all hands on deck to suppress it, go here and assist."

Jade studied him for a long moment. "And then your hunter died."

Blackhand squeezed his eyes closed, resisted the urge to step back. "Let's not talk about that."

"Harbinger told me," Jade said quietly. "He feels bad about it. I think that's part of why he's trying to help you. I'm... sorry for your loss." 

Blackhand hesitated, then reached past his pain. "Whatever we were about to do to you was probably worse," he said. "Let's just... let's just leave that part behind, if we can. If you don't mind."

Jade nodded. "Sure." She glanced up at an armored window. "Ms. Brigham, are you ready?"

There was a soft click, and a voice said, "Ready."

"Okay," said Jade. "Harbinger didn't give me a lot of detail. Can you show me what you do normally, and then whatever else you discovered?" 

StV: Blackhand vs. Jade, part one

"Hey there," said the tall, athletic girl with the short brown hair as she joined him beside the door. He'd had no idea that this basement under the gymnasium even existed until he'd been invited to come down for a practice. "You ready to do this?"

Blackhand eyed her warily. She was an Anomaly, of course; he felt the shiver of recognition that filled him every time he checked anyone at Saint Vincent's School for Exceptional Youth. Well, anyone except the music teacher, which had startled him so much that he'd checked four times before giving up. "Do what, exactly?" 

"They didn't explain?" asked the girl, stopping far enough back that she didn't loom over him, then shaking her head with a sigh. "Possibly I wasn't clear enough. All right, well... you recently got a better handle on your power, right?"

"How did you know that?" Blackhand blurted. "Sorry. I just... didn't expect..."

"Harbinger told me about it, when he was asking me to help you explore it further."

"Ah," said Blackhand. "Okay, that makes more sense." Seeing as Harbinger had been the one who'd helped him figure it out, at least... And Harbinger really did seem to want to prove that he was a friend, or at least not an enemy.

"...Annnd, he didn't mention this to you either. Okay, then." She shook her head again. "Anyway, I talked to Ms. Brigham, and she set up a training time and sent the invitations. She'll be overseeing us. So if you don't want to do this, it's okay. Nobody's forcing you."

"Saint Vincent's is offering to help me improve my power, and you think nobody's forcing me?" He chuckled. "Hearne would never forgive me if I passed this up. Hell, I'd never forgive myself."

"All right," Jade said, and smiled. The expression was relaxed and easy on her face, and she tapped a code into the pad beside the door. "Come on inside, and let's take a look. I'm Jade."

"Blackhand," he said automatically, and followed her through the door. 

Music: Alibi

Dessa:

Week of Mondays...

So, somewhere in here -- hopefully today -- we're supposed to be getting some replacement equipment which I'll need to provision and get into place as quickly as possible. It should have come in yesterday -- Tuesday would have been better in some ways, worse in others -- but it didn't. So I'm kind of on hold, working on other things while waiting for this massive pile of work to drop on my desk. I'm also trying to catch up on some non-work things from back before Christmas, but progress has been... erratic. 

Current events are making me crazy; I need to stop looking at the news for a bit.  

Writing is keeping me sane.  

That's all for now. 

Music: Rockin' The Bronx

Black 47:

Music: Burning Man

Dierks Bentley:

Frazzled

I didn't take any vacation time off around Christmas or New Year's Day, which means that I had three days of mid-week vacation and my sense of time is absolutely scrambled; I spent half the Friday after New Year's think it was Monday, then went to Dad's Wife's house to celebrate my nephew's birthday. It went well, I think, but we're due to go inter my dad's ashes in two weeks and so that just hit me. Plus, a friend -- the father of Secondborn's closest friend -- is back in the hospital, so there's that. (He's been dying by inches for about three years now, but it looks like we're down to the final month or two; or maybe that's weeks.) Oh, and add to that the moral injury of "We're invading Venezuela under the transparent pretext of overthrowing a dictator so that we can grab their oil" along with, well, everything else the Republicans are doing and the Democrats are too busy being helpless to effectively oppose, and I'm just... tired, even after a solid night's sleep. 

Planning would be a whole lot easier if I weren't busy disassociating, basically. 

I have two writing projects that are... both coming along at their own speed, I think. One of them might be publishable when it's finished; the other one... I guess technically I could publish it, but I feel like I'd owe an apology to anyone who actually bought it. (Not because it's self-indulgent and the main character is a huge Mary Sue -- though both those things are true -- but because it's sloppy and I lack the dedication to go back and clean it up.) I'm okay with that; I'm writing them more for my own sanity than for any sort of readership or income stream. I've been replaying The Outer Worlds, which is... a good game, if not a great one, and fits neatly with the mood of the primary (publishable) writing project. 

The cat spent a portion of Friday night climbing around on top of the shelves in our bedroom, and didn't even have the grace to look guilty when I located him. Which was actually pretty cute; kitten is going to kitten, after all. The dog is keeping me company on the back couch while I'm writing this, and  I've still got most of Saturday and Sunday to recuperate -- even if this post won't go up until Monday. 

I am not looking forward to Monday. I expect work is going to be crazy-busy, and I've got to put a request for vacation time in for Dad's interment, and after all the work on the upgrades and whatnot I've just kind of bottomed out. Still love the new job, and I really like the people I'm working with, though. Even with the commute, it's a huge improvement. But yeah, I should have taken Friday off and just let myself crash out to get ready for this. 

It's a rough time for everybody right now, I think. Take care of yourselves, Gentle Readers, and do whatever you can to take care of each other.  

Azzazizz: An Ill-Considered Attack

Azzazizz -- Aziz for short -- looked down at the corpse of the infected succubus, and then at his hands and feet, which were tingling with something that felt like poison -- the same poison he'd felt when the rats in the sewers had bitten him. Possum, the druid, was already on her way over to him; she had a cure spell left. 

Okay, so that was a lesson learned, he decided. His contribution to the group would be skills -- stealth, lockpicking, negotiation, and like that -- plus his senses. His physical attacks weren't that strong -- not compared to some of the others -- and he had one good ranged attack and one weak one. Against these fungus-infected creatures, he didn't dare use the physical attacks anymore. Their infectious nature made that sort of attack as dangerous to him as he might possibly be to them. Were he just a little bit older... 

...But he was wasn't, and he wasn't trained to use the kind of mortal weapons that could hold creatures like these at bay. If the druid hadn't managed to paralyze the fungus-demon with magic, he would have been in serious danger. Like, getting himself killed kinds of danger. 

He thought about that a bit longer, then nodded to himself. That wasn't really a problem. He'd just have to consider carefully before he attacked anything with his claws and fangs... let alone his wings. He wasn't the strongest member of the party, but that was fine; he still had things to contribute. So... no jumping in, but no backing away, either. 

There were things he was better at than anyone else here, they just weren't quite what he'd expected. And, he reminded himself, that was exactly the sort of thing he'd come here to learn. I asked for this. He'd very likely saved Mac's life from the rats. He could do this.