Doing it right...

[Hanineal]

Maybe he can get the familiar sense, and she can let something slip during the heat of the battle? "Get away from my son" or something?

That would certainly work for me. That way, he didn't really know in advance, and didn't "recognize" her, but having heard her, combined with that familiar feeling, he was able to put two and two together, even though it made no sense to him, and he had to check it out. Inconsistency resolved, similar reunion awaiting at the end, with some minor details modified to make it fit.

I can't wait until he meets Bia!

[lake_wrangler]

Maybe he can get the familiar sense, and she can let something slip during the heat of the battle? "Get away from my son" or something?

That would certainly work for me. That way, he didn't really know in advance, and didn't "recognize" her, but having heard her, combined with that familiar feeling, he was able to put two and two together, even though it made no sense to him, and he had to check it out. Inconsistency resolved, similar reunion awaiting at the end, with some minor details modified to make it fit.

Maybe not something as blatant as "get away from my son", but some particular (and uncommon) turn of phrase that she had used during his early childhood?

Not necessarily "hush my grits" or "Shazbat!", but something along those lines... phrasing plus tone of voice plus smell could add up to enough.

The problem with that is that he's not supposed to have known her. I suppose she "died" when he was an infant, once he was given over to his step parents (or to his real father... we simply don't know enough to tell). So he's not supposed to remember anything about her, much less some turn of the phrase that would sound familiar to him.

[Dave]

The problem with that is that he's not supposed to have known her. I suppose she "died" when he was an infant, once he was given over to his step parents (or to his real father... we simply don't know enough to tell). So he's not supposed to remember anything about her, much less some turn of the phrase that would sound familiar to him.

Do we know for certain that the transition occurred this early?

Bia said the Library was "no place to raise a rambunctious little guy like your father". To me, "rambunctious" implies "big enough to run around and get into things", which is well beyond the infant stage. He might well have some memories from that age, I think... maybe not a conscious recollection, but something which could surface in recognition.

[GlytchMeister]

The other option is to edit the grave visit... Let it be so that he did know her at least a little. Maybe just a foggy memory from when he was a little raider.

[lake_wrangler]

The other option is to edit the grave visit... Let it be so that he did know her at least a little. Maybe just a foggy memory from when he was a little raider.

That would be easy enough. However, it would still contradict Canon that states that Phix was told to stay out of his life. She had to have (from my understanding) given him up either at birth, right after birth, or, at the most, right after having been weaned.


Wait...


Now that I think about it...

I take it all back! (Well, most if it, anyway...)

Yes, editing the grave site visit would work, so that there was some overlap between his life and hers...

Going back to my earlier comic quote, I see that Bia said that the Library was no place to raise a rambunctious little guy like Shelly's dad... Infants are not rambunctious. Toddlers are. Children are. Not infants. They wouldn't have known he would be rambunctious, until he had gone past the infancy stage. So Brian had to have spent at least some time with his mom, before he was given up for adoption (or in the biological father's custody). Long enough to have known her, but not long enough to remember much of it at all. (Although I suppose that the powers that be could have said that since all children are rambunctious, we won't wait to find out, but that is not a forgone conclusion... some kids are not as rambunctious as others... so it's not impossible that he lived at the Library for a while.)

I'm glad we had this discussion... (Even if only to give me time to think about it...)

So in the end, the bits in this story mostly work, although I still don't see how he would remember her as a Native American... From what I gather from Canon, his time with Phix would have been spent in the Library, where she would have no reason to appear as such. It is conceivable that she could have visited, at first, but still unlikely, given her orders to stay out of his life. That part (appearing as a Native American) might still need to be edited. As with the visit to the grave site. But much less editing than what would have been required, had I been right about him never having spend any time with her at all...

[jwhouk]

And we have the solution:

He looked back down at the headstone of his wife. Hers had been the hardest to take. His dad had been in the nursing home at the old Abbott Hospital for a few years when he finally passed; he'd made his peace with him and accepted his death. His mom – "Phyllis", a name that always seemed odd to him – he had never really known. He'd only come to the gravesite on occasion, mostly with his dad. His dad had never really lingered at the site, and thus he never did himself.

The scent - the musk, if you will - of a Sphinx is strong. It's been commented that this is why Aeternia is extra fussy at the moment when mommy isn't holding her. It also would explain his attachment to his little Shellybean.

Oh, and I fixed the gravesite. It was a total brain fade on my part to have Bia be born the year Phix was.

[jwhouk]

---

Brian sat there, slumped against the door of a cabinet in the kitchen area of the Great Hall. It was proving too much to comprehend.

The scent. He had to think about when the last time it was that...

Oh. Kindergarten. He'd gotten a call from Beatrice; Shelly had taken a swing at a boy who was bullying another, littler boy on the playground at school. The little boy - Owen, I think it was? - had been terrorized the last week or so before by this big kid. She took matters into her own hands, and slugged him.

When he'd gone over to the school to talk to her, he remembered picking Shelly up - and that scent, that smell...

He looked up. Justin, Shelly, and her friend Bud were standing outside the door of the kitchen. A moment later, Shelly walked in.

Her dress was in tatters - ripped, disheveled, stained with all sorts of detritus and blood.

He quickly got up, went over to hug her.

"Shellybean," he began. "I..."

And that was when he smelled it again. Shelly...

"Shelly... are you... am I?... Is she?..." he motioned out the door towards Phix, who was looking somewhat nervously into the kitchen while talking to Neil.

Shel looked nervously out the door. Phix only nodded in assent.

"Yes, daddy. That's grandma. And... and I love her so much that I made sure you would be here."

"But... but why... WHAT happened to have all this carnage?"

"It's a long, long story, daddy... One I'm not entirely sure about, to be honest. But," she stole a glance as Phix slowly wandered in the door, "I think she might be better suited to explain."

"Shelly needs to get cleaned up and start off on her honeymoon, Brian," Phix stated. "We can talk."

Brian hugged his little Shellybean, then - after what seemed to be forever, he let her go. Justin, waiting at the door, took her hand.

He watched her go, then turned to Phix.

"I..." Phix didn't let him finish the sentence. She embraced him in a hug - one that was over sixty years in the making.

[GlytchMeister]

Say it with me, folks:

D'AWWW...

[Just Old Al]

And that's what it's all about, folks....the feels.

[lake_wrangler]

And we have the solution:

He looked back down at the headstone of his wife. Hers had been the hardest to take. His dad had been in the nursing home at the old Abbott Hospital for a few years when he finally passed; he'd made his peace with him and accepted his death. His mom – "Phyllis", a name that always seemed odd to him – he had never really known. He'd only come to the gravesite on occasion, mostly with his dad. His dad had never really lingered at the site, and thus he never did himself.

The scent - the musk, if you will - of a Sphinx is strong. It's been commented that this is why Aeternia is extra fussy at the moment when mommy isn't holding her. It also would explain his attachment to his little Shellybean.

Oh, and I fixed the gravesite. It was a total brain fade on my part to have Bia be born the year Phix was.

All that's left is for Sarge to slightly alter his earlier post... I doubt very much Brian would remember Phix as a "grey headed indian woman"...

[lake_wrangler]

The problem with that is that he's not supposed to have known her. I suppose she "died" when he was an infant, once he was given over to his step parents (or to his real father... we simply don't know enough to tell). So he's not supposed to remember anything about her, much less some turn of the phrase that would sound familiar to him.

Do we know for certain that the transition occurred this early?

Bia said the Library was "no place to raise a rambunctious little guy like your father". To me, "rambunctious" implies "big enough to run around and get into things", which is well beyond the infant stage. He might well have some memories from that age, I think... maybe not a conscious recollection, but something which could surface in recognition.

For some reason, I seemed to have skipped your post, when reading this thread... yet came to the same conclusion, eventually...

[Sgt. Howard]

There- done- and if a librarian had not called a rambunctious little child in a library a 'Hooligan' at some point while trying to raise him there, I'll eat this laptop.

[jwhouk]

I can't wait until he meets Bia!

---

"Aren't you going to introduce him to your mother?"

Shelly gave Justin a stare.

"I do not want to engage in the ancient Apotropaic Mating Ritual of eating my husband," she said flatly.

"...You're kidding, right?"

Shelly just strode in silence as they left the building.

[jwhouk]

---

"...So, Paul basically started writing about what was happening to me, and I ended up being this ultra popular, well-known person."

"Especially among paranormals?" I asked.

"Yeah. The strip actually runs in print form in the Paranormal Times. Next time you're up in the Library, ask Phix to show you a copy. Be warned, though - it' a cross between the New York Times and News of the World."

I chuckled a bit about that as I sipped my Caramel High-Rise.

"So... Jin told me about what happened in one of the earlier go-rounds of the Calendar Machine."

"Yeah. I'm still not exactly sure how to respond to something like that." I motioned with my cup. "I mean, you're cute and all, but I think all the supernatural stuff would have driven me bonkers eventually."

She looked at me for a second. "You don't appear to have any demons floating around you."

"No... I have something else.If he was a demon analogue, he'd be called 'Accuser', I think." I studied my coffee. "He's been a bit active as of late, with all the crap that's happened at work."

"I'd been following all that, by the way." She shrugged. "I never really lived outside of the Twin Cities, except for those summers I spent down in Monterrey. I can't imagine being uprooted from your job because of political wrangling."

"Well, even though I work where I work, and I see it on a daily basis, I couldn't imagine going through the horrors you've gone through," I added quietly. "Out of curiosity - and you can tell me where to stick it if you don't want to answer - but how much of what's been put out there really happened?"

She paused for a moment.

"You know, I don't want to sound like Harrison Ford... but the truth? All of it." She looked down, a bit of a melancholy countenance on her face. "I'm far from perfect. Some of the stuff that Pablo put in there... well, there were some certain... things... revealed that I didn't want out there. I really didn't like what happened between me and Kevin." She paused for a moment. "Jet caught me playing with a knife at the store a few days later."

My eyes widened.

"Believe it or not, that was when I knew it really was the right decision. I could try to describe it, but apparently her Guidance - and Anger - had a little... 'discussion'... with my Doubt." She had a small smile on her face. "I just got to play referee, but let's say it was satisfying."

I looked out the window. The street lights had come on on University. "Almost evening," I said. "I'm sure we're being missed back at Casa Alexander."

"Yeah, we should probably get back over there, before Sarah starts suspecting something," she said with a giggle.

We got up from the tall tables - there was some teasing when I commented that the table was almost as tall as she was, to which she responded about me not being able to talk.

"The bathroom where we arrived should work as an exit point." She led me back over to the corridor. "You know, I've seen the inside of more bathrooms in this city now..."

A thought crossed my mind. "Do you think Paul's going to ever write the story of the 'Battle of A-Mill' for the comic?"

She thought for a moment before opening the door to the unisex bathroom.

"Nah, I don't think anyone would believe something like that."

[Just Old Al]

CN: Dinky does her excellent work…as always. I just don’t do elf the way you do…but we do tag team divinely.

The breakfast table at the Alexander farm was strangely quiet this morning.

Last night, none wanted to talk, or thought to. They straggled in - first the Alexanders, a nearly catatonic Rowdy in tow. They were met by an MIB medical team that had been sent by Brandi. All of them immediately went feral - discarding their smoke-grimed garments for the comfort of brushes, washes and currycombs before huddling together in the centaur quarters. They could be seen away from the house, walking up and down in the paddocks, trying to clear their minds of the images they kept replaying.

They were soon followed home by Tina and Stan in the Q-ship, salvaged weapons and ammunition in cargo. This was parked up in the drive, joining the Tesla and being joined by the Suburbans, Bentley and other vehicles as groups returned.

Katherine arrived much later, with Glytch, a distraught Castela and a chastened-looking Atsali in tow. The others returned one by one and in small groups, each and every one wanting nothing more than a wash and quiet as they absorbed the import of what they'd experienced.

All had finally seen the elephant - and none loved the experience. Even the old warriors, who'd stayed to talk to the police and MIB and arrived last, wanted nothing more than quiet. Each of them remembered this sensation altogether too well, and wanted nothing more than the sensation to pass again.

Only the elves, battle hardened, centuries of knowledge...and experience, spoke to each other in camp, confessing sins, discussing the strange events that occurred, and what to take from it.
Also knowing that in the days to come, many would need counsel, the stallion Rowdy especially, they prepared camp, and set plans in motion.

******************

Even this morning quiet was the rule among the adults. The Alexanders were still sequestered, Edward, Rosalita and the maids serving as hosts in their stead.
The refugees-no-longer came down as suited them - no need to get up early. The habitual early risers were still up though, and about their business. As they ate and then departed the table, a herd instinct took over and they drifted to the Great Room. Sitting in small groups of two or three, they began to talk, at first tentatively, then more freely. Drawing comfort from each other they relived their previous day - and tried to understand how they'd survived.

This is not unusual - those in battle will attest that the urge to congregate, talk and listen is one of the strongest instincts. Some call it survivor's syndrome, some call it a need to expunge guilt, but none will call it unusual. Talk they did, through much of the morning. Greg, Al and Neil made very sure they talked to each and every one - they'd heard these stories before, in earlier eras and on other battlefields. The weapons, the names and the colours flown change...but the emotions and the psychology never does.

The youngest ones were the catalyst for life to return to the group. Aeternia, carried by Phix, was as talkative as usual depending on her mood. Castela, a night in her pot having taken the immediacy off the day, babbled on at everyone and anyone as was her wont. Even Atsali seemed different - the moodiness was gone and a glow of joy had settled on her instead of the morose blanket. It was obvious that whatever had concerned her for these months no longer did - and that the battle had had nothing to do with it.

One by one it became obvious that people were figuring out the crisis was over. Their lives were their own again, for good or ill and the shadow of the sword was gone from them. They'd survived.

For some, the resumption of a normal life was simple - go home and pick up where you left off. Of course there'd be things to deal with but those were simple compared to running for your life.

Some, however, had no home to return to, or life to pick up the threads of.

***********************

Safyr entered the centaur quarters silently, her sister following. In an empty corner of the entrance, they began the first part of their plan.

Emerauld lazily summoned roots from a few stray seeds, turning them into a bench. They both knew intimately the ordeals the centaurs were going through, having seen enough green warriors in first battle over the centuries. They needed the ordinary, just a bit, to distract them from replaying the battles in their mind...only then could they talk.

Cleansed of battle and wearing their patchwork leathers again, Safyr and Emerauld sat, arms crossed...and waited.

Soon, Matriarch Daisy walked by, first angry at their intrusion, then merely annoyed...at both their presence and silence.

Remembering both were warriors in their home - much like Al in his youth if she remembered right - she sighed, thinking of Rowdy first, her other children next, even herself. She shuddered, remembering Al lying there in a pool of blood as she came to during the strange healing the elf did, and finally nodded acceptance at their silent presence.
She left to tend to things, leaving them sitting, silent sentinels guarding them...it became a comforting addition after a while…

***********************

Rowdy saw them a short while later, still sitting there quietly. He was overwhelmed with guilt, loss, anger, frustration, and...something else he could not define.
He wanted a rational explanation for the cacophony within his mind, the horror of his actions and the desire to do it again.
Greg and Al were both old soldiers, and he listened to them talk about war, and about new recruits, but that something he wanted to hear or feel never happened. If he could just understand why he felt this way. These two were women, and warriors at that. Well, he understood women...or at least he thought he did.

So determined to ask, he decided to watch them for a time, and choose just the right moment to interrupt them.

Safyr had pulled a large bit of treeroot from the bench they sat on, absentmindedly whittling it into a lizard. Emerauld repaired the spot as her sister pulled another, this one turned into a cat. Another cat. A wolf. A horse. Another horse...no, a centaur.

"Will you stop doing that! The seat will break apart if you pull the center root out," said Emerauld, exasperated.

"Heartwood makes the better figures, you know this...after all, you taught it to me," came Safyr's saucy reply.

"Well, maybe I should let your side fall then...like last time?," she taunted.

After that, Safyr shrugged and sat on the floor crosslegged, continuing to pull roots from her side, turning them into various animals, both real and paranormal, as her sister, sighing loudly, gave up trying to fix it, and instead made two roots form chair legs on her side so her half of the bench did not fall over, then drew out some needlework, busily stitching together what looked like quilt blocks.

Rowdy smirked at their antics, amused in spite of himself.

This peace did not last long, as she soon ran out of heartwood pieces on her side and broke a leg off to carve a larger piece, and down came Emerauld, comically crashing to the floor with a snarled curse.

"Language! We are but guests, sister dear."

At this, Rowdy couldn't help himself, and began to laugh, resulting in twin smirks turning towards him.

“Master Rowdy – so I see we amuse you!” Safyr said, standing and helping her sister to her feet as well. Emerauld, still a trifle nettled at being unceremoniously dumped onto her posterior, scowled a bit at her sister and remarked “Yes, well he can laugh – you have made me turn somersaults like a fool!”

“Thank you for making me laugh – it’s been a rough time since yesterday.” With that statement his mind went back to its well-worn track. The sisters could see it in his countenance – like all young beings he wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions plainly on his face and in his eyes.

In talking, he realized that they would know what he wanted to know – the why, the how, and more an explanation of the power.

Half-scared, half-embarassed, he blurted out ”Can I ask you two a question?”

Emerauld recreated the bench from the sapwood scraps, glowering at Safyr in warning, and the sisters sat, facing toward him and said “Please – yes, you may ask, and if we can, we will answer, though it may not be as you wish.”

Swallowing hard the lump that formed in his throat he replied, “Why did killing feel good? Over and over I’ve been wondering that. I talked to Greg, I talked to Neil, even Al – and none of them ever said it felt good. They all said it was horrible, and a filthy business and people died – but never that it felt good.

When Momma got hit and then Al got hit – I just lit up inside. I went down the stairs firing so fast I burned out the barrel of my rifle – but I didn’t care. Killing the bad guys felt GOOD. All I wanted to do was to kill more and more of them.

I’m scared now. I’m scared that I liked it – that I could be some horrible sick being that could enjoy killing people. I’m worried that I’m going to lose it and become some kind of a killer.

What is wrong with me?”

Both sisters looked at him soberly. Scared now, he started to wish he’d kept his mouth shut – but he had to know – just what the hell was wrong with him?

Emerauld started, speaking slowly and a bit sadly. “The feeling you had is the one I fight every day – it is the mark of the berserker. It is the animal urge to kill, to rend, to destroy life and feed on the bones. It is that which is within all carnivores – but which thinking beings control every day – most without the slightest thought."

"This is what no one who has not been a warrior can ever understand – and most who are warriors deny with their every breath. I, a disciple born and bred of hate, fight the beast whenever surrounded by hate and fear and anger, such as you saw with the zealots. I fight it, because I believe The Centurion, Lady Phix and my sister are right. There are better ways than bloodshed to correct the evils in the world. Killing should be a last resort, even when a warrior. My...people are wrong."

Emerauld continued. "We have lived for centuries. In such a long life, one learns...or dies. I chose the path (here she removed the outer tunic covering her shoulders, revealing red-raw brands that began there and continued under her sleeveless tunic) willingly, for good reasons.
I saw...I saw ones dear to me die in front of me for no greater crime than being with me. In my rage, I laid waste to the area, left nothing but smoldering rubble. My Gods punished me(here she showed her wrists, runes glowing faintly), gave me a geas to help those in similar conflict. I cannot lie to you. Not even if you asked me to.
This is why Greg or the others did not speak of it – they deny its existence, and keep it under such tight control that for them, it does not exist. I have no such luxury.”

“Then why didn’t they say something? They knew what I did and how I did it – Buck must have told them. Why didn’t they tell me?” Rowdy was more confused than ever.

“Because they themselves are ashamed of it – they fear it more than death itself. This is why Al broke when he and I …disagreed. He knew how it felt, and what he did – and when he had the justification taken away, the beast in him was laid bare...and yet, I wish I could have softened the blow.” she said, breaking down.

Safyr continued as her sister regained composure. “Most never see the beast eye to eye – you did. Knowing he exists, you now need to take care. You will likely never see him again unless you become a Velg’larn as the soldiers were. If you remain a S’argt as they are now this will help you face down the beast and keep him under control where he belongs.”

Taking a deep breath, Emerauld concluded. “Know that there is nothing in you that is evil – the fact that you can and do question this and are repulsed by it is the best sign that you CAN control the beast within you. From now on, just remember it exists – and never let it out again.”

Rowdy thought hard. What Emerauld and Safyr had said made infinite sense – and explained his feelings perfectly. The fact that it had felt good at the time now filled him with sick horror – and from what she said this was the best of all possible outcomes.

Heartened by their frank answers, he threw his shoulders back and said "I will try to live by your words. You’ve both helped me so much.”

“Be well, Rowdy. We will be here to talk again – you know where we camp. See us when you wish – we will be there for you.”

Safyr handed him a carving with one hand, a Firebird, done up in the delicate Asian style. With the other, she placed her hand over his heart, murmuring quietly.
When she removed it, a strange smooth pendant, seemingly made of red jade and rose quartz impossibly flowing together in the form of yin and yang dropped into his hand with the words, "heal thyself" carved on the back.

"Do not hide away in grief. Your greatest strength comes from within...and without. Your family are your greatest allies."

[Just Old Al]

CN: Sarge and I this time...

"Good morning and welcome to New Day on CNN. I am Michaela Pereira.

The top story on the news this morning is coming out of Minneapolis, Minnesota - where apparently a drug gang attempted a mass assassination of the participants and guests at the wedding of a local police officer.

Justin Epimethus and his bride, Shelley Epimethus-Wahnee, both survived the attack but there was great loss of life on both sides of the battle, including several guests and at least five officers of the Minneapolis police who were guests attending the service.

However, this is not the only point of interest in this story. Because of a shooting incident several weeks earlier, the service was being picketed by both BLM and the Westboro Baptist Church. Both of these groups also took casualties as part of the attack, but the allegations coming out of the scene go far beyond this incident.

First off, lets see the footage taken by a CNN camera crew on-site at the protest when the battle began. Warning, this footage is disturbing - watchers should realize this."

With this, the footage appeared on screen, with the camera panning the small group of protesters. Suddenly, gunfire broke out, with fire coming from behind the camera position. People panicked and began to run in all directions, with the camera panning wildly to try and catch the scene.

Suddenly, the front of the building exploded - all of the windows disappeared and tongues of flame from a high point began to erupt. By that time, all of the protesters were gone, except for a few standing petrified by the noise and shock. One of these was a black woman - standing petrified and screaming helplessly thirty feet from the front of the building in the no-man's land between the attackers and the police in the building.

Out of the building ran a young man, in full formal police uniform. He ran straight toward the woman, falling once, and picking himself up to move more slowly. He grabbed the hysterical woman and began to drag her toward the shelter of the building. He fell again half-way back, taking the woman to the ground with him, finally reaching the shelter of the building.

"The officer in the footage was Justin Epimethus - the groom. From what we have found out, the times Officer Epimethus fell he had been hit with small-arms fire, but carried on to rescue the woman you saw in the footage. She has been identified as Sally Laval - one of the primary spokespersons for BLM against Officer Epithemus over the shooting. Since this time, allegations as to the participation of BLM and the conduct of Ms. Laval have been raised - by Miss Laval herself.

Joining us here in the CNN studios in Atlanta by satellite is Ms Laval - she is here to tell us of the conduct of BLM and the organizers of the protests. Ms Laval - good morning - how are you after your ordeal yesterday?"

"Ah'm fine. Ah'm shook up, but I'd be dead iffen it wun't fo' Justin."

"By Justin, do you mean Officer Epithemus?"

"Ah do. He saved me in de middle o' dat big gunfight. Got hisself shot up bad doin' it, too- take a helluva man to take a bullet fo sumbudy else."

"Now, since that time some allegations have come out about your involvement with the BLM - specifically - your efforts as their spokesperson on their behalf. Is it true that you were being paid to speak for them and you were not volunteering?"

"Dat's true. Dey was payin' me every time I come out to one o' the protests - and sendin' a car fo' me and stuff like dat."

"Were you being given things to say - were they writing your statements for you?"

"Yep. Dey was. I said a lotta stuff mahself, but dey was tellin' me what dey wanted de cameras to see- an' mos' dat stuff was juss WRONG, you know? Dey tol me dat he done shot bof dem boys, but now Ah finds he only shot de one afta he got shot at hissef- an' de one he shot was de one what shot de udder... an' I doan' unnnerstan- why do somebody want to stur up (BLEEP) like dat? Get folks all riled up like dat? Dey 'nuf (BLEEP) 'tween white folk an' black folk widout it,"

"Why indeed? What about your fellow protesters? Do they have a different view now?"

"Oh, (BLEEP) yeah, dey do! We done had 'nuf o' Sharpton's lies an' (BLEEP), he can go suck eggs,"

"Thank you. That was Ms Sally Laval, coming to us from our affiliate studios in Minneapolis."

These allegations of paid protesters and paid spokespeople at the protests have caused a stir in the sentiment toward BLM and their stance on anti-police violence. We attempted to reach Reverend Sharpton for comment but his offices have not returned our calls at this time."

[Sgt. Howard]

The image of Shelly Epimethus (nee Wahnee,) in shredded gown, sobbing, surrounded by Westboro Baptist protesters, became a headline staple from coast to coast and border to border... and, thanks to the manipilations of young Glytch, it became a viral sensation on levels previously unknown to the internet. NEVER in the history of the Church were they so hated, so despised. Every diocese in the Christian world roundly condemned their actions and demanded their disbandment... or apology... or censorship... or slow death, some even offering to do the task. In their own home town, many stores refused to serve them, many neighbors would not speak with them- their children faced horrible treatment at school with no effort of the teachers to intervene... unless permanent physical harm might ensue. Rotted dead animals were dumped on their properties, somebody painted the words "WE WORSHIP SATAN" on their church in pig's blood... in short, they were being driven out of town. Police 'investigated' the crimes committed against them, but had no heart in the matter. Amanda's photo (which would earn her a Pulitzer Prize) displayed the Church for what it was... even though the damage done was NOT the work of Church members!... and the civilized world was appalled by what they saw. One cartoon captured it well- the image of Christ, in mournful prayer- sporting a black eye that spelled out the word "Westboro"...
In what proved to be the last congregational meeting of the Church as it understood itself, Shirley and Rebekah, their husbands, their children and a scant few remaining parishioners and family members gathered to discuss the fate of the Church. Everybody knew that it could not continue as such where they were- four families had already suffered separations, as spouses distanced themselves from the 'true believers' and children ran from their parents. Death threats were now a daily event. One member's garage burnt to the ground... it was only a matter of time before it would be somebody's house.
Shirley Phelps-Roper had been adressing the remains of the faithfull regarding their situation-
"We CAN'T tell anyone what we saw, that would simply qualify us as loony. I for one am not talking about it- I'm not sure I understand any of it- except that it had to be evil, there is NO doubt in my mind,"
"On THAT call, you would be absolutly correct," came a voice behind her.
Turning to look, she saw a nine foot female figure- totally fur bearing, with hooves instead of feet, hands, short tail, an almost Human looking face... and massive horns, like those of a wild goat. She fluttered her golden eyes at Shirley, and said-
"...boo..."
There was a moment of shock, then the few parishoners scrambled to the doors... only to find them locked. No escape. They pounded on the doors to no avail until the creature yelled,
"ENOUGH!!! That's REALLY annoying, you know... hi, Shirley, remember me?" she coo'd.
"WHO... WHO ARE YOU?"
"Really? You, who has worshipped hatred, self-righteousness, condemnation... you think I need an introduction? I AM YOUR GODDESS!!!"
"... but... Satan is a man..."
"WRONG!!!" the creature squealed with delight, "SIN IS A BITCH, GIRL!!! AND NOW I'VE COME TO CLAIM MY OWN!!!"
Nudge waited for a reaction... and got none. "Cat got your tongue, there?" Still no reaction. "ARE YOU HEARING ME?"
"... uh, Nudge..." Tepoz muttered.
"... not now, Tepoz- something's wrong..."
"... uh, Nudge... time has stopped... that's why she's not responding,"
"Oh?" looking around, she saw this to be true. Nobody was moving.
"What...? Who did THIS little trick?"
"That... would be ME," came the voice from behind then both.

[jwhouk]

(HEY! The Red Letter schtick is mine!)

---

"Look, Nudge - I do appreciate what you're trying to do. However - hate for hate leads to more hate. Leave them be. They've seen more horror than they should."

Nudge looked around, nearly freaking out. "But..."

"But nothing. Leave them. They will destroy themselves, like evil always has. And these are Mine to repay - not yours."

Nudge and Tepoz stood still, not sure of what to do next.

"Back to the Library, please."

"I never get to have any fun," she said, as she picked up Tepoz - and they both disappeared in a POIT.

Time unfroze - and the remnants of the Westboro Baptist Church froze in their places.

[Sgt. Howard]

"Do not turn and look- I think you both know why,"
"We- we were-were trying to- to ..." Nudge stammered.
"I know what you were trying to do, trickster- there are those in this group that WOULD worship you... and I KNOW that's not your intent. There are those who would go mad and commit suicide... and I know that's not your intent. Recently, your intentions have created some consequences beyond your imagination, and this particular group I cannot let you have as a playtoy. I have my reasons. It is enough that you know this- but you and Tepoz must now leave, that I can undo some damage, and salvage what had been lost... Look, Nudge - I do appreciate what you're trying to do. However - hate for hate leads to more hate. Leave them be. They've seen more horror than they should."

Nudge looked around, nearly freaking out. "But..."

"But nothing. Leave them. They will destroy themselves, like evil always has. And these are Mine to repay - not yours."

Nudge and Tepoz stood still, not sure of what to do next.

"Back to the Library, please."

"I never get to have any fun," she said, as she picked up Tepoz - and they both disappeared in a POIT.

Time unfroze - and the remnants of the Westboro Baptist Church froze in their places

He surveyed the group. They now started moving, waving their hands slowly in front of themselves as they tried to figure out what was going on. In the back, an older man exclaimed, "I cannot see! I am blind! I cannot see!"
"My eyes! Why can't I see?" cried a teenaged girl.
"We are in darkness! Somebody find a light!" Shirley cried out.

"Shirley Phelps-Roper- why do you persecute me?" came the strong voice.

There was no doubt who had spoken.

[jwhouk]

(I think we can fix how that looks, btw; insert my stuff after "salvage what had been lost.")