tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23316604590753736352024-03-13T00:37:41.183-06:00Magik Beans: Book 2, "Spring"An urban fantasy about a coffee shop, the people who work there, and the adventures resulting from spilling coffee made with magic coffee beans over a bonsai tree.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-66954725609553573712010-04-10T10:00:00.003-06:002010-04-10T11:20:57.040-06:002-17: Guardian of the HordeAn array of rings was spread out before Blackout on the floor of Dragon's cavern. He'd begun with a pile Dragon had dumped in front of him, narrowing his choices until he was left with twelve rings.<br />
<br />
"You should probably get rid of this one too," Dragon suggested, pointing at a band with a sheen of silver unlike any Blackout had ever seen before.<br />
<br />
He picked it up and held it between thumb and forefinger. "Why? I thought that one might end up being a keeper."<br />
<br />
"Too big for her fingers, and made of mythril," Dragon said. "We'd have a tough time getting it sized properly."<br />
<br />
"Mithril?" Blackout blurted the word out. "Like the nearly indestructible true steel of Middle-earth?"<br />
<br />
Dragon stared at Blackout blankly. "You do know that's just a book, don't you?"<br />
<br />
Blackout worked his jaw a moment, trying to find the words for a response. "So the Star Wars galaxy is real, but Middle-earth isn't? Seems a bit odd, given that I've never seen any Jedi, but here you are, looking all Smaug-like."<br />
<br />
"Tolkien wasn't the first human to write about Dragons," Dragon said sulkily. "And I'm a little hurt at that Smaug comment. <i>I've</i> never torched an entire village over a petty theft." <br />
<br />
Blackout gestured to the piles of treasure heaped about the cavern. "But you do have a horde," he said. "I mean, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I do feel a bit uncomfortable giving Lara a ring that was likely..."<br />
<br />
Dragon raised a red-scaled eyebrow expectantly. "Likely <i>what</i>?"<br />
<br />
"Well," Blackout said hesitantly. "Where did you get all this treasure?" <br />
<br />
Dragon threw her foreclaws up in exasperation. "This is so typical!" She gave Blackout a wounded glare. "I know humans in the West of your world have a a problem with dragons, but I would have expected better from you."<br />
<br />
Blackout gaped at Dragon. Dragon folded her foreclaws and angled his head up and away from Blackout.<br />
<br />
"Oh come on," Blackout pleaded. "You can't be mad at me for assuming you killed someone to get all this." He gestured to the sparkling gems and metal strewn about. <br />
<br />
Dragon gasped. "You thought I <i>killed </i>someone to get all this?"<br />
<br />
"Hey, like you said, Dragons aren't exactly noble creatures in Western literature," Blackout said. He blew out a frustrated sigh. "Well then, if all this treasure wasn't stolen, then where did it come from?"<br />
<br />
"Didn't you ever read Beowulf?" Dragon asked. "The Dragon's lair was a king's burial chamber, filled with treasure. Now it's fair to say that particular beast was a prime bitch about the theft of the cup..."<br />
<br />
"Like Smaug."<br />
<br />
Dragon nodded. "But it is her story our parents tell is when we're young, to instruct us in the way we should go. When she first finds the hoard, it is an ancient barrow, a King's grave. The treasure was already there, hidden in the earth, until she came along to claim it as her bed. At that point, the poet only calls her 'the keeper of the hoard,' the 'guardian of the mound,' and the 'hoard-watcher.' That is the way of my kind. We guard hoards. If we find a large, unmanaged treasure trove, we believe it ha been placed there for us to keep watch over. In this way, we keep it from falling into the wrong hands. The dragon in Beowulf does not earn the title of 'vile sky-winger' until after she engaged in her campaign of destruction."<br />
<br />
Dragon stopped for a moment, gathering her thoughts.<br />
<br />
"So you're just supposed to let people steal from your hoard? How are you a guardian if you do that?"<br />
<br />
Dragon shook her head. "Her reaction was just. It was the severity of her reaction we believe to have been wrong. Hers is a cautionary tale for dragons."<br />
<br />
"But you're giving a ring to me..." Blackout said hesitantly.<br />
<br />
Dragon smiled. "After both the king and the dragon perished in the tale of Beowulf, there was a covenant established between us and the humans. And so the hoard watchers learned the art of being ring-givers."<br />
Dragon picked out a ring of woven bands of yellow and white gold. Hung on the tip of her claw, she extended it to Blackout. "This is the one," she said.<br />
<br />
Blackout took it from her claw and nodded. "It certainly is," he said laughing a little.<br />
<br />
After all, it was the one he'd seen on Dragon's hand when she'd appeared as Lara.<br />
<br />
"You spoke of the dragon in Beowulf as though you knew her," Blackout said as they exited the cave, to stand once again on the top of a majestic fjord. The smell of sea salt permeated the air.<br />
<br />
"I never knew her personally," Dragon said. "But I inherited her hoard from my mother, down through the generations. I am the great, great granddaughter of that 'vile sky winger'."Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-61434987440644280852009-08-06T07:00:00.001-06:002009-08-06T09:13:02.539-06:00Episode 17: Ring of SecrecyIn the brief seconds Dragon had taken on Lara's naked form, Blackout had an epiphany. None should be surprised that in assuming the shape of a North American straight male's desire, the manifestation was a naked woman. The likelihood Dragon would have transformed into anything else is only slightly better than the odds of successfully navigating an asteroid field. Despite it not having been the first time he had seen Lara in the nude, Blackout had found himself staring, but not in the way one might assume. His exclamation of "whoops" was not so much an expression of apology as it was a hastily uttered prayer, hoping desperately that Lara was looking anywhere but where his own eyes had fallen, upon her left hand, ring finger, adorned by a gold diamond ring.<br /><br />It was, incidentally, also why Andrew had stated, "That was unexpected," with utter calm. In an attempt to look anywhere but where twenty some years of male instinct were screaming at him to look, Andrew's eyes had traveled in the sign of the cross, finally settling upon Lara's left hand.<br /><br />Which is how it came to be that Blackout, Andrew, and Dragon (in the shape of a Dwarven brewmaster, a response to Lara's desire to begin serving quality micro-brewed beer which meant that Dragon looked like a short version of Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top in a green apron), were sitting in <span style="font-style: italic;">Magik Beans</span> the next morning, discussing the appearance of the ring in conspiratorial tones, despite the fact that Lara wasn't scheduled to work until after noon.<br /><br />"I mean, I've been thinking about it for a while, but I...hadn't gone shopping for a ring or anything. I wanted to have the right moment, you know?" Blackout bobbed his head up and down, drumming nervously on the table.<br /><br />"Sure," Andrew said. He was completely out of his element, having only just come to an awareness of being interested in Silke. "I'd do the exact same thing man."<br /><br />"Dragons don't marry," Dragon said. "We can reproduce without sex, so there's no need for a single mate."<br /><br />"So I take it you're not terribly impressed by virgin births?" Andrew said.<br /><br />"What?" Dragon looked at him blankly.<br /><br />"I'm not really helping much, am I?" Andrew said, looking at Blackout.<br /><br />"I just wanted to make sure you both understood that this <span style="font-style: italic;">must</span> remain an absolute secret for the time being," Blackout whispered. "If she finds out, it just won't be the same. Ever since the idea came into my head, I knew I wanted to pick out the ring myself, to do the whole going-down-on-one-knee thing...maybe even have some cool suit for the occasion."<br /><br />"Like a suit of armor?" Dragon asked.<br /><br />"I was thinking more along the lines of a tuxedo," Blackout said, "But I suppose a suit of armor would be pretty cool."<br /><br />"She'd definitely dig it," Andrew said. "That whole medieval metal thing she's into and all."<br /><br />Blackout nodded. "So we're clear? Tell <span style="font-style: italic;">no one</span>."<br /><br />"My lips are sealed," Andrew said.<br /><br />"I swear that if I tell, you may run me through with a magic dragonslaying sword which I will provide you with, then eat my heart, becoming omnipotent for a brief period so that you could turn back time far enough to stop me from blurting out your secret." Dragon smiled.<br /><br />"Okay, that was excessive, but very cool," Blackout said. "Is that really possible? If I ate your heart, I'd be omnipotent for a brief period of time?"<br /><br />"Absolutely," Dragon said.<br /><br />"Well, if you could do that, why wouldn't you just have a guy with this Dragonslaying sword around to cut out your heart everytime you did something stupid so that you could go back in time and change things?" Blackout asked.<br /><br />"Because it's an abuse of the immutable laws of time and space, right?" Andrew said.<br /><br />Dragon nodded. "How did you know?"<br /><br />"I'm taking a class on it right now," Andrew said, looking at his watch. "Speaking of which, I'm going to be late if I don't get going right now." He picked up his coffee. "Your secret is safe with me...and for whatever it's worth, I'm really, really happy for you two. She's a lot happier than when I first met her, and I think you're responsible for a lot of that happiness." He nodded at Blackout and Dragon and headed out the door.<br /><br />"So as I understand your customs," Dragon said, "You need a ring."<br /><br />"That's right," Blackout said. "Something really special."<br /><br />"I think I can help you with that," Dragon said. "Meet me back here when my shift ends. We have some traveling to do."Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-56615529771942663662009-08-03T01:30:00.002-06:002009-08-03T02:20:30.277-06:00Episode 16: Under a Spell"Dragon's little performance certainly put you in the mood," Lara whispered into Blackout's ear. She pressed up against him. "Can you pull the sheets up?"<br /><br />"You want the sheets on?" Blackout shook his head a little and smiled, but pulled the covers up over their bodies. "My temperature is <span style="font-style: italic;">way</span> up."<br /><br />"It certainly is," Laura said with a purr. She paused a moment, looking into his eyes. "Thank you," she said finally.<br /><br />"For what?" Blackout asked, turning onto his side.<br /><br />"For loving me," she said.<br /><br />"That's easy," Blackout said, smiling.<br /><br />"I'm not sure that's true," Lara said, "but thank you for saying so."<br /><br />"No, it's always been easy," Blackout said. "Ever since I met you."<br /><br />"Love at first sight?"<br /><br />"Sure. You put me under a spell, or something like that."<br /><br />Lara stopped, her brow slightly furrowed. "I used to want love to be like a spell. Like a potion. I wanted to be swept away. I wanted to have Cupid's arrow hit me and I'd be lost. But I've been lost...not in love, but in..." She stopped, and tears formed around the edges of her eyes.<br /><br />"I didn't mean anything by it," Blackout began. "I was just trying to be fun."<br /><br />"I know," Lara said, her voice slightly broken, wiping away the first tear as it trailed down her cheek, forcing the next back along the side of her eye where they flowed onto her the back of her hand. "Shit. I'm sorry."<br /><br />"No, I'm the one who should be saying sorry," Blackout said, running his hand along the side of her face, catching a teardrop which seemed to have waited to fall, seeking to connect them in a way their conversation could not.<br /><br />"How could you have known?" Lara said. She hadn't even known until he'd said it. Something about the confluence of potion along with lost, and the hazy memories of drinking to drown remembrance flowed in, washing over her and through her to become tears. "I don't ever want to feel lost like that again," she said. "I want to choose what I do. I want to be aware, to make every decision deliberately."<br /><br />They sat in silence for a moment.<br /><br />"I choose to love you," she said to him. "And I never want you to feel like you are under a spell, under some influence compelling you to love me. I need to know you make those decisions too. That you love me in spite of, or perhaps because, of how fucked up I am."<br /><br />Blackout nodded. "Is that why you've never read our cards?"<br /><br />Lara shook her head. "I don't believe in Fate," Lara said. "Not in the sense most people understand it. The Fates themselves don't believe in that sort of manifest destiny. If the existence of the Tree has taught me anything, it's that there are too many possibilities, too many worlds, for there to be one perfect person, chosen for me by the gods or Fate or the cards...whatever. We ultimately choose to love someone, hunker down into a relationship, and fight to make it work, every fucking day, to make it work. To make it work." She said those last words in a fierce whisper, her eyes blazing.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-53759051031287018722009-06-05T14:02:00.004-06:002009-06-05T15:39:35.204-06:00Episode 15: Dragon Blend"As in, the Greek <em>god</em> Apollo, or the guy off Battlestar Galactica?" Blackout asked.<br /><br />Andrew shot him a look, seemingly pleading Blackout to take matters seriously. "The guy off Battlestar Galactica? A completely fictional character?"<br /><br />"The Dragon worked on <em>Bespin</em>," Blackout retorted. "As in <em>Cloud frakking</em> <em>City</em>. From. Star. Wars. Fictional enough for you?"<br /><br />Andrew looked over at the red dragon working behind the coffee bar, then looked at Lara for confirmation. She shrugged and nodded apologetically. "That's what it says on her resume," she said. "And it's just Dragon. That's what she goes by."<br /><br />"Doesn't that get confusing?" Blackout asked.<br /><br />"Apparently Draconian is a telepathic language, and humans generally suck at telepathy, so she thought Dragon would be simpler than her proper name, which translates into a word which means 'the light which pushes through the vale of tears'."<br /><br />"Sounds like the title of an emo song," Andrew said.<br /><br />"But happier," Blackout added, Andrew nodding assent.<br /><br />"Telepathy? So can they read human thoughts?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />Laura smiled and nodded, "Sort of. They read our desires. And because they're shapeshifters, they can respond to that in the shape of said desire."<br /><br />"So she could turn into a cappucino?" Andrew said.<br /><br />"No, she'd turn into a woman holding a cappucino. Or a man. Or whatever you were desiring," Lara said.<br /><br />"How very disturbing," Andrew said. "I can't say I'm exactly thrilled to have a shape-shifter working for us, given my experiences with...you know. Is this transformation going to happen arbitrarily, or is it controllable?"<br /><br />"Controllable," Lara said.<br /><br />"What's controllable?" asked Dragon, coming over with coffee for the three humans seated at the table.<br /><br />"Your ability to shape-shift," Lara replied.<br /><br />While she was small for her race, Dragon was easily ten feet tall, sitting back on her haunches, to say nothing of the length of her long tail, or the span of her wings, currently folded behind her. Her red scales gleamed beneath the glow of the halogen lights. Andrew looked back at the tables and chairs Dragon had absently shoved aside making her way to serve them.<br /><br />"Is it an illusion," Andrew asked, "Or do you actually change shape?"<br /><br />"I actually change shape," Dragon replied.<br /><br />"And you can become anything?"<br /><br />"Any<em>one</em>," Dragon said. "We can't become a plant, or a rock, or a television set. And our transformations are based upon a person's desires. We can't <em>imagine</em> someone and become them. We have to draw upon a person's desire, and become that."<br /><br />"Seems rather limiting," Andrew observed.<br /><br />"It's actually rather handy," Dragon replied. "Especially when you're at the mercy of some sword-wielding hero. Nothing better than being able to run behind a tree and become the maiden he thinks he's rescuing."<br /><br />"Until he discovers the actual maiden, I suppose," Lara suggested.<br /><br />"She's usually quite eaten by the time the hero shows up," Dragon said in a matter-of-fact way. "Not to my tastes--I'm strictly a domestic diner--none of that <em>haute cuisine</em> for me. I prefer my food to not approach my level of intelligence."<br /><br />"Well," said Lara, in a flushed voice, "that's a relief to know."<br /><br />"I want a demonstration," Andrew said. "Read one of us and change shape."<br /><br />"Who should I read?" Dragon asked.<br /><br />"Read Blackout," Andrew suggested.<br /><br />"Where's the fun in that?" Blackout said. "I guarantee, you're going to get a copy of Lara. No surprise there."<br /><br />"I'm not interested in surprises," Andrew said. "I just want to see it happen. If Dragon's going to work here, it would help if she weren't so big--bull in a china shop, that sort of thing."<br /><p>"Very well," Dragon said, then fixed her gaze firmly upon Blackout. One moment, she was a huge, red-scaled creature of myth. The next, she was a perfect replica of Lara.</p><p>Naked.</p><p>"That was unexpected," said Andrew.</p><p>"Ohmigod!" Lara squealed.</p><p>"Whoops," was all Blackout could say.<br /></p>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-75861357478558095142009-05-22T12:00:00.002-06:002009-05-22T12:35:46.361-06:00Episode 14: Elements of EdenThe longing for Eden burns within the heart of all sentient beings. Haunted by perfection, we seek the greener grass, the ultimate experience, the perfect love. Occasionally, a place retains Elysian elements, and becomes a shrine, a temple, or in more recent years, the location of an all-inclusive resort. Our relationships also occasion such glimpses, and become our dearest friends. We miss them when they are away, but are able to effortlessly resume wherever we left off without awkward small talk or social crutches. When an experience retains elements of Eden, we find ourselves laughing for no reason, grinning like idiots, crying uncontrollably, passionately aroused to social justice or the heights of ecstasy. We savor the food we eat, langourously tasting the wine in our mouth, we notice small details on the object of our affection which only increase our attraction, and we pray to the powers to slow time. If we are wise, we take a moment to breathe in such moments, and focus all our attention on creating a mental snapshot, vainly hoping that the phosphorous we carry in our brain today will pass the moment clearly along to the phosphorous which will be in our brain tomorrow. Like wine, the memory will age well, and we will remember it when we catch a certain scent or see a vista that evokes the original moment.<br /><br />The banquet held all these elements of Eden. The Hotel MacDonald, overlooking the Edmonton river valley, was pristinely predisposed towards perspectives of paradise. It was why the original builders had chosen its location, though they would not have known that. When Andrew and Silke went to grab a breath of air on the stone balcony, they sensed the absence of the Garden in the presence of the tableau before them, the sun's setting colors reflecting off the waters of the North Saskatchewan River, playing fiery highlights off the dark greens of the trees with their Spring growth filling in the spaces between their branches. They experienced it in each other, having found another to delight in, not to simply reflect back adoration, but someone who could help the other cease to be simply individual, and start becoming a unity. It began, as it always did, with the surface of things; it was too soon for deep to call to deep, and so the way her hair caught the light of the sunset, or how her eyes sparkled when she laughed. The supple tone of her arms. The thrill of brushing up against her.<br /><br />But the night itself would have held an element of Eden even if they had not been lost in each other. The conversations held between beings from other spaces, and other times. The surreality of standing with Borges, the elder treating the younger not as student but colleague, questions and answers traded equally, and Andrew suddenly finding himself taking issue with something Borges had put forward. An eyebrow arching above the blind eye, and the old man smiling wryly. Andrew graciously thanking him for such animated debate, and stepping away with Silke. Spotting Jack across the room, and realizing again who the older man was.<br /><br />"I can't believe it took me so long to realize who you three were," Andrew said.<br /><br />Jack chuckled. "You actually mentioned something I wrote from <em>The Magician's Nephew</em> when we were having a teaching time, and I really had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something."<br /><br />"Why didn't you?"<br /><br />"Because it would have changed everything too soon," Jack replied. "If you'd thought of me as 'C.S. Lewis' the great writer, you couldn't have thought of me as Jack, a friend who had done what you are doing once upon a time."<br /><br />Andrew nodded. "I have an odd question to ask then."<br /><br />"On the balcony outside," Jack said. "If you're going to be asking odd questions, I'd like to have a cigarette in hand: in the eventuality I have any hard thinking to do."<br /><br /><p>As they turned to head towards the balcony, there was an explosion of light and sound which invaded their senses. Andrew felt overwhelmed by it, like being at a concert in front of the speakers and being blinded by the glare of lights all at once. And as his mind processed the experience, he was aware of a certain musical quality to the explosion, underneath the riot of color and noise.</p><p>Spots still in his eyes, Andrew tried to look about the room to determine the source of the commotion. As his gaze fell upon a figure dressed all in white, standing at the entrance to the hall, he heard Jack swear, and whisper a name under his breath.</p><p>"Apollo."</p>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-86236262512997441542008-09-13T09:46:00.002-06:002008-09-13T09:52:38.474-06:00The reason(s) for the delayMy apologies to the fans of Magik Beans for the long hiatus. In the middle of a fairly relaxing summer working at Service Alberta, I was contacted about teaching appointments for this fall. I'm teaching two sections of English at MacEwan College, and one at The King's University College, which is one class short of the light side of a full time sessional teaching load, six being the maximum before you're sent to Arkham. I am also doing my coursework for my PhD in Comparative Literature at the University of Alberta, so I am, as always, very busy.<br /><br />I wrote the main of Magik Beans book one in my thesis year while I was enjoying the benefits of a scholarship which freed me from the need for gainful employment. So I had an extra hour or two here or there to write. As it currently stands, I'll be lucky if I write an entire episode in a month.<br /><br />But I am still writing. And making lots of notes while I'm in class! But weekly will be unlikely. Please don't give up on checking in. I'll do my best to make it worth your while.<br /><br />Cheers,<br /><br />MikeMike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-71817854654748447922008-07-03T12:12:00.004-06:002008-07-09T13:48:40.363-06:00Episode 13: CharmingAndrew had heard the saying "the clothes make the man," but had always discounted it as the sort of thing only Alpha Males who needed to wear power suits for executive meetings in downtown skyscrapers in major metropolitan centers believed in. It seemed elitist to him, but standing in the lobby of the Hotel MacDonald, he suddenly understood it.<br /><br />He'd been to a brunch at the MacDonald once, arriving in dress casual, and feeling like he didn't belong amidst the opulence of marble columns and old world architecture. The way the staff had treated him had felt conspicuous; he wasn't a "sir" and when the server unfolded his cloth napkin to place it in his lap, Andrew had nearly jumped out of his skin. Being treated like he was some rich bigwig by other people in the service industry, the very industry<em> he</em> worked in, felt altogether wrong.<br /><br />Standing in the lobby in his new clothes--he laughed to himself, thinking of clothes bought over a hundred years ago as being "new"--was a different matter altogether. He stood, in a wool frock coat over top of a copper basin vest across which ran the chain of a gold filigreed pocket watch. The highland pants with the black Y-bracers felt a little odd, but the ensemble, topped by a black silk puff tie made him feel as though he belonged there, standing underneath the opulent chandelier lighting the lobby. His gaze fell from the crystal extravagance overhead to the stairs beneath it, whereupon all thoughts of the opulence of the chandelier fled his mind.<br /><br />Silke descended, her blonde hair cascading in thick curls, falling to cover her scar without hiding her face. She wore a wine-red corsetted dress of velvet and silk, with a plunging neckline that made Andrew muse that the silk puff tie was far too tight. She had a black chiffon wrap hanging loosely around her shoulders, which fell as she waved to him. Her bared shoulders and arms made the room's temperature rise once again. He could tell his ears were as red as her dress. He cleared his throat, and held out his arm to her as she finished her descent.<br /><br />"You look remarkable," he said, his voice too thick, his words too much a mumble.<br /><br />"And you," she said with her perpetually confident smile, "seem to have gone from a Sleeping Beauty to a Prince Charming."<br /><br />Once again, the clothing suddenly made the man, and Andrew replied, "Well, I can only hope that you don't run off at the stroke of midnight."<br /><br />Silke inclined her head appraisingly. "I don't think I shall," she said finally. She took his proferred arm, and they turned to enter the ballroom.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-50457677761496056472008-06-25T12:18:00.006-06:002008-06-27T08:25:08.667-06:00Episode 12: Late for the BallThat evening the Spring Symposium of Ontological Overseers gathered together for a dinner held at the Hotel MacDonald. After recovering from his fainting episode, Andrew had gone home to change into formal wear. Upon opening his closet and throwing a pair of pants, a sport coat and a dress shirt onto the bed, he was about to undress when Saphyr abruptly told him to stop.<br /><br />"You're not actually considering going to the dinner tonight in <em>that</em>, are you?" the Macbook asked him.<br /><br />"It's a suit coat..." Andrew protested.<br /><br />"Bought at Le Chateau for your graduation I'm sure," Saphyr replied.<br /><br />"Stitches," Andrew replied sheepishly. "I don't have a lot of occasions to be wearing a suit you know."<br /><br />"It is not the frequency with which one wears a suit which ought to determine the quality of the garment," Saphyr advised. "I've been watching your interactions with that charming young lady all day, and it is clear to me that if you wish to accelerate the nature of your relationship you need to consider dressing in the way you want her to see you."<br /><br />"We don't have a lot of time here Saphyr. The dinner's in another hour. I don't think this is the best time to be off suit shopping."<br /><br />"All that talk about time earlier today," Saphyr said, "And you think you don't have any? Might I suggest a trip along the Tree? Perhaps backwards along our current branch to say...the Victorian period?"<br /><br />"Victorian? How are we going to pay for that? I don't think they'll take debit."<br /><br />"I'll draft a bank note that ought to do the trick, and run it off your printer," Saphyr said.<br /><br />"I guess there's no point in me arguing then," Andrew said.<br /><br />"None whatsoever," the Macbook replied.<br /><br />Ten minutes later, Andrew hurried through the entrance of <em>Magik Beans</em>, rushing into the shop with Saphyr tucked under his arm, and the couterfeit bank note folded in his pocket.<br /><br />"Andrew!" Lara shouted from behind the till. "I didn't think we'd see you today!"<br /><br />"No time to talk!" Andrew called back. "I'm late for the ball!" He flashed her an enigmatic smile, waggled his eyebrows, and quickly climbed the ladder up into the Tree. "Which branch?" he asked Saphyr.<br /><br />"First one on your left," Saphyr replied.<br /><br />Andrew ducked his head, and walked along the thick limb, into what should have been the wall of the shop, but pulling back the thick foliage revealed that the branch ran on, like a pathway through a darkened forest. Once Andrew was far enough along the path that he could no longer see the light from the shop through the leaves, the sounds of customers and staff silenced, Saphyr told him to stop.<br /><br />"Traveling 'up' or 'down' a branch of the Tree in terms of time is different from traveling it to other spaces," Saphyr said. "You don't travel <em>along</em> the branch, you travel <em>through </em>it. Inside it."<br /><br />"How?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"Well, current physics has posited that wormholes have something to do with the possibility of time travel," Saphyr replied. "They're right about the <em>holes</em>, but they're considering the wrong ones."<br /><br />Andrew smiled and shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me. <em>Knot</em>holes?"<br /><br />Andrew could have sworn the Macbook found a way to grin at that moment. "Look at your feet," Saphyr said.<br /><br />At Andrew's feet, there was an imperfection in the wooden path. The grain of the Tree flowed around the imperfection, acknowledging it without allowing it to impede their own path.<br /><br />"Do you know how knotholes are formed?" Saphyr asked.<br /><br />"Aren't they dead branches, or branches that never really grew?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"They are. They are the evidence of a possible world that never was. They are like a space within the branch which never formed into a reality. And as such, they can be traveled to other points in time along the Tree. This one," Saphyr said, "will take us to the Victorian era, and with a quick jog along the branch, we should find ourselves in London on Jermyn Street where we will attire you in the best clothing money could buy at the time."<br /><br />"How do we get into the knothole...to travel through it?"<br /><br />"Bend down. Good. Now run your hand counterclockwise around the knothole thrice...now take your fist and press it into the knothole...it will feel soft, like clay...keep pressing..."<br /><br />The knothole began to expand, the grain of the wood around it shifting and weaving to accomodate the growth, retracting away from Andrew's fist, until it was a hole in the pathway nearly five feet across. Inside the hole, it looked like a wooden tunnel, with a faint golden glow illuminating it.<br /><br />"Now drop inside before the knot closes again," Saphyr said.<br /><br />And they did.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-75750065845515968872008-06-24T12:28:00.004-06:002008-06-25T15:28:42.224-06:00Episode 11: Time Sensitive IssuesAndrew awoke to see Silke bent over him, smiling.<br /><br />"Sleeping Beauty wakes," she said.<br /><br />Andrew blinked, then propped himself on his elbows with a groan. "I passed out, didn't I?" he said.<br /><br />Silke nodded. "And missed Borges' orientation speech," she added. "But I took notes, and Saphyr recorded it all in digital audio for you to hear later."<br /><br />"I meet one of my greatest heroes and I miss his speech because I passed out," Andrew said, shaking his head.<br /><br />"It's all right," Silke said. "You can just attend the talk he's giving on possible worlds. That should more than make up for it." Silke handed him a sheet labeled "Plenary Sessions, Roundtables and Workshops."<br /><br />Andrew brightened. "That more than makes up for it. Workshops? I had no idea this would involve hands-on work."<br /><br />"Some of the workshops involve trips along the Tree to certain places of import," Silke. "Borges' involves a trip to a place called the Library of Babel."<br /><br />Andrew looked up at Silke with a very serious expression on his face. "Just when I think I've begun to understand what it means to have the Tree as a reality in my world, something new and...I can't think of any better word than 'terrible' opens up before me. Not terrible in the sense of awful...although that word works too...as awe-full...full of awe. Or Terrible in the sense of reverence. The mysterium tremendum."<br /><br />"I have no idea what you're talking about with that last bit, but I think I know what you mean. It turns out that all the stories you read as a child weren't stories, and if that isn't enough, it's entirely possible that all the stories aren't just stories. That somewhere on the Tree, they're real."<br /><br />"But more than that," Andrew said, grinning in agreement with everything Silke had said. "If Borges is here, that means there's some element of resurrection involved..."<br /><br />"I can explain that," Silke said. "Grandmother told me about it in regards to John, Jack and Charles visiting with you when we went to the Pole."<br /><br />"You mean Tolkien, Lewis and Williams," Andrew said. The way she used the word<em> visiting</em> to refer to their adventure at the North Pole, one would have thought she was talking about everyday events. Although given her work with the Rotkäppchen, it effectively <em>was</em> everyday work for her. He nodded for her to continue.<br /><br />"They aren't the dead come back to life," she told him. "They're still alive. They've simply traveled along the branch of the Tree their history takes place in to another point along the Tree."<br /><br />"Time travel?" Andrew said, more a statement than a question.<br /><br />"Yes, but there is one very strict rule governing that sort of travel," Silke said. "You cannot travel to a point in which you are still alive."<br /><br />"But you can travel anywhere else in time?"<br /><br />Silke nodded.<br /><br />"But isn't it dangerous to travel into the past?" Andrew asked. "I mean, in all the science fiction books, it always ends up changing history."<br /><br />"You can't change the past of a particular history," Silke said. "The past is the portion of the Tree already formed...the thick limb which other branches...other possibilities sprout from. If you were able change the past, the result would be that branch of the Tree splitting off and making a new branch with the new history you'd created. But the original branch wouldn't cease to exist. It would simply be a point of...I'm not sure the word to use here...departure?"<br /><br />"Divergence maybe," Andrew suggested.<br /><br />"Perhaps," Silke said.<br /><br />"And what about the future? If the points of departure are new histories, then wouldn't that mean that the future isn't formed as a...branch, until we make a decision? I mean, how can you walk along a branch that isn't yet formed?"<br /><br />"You're assuming it's unformed before you step into it," Silke said. "I asked the same question, and Grandmother laughed at me and said, 'You think <em>your</em> single decision can affect the direction of an entire branch of the Tree? There are few events that can make that happen, and they always involve many persons. The branch itself isn't formed by your decision regarding what to wear tomorrow...it is shaped by those decisions, but the new branch is the result of larger historical moments. Which is why it doesn't really matter if you travel into the past. The chances of you achieving a change cataclysmic enough to alter a particular historical timeline are very slim."<br /><br />"But not impossible," Andrew said.<br /><br />"And that's why the Tree has guardians," Silke replied. "To make sure the travelers moving in and out of its avatar points aren't brining a nuclear missile into the past, or a pre-industrial world, or someone else isn't bringing Dragon Flights into worlds where they never existed."<br />"I think my assistant manager might be doing something very much like that at this very moment," Andrew said worriedly, explaining a text he'd received from Lara earlier that day about two new hires she'd made at the shop.<br /><br />"Not exactly a move for World Domination," Silke said with a wry grin. "And you aren't altering the past of your history either. You're shaping its current branch."<br /><br />"But that still doesn't explain how the Inklings or Borges could travel into the future along the branch their history exists on. I mean, isn't tomorrow essentially <em>unformed</em> on the Tree?"<br />"Well, that's why I'm excited about Borges' workshop on possible worlds," Silke answered. "All I know is that the branches of tomorrow are already formed...but there are a number of possible branches for tomorrow. And our choices will take us down one of them. All John and the others have done by traveling to where we are is to choose a branch and follow it down its path."<br />"You mean they could choose another branch and get into another history...a parallel one that's almost identical to this one, but just slightly different?"<br /><br />"The differences for history's branches are never slight," Silke said. "But I don't know how it all works. Except that I asked Grandmother what happened to branches that weren't chosen, and she wouldn't say anymore. That I wasn't ready to hear the answer."<br /><br />"What do you think happens?" Andrew asked hesitantly.<br /><br />"I think that any branch that isn't living...is one that withers and dies," Silke replied.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-47238870880908622532008-06-10T07:52:00.001-06:002008-06-11T12:52:23.195-06:00Episode 10: DisorientationThe orientation was to be held in Convocation Hall in the Old Arts building, a large, open room with rows of red theater style seats. The noise of the gathering was noisier in the room than it had been in the foyer, voices echoing off the hardwood and reverberating throughout, amplified by the room's excellent acoustics.<br /><br />Andrew glanced over and noted that Silke too, was speaking in low tones to a dark red notebook with gold scroll work running in curves and whorls across the cover.<br /><br />"How come you got such a fancy notebook, and I just got this plain old binder?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"We match your personality," Saphyr said, a hint of hurt sarcasm in his voice.<br /><br />"They can look like any type of book," Silke told Andrew. "Mine came as plain as yours, but once I discovered she could change her shape, we worked out this journal. I was worried about losing her, given that we would have all been carrying the same binder otherwise."<br /><br />"How come you didn't tell me that?" Andrew asked Saphyr.<br /><br />"I <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">did</span>," Saphyr replied. "I told you I'd been a scroll for Plato."<br /><br />"But you didn't say you could change just because I'd prefer to be carrying an MacBook ," Andrew retorted, nearly dropping Sephyr when the binder's shape rapidly shifted and changed until the simple binder had become the sleek, smooth, piece of technology. "Very nice. So what <em>are</em> you then, exactly?"<br /><br />"The easiest way for me to answer that question is to say, I'm a book."<br /><br />"No, now you're a computer. A computer called a "book," but a computer nonetheless."<br /><br />"You're mistaking what a book is for pages and ink," said a voice from behind Andrew.<br /><br />Andrew turned to see a very aged man, with gray hair swept back across his head, and eyes unfocused, looking at nothing in particular, his hand resting on the shoulder of a slender dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her sixties. It was obvious that the man was blind, and that the woman was some sort of assistant.<br /><br />"A book is much more than the shape you use to read it," the blind man said. "I should know. I never learned Braile, and I rely upon María's good graces for any of my present reading. A book is not an isolated being: it is a relationship, an axis of innumerable relationships. In truth, your computer is more a book than the books in a library, insofar as I am concerned."<br /><br />"That sounds very..." Andrew stopped. He was about to use the term <em>Borghesian</em>, a word that had been bandied about in a course he had taken on the element of the fantastic in modern literature, to describe anything that seemed to borrow from the works of Jorge Luis Borges. But he stopped short of saying it, realizing that he wasn't hearing someone refer <em>to</em> Borges.<br /><br />He was listening to Borges himself.<br /><br />Andrew was speechless. He wanted to respond, to say something, anything at all, but he couldn't get his vocal cords, tongue, or mouth to work on his behalf. Thankfully, he was still breathing, but not in a way that would produce speech. Instead, he made a slow, somewhat vocalized high pitched exhalation of air that approximated the sound a slowly deflating balloon makes.<br /><br />"That sounds very ... much like a slowly deflating balloon?" Saphyr offered sarcastically, breaking the uncomfortable-not-so-silence.<br /><br />Borges had cocked his head to one side, seemingly waiting for whatever Andrew was going to say next. His assistant had furrowed her brow, her face begging an answer for a list of questions rapidly running through her mind, the top of which was whether or not this particular attendee of the symposium was using drugs. Quite suddenly, she gently tapped Borges on the arm and said, "It's time."<br /><br />"You'll have excuse me," Borges apologized. "We're about to begin, and I am tasked with the honor of the opening address." His assistant turned in the direction of the stage, and Borges followed.<br /><br />"That was..." Andrew started.<br /><br />"Really pathetic?" Saphyr said.<br /><br />"Borges. Jorge Luis Borges. But how?" Andrew had recovered the power of speech, but now the paralysis seemed to have moved to the rest of his face, which was a rictus of puzzlement.<br /><br />"You've met Father Christmas, and you're shocked at meeting an historical figure?" Saphyr asked.<br /><br />"But Borges is dead..." Andrew said.<br /><br />"So are Tolkien, Williams and Lewis," Sephyr said. "At least, at this point on the branch your world exists on."<br /><br />"What do Tolkien, Williams, and Lewis have to do with...?"<br /><br />The rictus disappeared, Andrew's eyes went wide in the shock of sudden realization, and he passed out cold on the floor.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-14963361179371625012008-06-03T12:05:00.004-06:002008-06-03T12:53:38.444-06:00Episode 9: The First Day of SchoolAs Andrew walked up the steps to the Old Arts building, he heard a familiar female voice call his name. He turned, a smile already forming on his face to see Silke walking across the campus. Her long blonde hair hung free around her shoulders, and she was wearing capri pants, sandals, and a dark red cami. All Andrew had ever seen her wearing before was either her Rotkäppchen garb, a long cloak, high boots, leggings, and a sleeved surcoat, or clothing more suited to a medieval peasant than a university student. The contrast was striking, and it took his breath away. He'd always thought of her as beautiful, but the fact that she belonged to another world made for a convenient distance, which in Andrew's mind excused him from pursuing any sort of relationship with her.<br /><br />Seeing her in modern clothing in the middle of the campus with the sun shining on that golden hair though...<br /><br />"You look poleaxed!" she laughed, running up to him and catching him in a short but firm embrace.<br /><br />Andrew recovered, and smiled back. "I'm sorry Silke, it just took me a moment...I hardly recognized you looking like this!"<br /><br />"I thought I'd try to blend in with the locals," she said, her smile radiant. She shook her head. "It's really good to see you Andrew."<br /><br />"You too," he replied quickly. "I thought you were out on patrol - more Big Bad Wolves and such."<br /><br />"I was," Silke said. "But I'm going to be the guardian of the Tree when Grandmother passes away...and while that isn't likely to be any time soon, the courses at the Symposium are just as useful to the Rotkäppchen. I asked to be the one to represent us here."<br /><br />"You asked?"<br /><br />"Seemed a good way to get to see you," she replied, smiling again, and tucking her hair behind her left ear, exposing a huge white scar that ran from her temple to her ear. Andrew noticed the lobe was missing and averted his gaze.<br /><br />"No need to be embarassed for me," she told him. "I know it's there."<br /><br />"You didn't mention it in any of your letters," he said, shrugging. "It looks like it was really bad."<br /><br />"That's because it happened just last week," she said. "It just looks old because Granny already healed it."<br /><br />Andrew goggled. He'd seen the results of Granny's healing, as well as Lara's. It never left a scar.<br /><br />"I know," Silke said, frowning slightly. "You should have seen it before the healing. Half my scalp was caved in and most of the skin..." She demonstrated the area of damage by drawing a finger across her face to her chin, "was hanging off in a huge flap." She made a face, her eyes wide with mock horror. "Not a pretty sight. But you can hardly see the scar when my hair is down." She shook her head, letting the hair fall forward again. "See?"<br /><br />"I like it," Andrew said. "The hairdo I mean...not that I don't like the scar..." He stopped talking and sighed. "So...I assume you're heading inside for the orientation?" Andrew extended his arm, crooked formally, elbow out.<br /><br />"Yes," Silke said, taking his arm.<br /><br />They walked up the steps, just behind a giant praying mantis who held the door open for them. Andrew raised an eyebrow and glanced around the campus to see if anyone was noticing the massive insect.<br /><br />"I have a spell of illusion on me," the mantis said congenially. "To those not attending the symposium I appear an overweight latino man with greying hair, dressed all in tweed."<br /><br />"Be careful," Andrew said. "Someone will ask you what you're teaching."<br /><br />The mantis laughed and waved them through the door.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-29686188243492145602008-05-29T12:42:00.003-06:002008-05-29T13:04:13.205-06:00Episode 8: Musicians Wanted<em><strong>Musicians Wanted</strong> for folk-medieval-metal band based in Edmonton, Alberta.</em><br /><br />Ripper paused a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, wondering if he should add what <em>World</em> he was referring to. How would one go about ascertaining which world they were from? Typing "Earth" obviously wouldn't do. That was only the <em>planet</em> he was on. As far as he understood it, the entire universe he occupied was one branch of the Tree. He shook his head. He'd have to hope the software had some means of providing the applicants with Ripper's world address.<br /><br /><em>Singer/songwriter/guitarist/bagpiper seeks other musicians to create a truly unique experience of live sound through music. Any interested parties are welcome to apply, regardless of race</em><br /><em></em><br />He backspaced and replaced "race" with "species." Who knows what sorts of musicians were out there across the Tree?<br /><br /><em>Influences include</em> In Extremo, Corvus Corax, Subway to Sally, Battlelore, Seven Devil Fix, Schandmaul, Leaves' Eyes, Athan Asia, Kate Bush, Richard Kean, Kemper Crabbe, Iona, and Lacuna Coil.<br /><br />Would other worlds even know about any of these bands? Was there some sort of database of otherworld bands he could go to and listen, to find groups from other worlds who fit the style of <em>Gotthammer</em>?<br /><br />He put in a contact number, the MySpace Music URL for Gotthammer, the address of <em>Magik Beans</em> and his name, and as an afterthought, added...<em>homo sapien</em>.<br /><br />His finger hit enter. He closed his eyes, inhaled, and sat, waiting.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-30390935167235520272008-05-13T15:20:00.003-06:002008-05-14T22:25:34.859-06:00Episode 7:Maintaining a sense of Wonder"A dragon?" Blackout said, sitting down. "Are you seriously considering hiring a dragon?"<br /><br />"He interviewed really well," Lara replied. "And look at his resume; it's fantastic."<br /><br />Lara pushed a heavy piece of parchment, slightly burned around the edges, with a dark, calligraphic ink outlining the dragon's achievements.<br /><br />"He wrote this?" Blackout asked. "I wasn't aware dragons were literate."<br /><br />"You weren't aware dragons were literate?" Lara laughed. "What, did you buy a copy of 'Dragonology'?"<br /><br />"No," Blackout replied petulantly. "But don't they mostly sit around on piles of treasure waiting for dwarven gangs to invade their trove so they can go on a rampaging killing spree, burning everything in their path?"<br /><br />"Hype, apparently," Lara said. "Read the damn resume already."<br /><br />Blackout picked up the parchment and began reading.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">RESUME<br />Dragon, 174 years old<br />Good health, Non-smoker<br /><br />Cheerful, gregarious fire breathing reptilian tetrapod with 20 foot wing span.<br />Exceptional social skills, seductively charming (magically induced).<br /><br />History of Gainful Employment (highlights):<br />Emergency Boiler Heater, Steamship <span style="font-style: italic;">Summer Wanderer</span>, New Amsterdam<br />Controlled Burn Supervisor, British Columbia<br />Mail Carrier, Arboria<br />Tour Guide and Transport, Bespin<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Blackout looked up from the resume.<br /><br />"Bespin?" he asked, dubious. "As in, Cloud City? As in, Lando Calrissian?"<br /><br />Lara nodded. "Apparently the city isn't there any more. It's more of a tourist attraction now."<br /><br />"What do you mean the city isn't there any more?"<br /><br />"Well, you know, it did happen 'A long time ago,'" Lara said, grinning.<br /><br />"How does that even work?" Blackout mused. "I mean, was George Lucas tapping into the reality that is the Star Wars universe, or did the universe appear after George Lucas imagined it?"<br /><br />"Maybe that's the sort of thing Andrew will be learning at this conference, or whatever the hell it is."<br /><br />"It's bizarre, isn't it?" Blackout said. "It's only been a year, and we're so completely at ease talking about the Tree as though it were something common."<br /><br />"It is, after a fashion," Lara replied. Blackout made a face, and she waved a hand to silence him. "I don't mean it's 'common' in a demeaning way. But...it was always there before. We just never saw it. This world is just one branch on the Tree. We just didn't know. And now we do. The wonder isn't in the thing, it's in knowing it. The discovery of it. It's like meeting Dragon. I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew </span>there were dragons out there on the Tree somewhere, but I'd never had the chance to meet one. And when Dragon came in, the wonder I felt came as a result of verifying that belief, not because he...or she...or it, was ten feet tall with beautiful green scales, or that there was smoke trailing up out of her...I'm sorry, I have to call Dragon a 'her'...you'll understand when you meet her. Anyhow...do you get what I'm driving at?"<br /><br />"Sort of," Blackout said. "But I don't ever want to take all this for granted. I don't want to lose the sense of wonder I felt the day I saw the Fates heal you." He paused. "I think I worry that if I lose that sense of wonder I'll start losing you. It's like...the way I feel about you is linked to the Tree somehow."<br /><br />"And how do you feel about me?" Lara asked, a coy smile playing across her lips.<br /><br />"Cafe Mocha," Ripper announced, setting down the cups, and sitting down beside Blackout. "Lara, I need to know how I go about advertising something across the Tree."<br /><br />"It's done through an Internet site," Lara replied, smiling at Blackout consolingly.<br /><br />Ripper furrowed his brow. "That's really disappointing," he said. "I expected something like carrier gryphon or some sort of mental sending."<br /><br />"They might employ carrier griffins," Lara said. "But the website is just the place where you enter the information and how limited or wide you want the ad to go."<br /><br />"Does it cost anything?" Ripper asked.<br /><br />"It does, but since you own the comic shop that shouldn't be a problem. The arrangement is either monetary or trade in turn. You agree to post a number of advertisements for others across the Tree, and you get yours free. The bigger the search though, the larger the reciprocation. So make sure you limit it or you'll be able to wallpaper the comic shop with the ads. Why, what are you advertising for?"<br /><br />"I'm placing a musicians wanted ad," Ripper said. "What's the website?"<br /><br />"www.treemail.mag." Lara said.<br /><br />"Dot Mag?" Blackout asked.<br /><br />"For magical websites. Most people don't know about them, and they don't show up in most searches. It's a real insider thing. But once you're in, holy shit, the sky is the limit. The magical Internet is really intense. And vast."<br /><br />"Sure," Ripper said, draining the last of his coffee in a long gulp. He scribbled down the URL on a napkin and stood up. "Gotta go," he said. "I want to get started on this." He waved the paper at Lara. "Thanks for this," and to Blackout, "I'll see you later." Then he looked at both of them, looking at each other and added, "Or not."<br /><br />After he'd left, Lara smiled at Blackout. "You were about to say exactly how you felt about me."<br /><br />"Let's just say I highly doubt I'll be seeing Ripper later," Blackout replied with a boyish grin.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /></div>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-87915275355459274002008-05-11T22:49:00.003-06:002008-05-11T23:22:32.022-06:00Episode 6: I'm Getting the Band Back TogetherMark "Ripper" Keane gripped the guitar harder than he ever had in his life. He knew that if he applied any more pressure from any direction, he would snap the neck. Hugging the body like it was a person, he slowly ground his teeth quietly in the darkness of his room.<br /><br />Sunny was gone. That was ancient history. But he hadn't quite healed up all the wounds she'd left him with before the next hit came, when his band, Gotthammer, had fallen apart. Trouble was supposed to come in threes, and Ripper was waiting for the third.<br /><br />He'd been trying to make the music thing work so hard for so long. Maybe it was time to cash it all in. He wasn't getting any younger, and Edmonton wasn't exactly the best place to be launching a music career. And then there was the style of his music.<br /><br />It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to set the band apart from all the other local acts, to incorporate the bag pipes, an instrument he'd been playing since he was a young boy. A testament to his heritage. And as gimmicks went, it'd been a good one. It <span style="font-style: italic;">had</span> set them apart from other bands, especially given that Ripper had paired the bagpipes with overdriven guitar rock. And everything had been going well, until Gotthammer's incredibly good-looking female vocalist had gotten an opportunity to do a solo project that was more mainstream, and more pop. The record company backing the recording had said the band needed a new image to keep up with where they'd be taking her. Ripper refused to change, and got left behind. He told them they wouldn't be taking the name or the songs with them. The record company had said they wouldn't be needing either.<br /><br />"We can make a career off her tits and ass," one of the suits had told Ripper. "What the hell makes you think the music industry has anything to do with songs?"<br /><br />So now her first single was playing on the radio everytime you turned the damn thing on. The Edmonton stations were pushing the "local girl makes good" angle, and giving her all the support they could muster. None of the interviews said anything about Gotthammer. It was like the band had never existed.<br /><br />A sliver of light penetrated the darkness of Ripper's thoughts. He looked up to see Blackout's silhouette in the doorway.<br /><br />"Wanna get a coffee?" Blackout asked. "I've closed up the shop, and I wanted to go say hi to Lara, seeing as she's tied to the store while Andrew's doing those courses."<br /><br />Ripper nodded silently, and relaxed his grip on the guitar, glad once again he hadn't broken it in a fit of anger.<br /><br />Blackout remained quiet while Ripper put on his jacket and they descended the stairs from their apartment next to the comic shop the two of them owned together. It was their financial "fallback" in the event neither of their music careers took off. Ripper's dream was to be a rock star. Blackout's was to be a DJ. Neither had found success yet, but at least Blackout had a girlfriend. At the moment, Ripper had nothing.<br /><br />Their shop was located upstairs and over from Magik Beans, which was housed in the corner of the building they all leased in, facing the street. They entered Magik Beans, and as he had come to expect, Ripper felt a sense of peace come over him as he came into the presence of the Tree. He had written some of his best songs in the shadow of those branches, sometimes actually laying back on one of them, strumming his guitar or writing lyrics.<br /><br />The shop was quiet, a typical Monday night crowd. Blackout bee-lined for Lara, who was sitting at one of the tables, poring over a stack of resumes. They kissed, and Ripper looked at the floor.<br /><br />"Looks like you've had a day of it," Blackout said, looking at the stack of resumes.<br /><br />"Those are the rejects," Lara replied. "I've got these--" and she patted three resumes set apart from the rest, "to make my final decision with. Besides, it might not be as difficult as I'd originally thought. I can always hire more than one."<br /><br />"What are your choices?" Blackout asked.<br /><br />"Well, the first is a dragon," Lara said, and suddenly Ripper was paying close attention.<br /><br />"Did you say dragon?" he asked.<br /><br />"Yes--I put out the help wanted ads throughout the Tree."<br /><br />"You can do that?"<br /><br />Lara nodded. "There are quite a few courier services which provide delivery throughout the worlds. You can limit the scope of your search as much as you like."<br /><br />"And you got a <span style="font-style: italic;">dragon</span> to apply," Ripper mused.<br /><br />"He was one of the least strange," Lara said. "I had a zombie in here for heaven's sake."<br /><br />"I need to get a coffee," Mark said, excitement rising in his chest. "You guys want anything?"<br /><br />Blackout asked Ripper to get him a cafe mocha, and Ripper walked over to the counter, where Mikey was working. Mikey looked up at Ripper through his dreadlocks.<br /><br />"I don't remember the last time I saw you smiling," Mikey said. "What's up?"<br /><br />"I'm getting the band back together," Ripper said.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-1330657595456060322008-05-08T14:46:00.003-06:002008-05-08T15:22:13.467-06:00Episode 5: Finding Good Help These Days<p class="MsoNormal">It bothered Lara when The Lovers tried to distract her by attempting positions only artists of the Kama Sutra could represent, and only Olympic gymnasts could replicate. Matters worsened if the card’s position was reversed, giving the illusion that their sexual acrobatics were being engaged while hanging from the ceiling. To say nothing of the noises they made. The female thought it particularly amusing to talk dirty while Lara was delivering her reading.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><span style=""> </span>Thankfully, the rest of the cards were rather behaved, even The Fool.</p>The cards seemed a necessity for the interview process. There were too many good liars in the world, and Lara was much too trusting. Her belief in the human spirit as something inherently good had been her own private hamartia, leading to that heartbreaking moment in the doorway of a hotel room over a year ago. It had been that belief in the goodness of people which had allowed her to believe in love again, to let Blackout into her heart, her body, her life.<br /><br />And the cards helped her get beyond appearances. She'd flipped over the Four of Swords reversed while interviewing a robust young Adonis with golden hair. <span style="font-style: italic;">Hypochondriac</span>, she thought, looking at the man on the card, sleeping on a stone slab with four swords poised in the air above him. Normally, it would mean he <span style="font-style: italic;">needed </span>to take a break. Upside down, the card implied he'd be looking to take any break he could as often as he could. On the other hand, she'd flipped the Nine of Cups, a card which always meant abundance in regards to feasting for a female zombie who had nervously biting the nails of a severed hand. She'd obviously be good for business, although Lara couldn't imagine how. <span style="font-style: italic;">Perhaps the abundant feast was a reference to all the food walking in here on a daily basis seeking coffee.</span><br /><br />The cards <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span> helpful, but nothing replaced good old feminine intuition, a nicely formatted resume and good references.<br /><br />Or, in the case of the dragon sitting across from her, the ability to heat liquid in the case of a power outage.<br /><br />"It says here your name is Dragon," Lara said.<br /><br />"Yes," Dragon replied. "Dragon names are unpronounceable without the ability to breathe fire, and trying to teach someone how to transliterate them never seems to go very well."<br /><br />"All right Dragon," Lara said. "I'm curious to know why you're interested in the position."<br /><br />"I just <span style="font-style: italic;">love coffee</span>," Dragon replied. "And I understand I get it free while I'm working."<br /><br />"So you're just a big coffee fan? Is it normal for dragons to apply for really rather mundane, boring jobs? I mean, you're a legendary creature...your species is famed for sitting on huge piles of treasure, kidnapping virgins, laying waste to countrysides..."<br /><br />"Hype," Dragon replied. "And besides, don't you know that in some worlds <span style="font-style: italic;">you're </span>the legendary species? Haven't you ever heard of the tale of Fni'kkzz the Human-slayer? It's very popular amongst cockroaches. It's all a matter of perspective. Like this job. You know how <span style="font-style: italic;">rare</span> it is that a dragon gets work as a barista? You think I'm legendary now, but once the girls back home hear about me serving coffee..."<br /><br />"Big deal, eh?" Lara asked.<br /><br />"Cosmic."<br /><br />Lara flipped a card over. The Moon. One of the most ambiguous cards in the Tarot. It either meant deception or illusion. <span style="font-style: italic;">Dragon's</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">or my own?</span> she wondered.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-45623593169269313032008-05-07T14:09:00.005-06:002008-05-14T22:00:24.590-06:00Episode 4: On the way to classThe Spring Symposium of Ontological Overseers began conveniently on the same day as the University's spring sessions, allowing Andrew to blend in with the handful of students trundling across the otherwise empty campus. There was a smell of moisture in the air from the previous night's rainfall, lifted into the air by the warmth of a sun in a cloudless sky. Setting out for class from Magik Beans, Andrew felt a sense of freedom.<br /><br />Lara had been more than happy to assume extra duties to allow Andrew the necessary flexibility to attend the symposium. "This will finally give me a reason to hire some help that you can't argue with."<br /><br />Andrew had opened his mouth to protest, but he knew Lara was right. In the past year they'd handled the work between the two of them with casual shifts from Sunny and Mikey, but Sunny had finished up her year and had signed on for a stint with Doctors Without Borders, mostly, Andrew surmised, to get away from being in the same social space as Ripper. The two of them had gotten into a heated argument when Ripper had suggested they try advancing their relationship into a more committed sort of space. Less friends with benefits and more a couple. She'd refused, and things had grown uncomfortable between them, and as a consequence, everyone around them. Mikey couldn't take on more shifts, being in his last year of high school, and so Andrew had relented. It was time to hire someone.<br /><br />"How are you going to explain all this?" he asked, waving his hand at the Tree.<br /><br />"I might not have to," Lara replied. "People walk in here every day and we don't bother to explain it to them."<br /><br />"Working here is different. You know that."<br /><br />"Besides," Lara went on, ignoring him, "who says I plan on limiting possible candidates to humans?"<br /><br />"Don't tell me you're planning on advertising across the Tree!" Andrew hissed.<br /><br />"I have every intention of it. Just imagine what having the brewing skills of a dwarf in here would do for business." They'd gotten a license for liquor earlier in the year and while it had all been bottled, Andrew had to concede that the beer of the dwarves from most worlds served on tap would do wonders for business.<br /><br />"We're a coffee shop," Andrew replied.<br /><br />"We're a cafe," Lara said. "I think it's about time we expanded our mission statement to include food. Especially since the copy shop is empty...and we have money to lease."<br /><br />"I don't want to renovate," Andrew said.<br /><br />"Dwarves do more than just brew beer," Lara said.<br /><br />"You don't even know if you'll hire a dwarf!"<br /><br />"I'm just keeping my options open."<br /><br />"And we don't even have a mission statement!"<br /><br />"Well maybe we should."<br /><br />In the end, as he had in so many things, Andrew had relented. He needed to be hands free of Magik Beans if he was going to attend to whatever homework and studying this symposium required of him.<br /><br />"Don't be nervous," his binder said to him as Andrew walked briskly across the campus.<br /><br />"How do you know I'm nervous?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"Your palms are sweating all over me for one thing," the binder said. "And besides, I've done this long enough to know how first timers react to their first day at the symposium."<br /><br />"How long <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> you been doing this?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"Long enough to have had Plato's sweaty palms on me," the binder said.<br /><br />"I'm guessing you weren't a binder at the time," Andrew said.<br /><br />"No, I was a scroll then."<br /><br />A Philipino girl with a backpack nearly as large as her entire upper body gave Andrew an odd look. Andrew paused, took out his cell phone, flipped it open, placed it to his ear and continued walking.<br /><br />"Do you have a name?" Andrew asked. "I feel kind of weird talking to a binder."<br /><br />"I do," the binder replied. "Saphyr."<br /><br />"You're not really a binder though, if you've been a scroll before. What exactly are you?"<br /><br />"I'm here to help you," Saphyr replied. "That's all you need to know for the time being. The rest you'll learn in class."<br /><br />"Why can't you just teach it all to me?"<br /><br />"I couldn't do <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span>," Saphyr said. "We just met."Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-53876796650045412192008-04-14T07:10:00.003-06:002008-04-14T08:10:31.018-06:00Episode 3: Post Secondary Administration"I'm looking for a...Weasle?" a very proper male voice said, breaking Andrew's reverie.<br /><br />"It's Weazle," Andrew corrected him, having heard the animal reference in the voice. He looked over and saw no one standing at the till.<br /><br />This had happened enough in the past year that Andrew had placed a poster in the back room for staff outlining the process. First, <span style="font-style: italic;">down</span>; the majority of supernatural beings traveling the Tree were diminutive in stature: pixies, leprechaun, dwarves, gnomes, hobgoblins...<br /><br />But there was no one looking up at him when Andrew leaned out over the counter.<br /><br />Next, <span style="font-style: italic;">up.</span> This was far more rare, since any flying fairy would usually hover at eye level out of simple courtesy and the realization that, the sooner eye contact was achieved, the sooner they got their coffee. The <span style="font-style: italic;">"up"</span> crowd at <span style="font-style: italic;">Magik Beans</span> were hangers, attaching themselves to low lying branches of the Tree directly above the coffee bar: vampires in bat form, sloths from worlds where evolution had favored their species, and Alan, a half-bird, half-human creature which spent <span style="font-style: italic;">most </span>of its life hanging upside down by its nearly apelike feet. Alan was terribly friendly, but he still scared the hell out of Andrew the first time he came into the shop (<span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> the hangers were creepy as far as Andrew was concerned), and according to legend (the fairy euphemism for rumor and gossip), supposedly rescued lost children and orphans. Andrew was of the opinion that being found by Alan would be terrifying, and was glad to have never seen the thing with a child, for all the creature's gregariousness.<br /><br />But when he tilted his head upward, there was nothing there either.<br /><br />Finally, <span style="font-style: italic;">side </span>to <span style="font-style: italic;">side</span>. If there was one thing the fairy population of the universe didn't understand, it was the boundary that existed between the customer and "behind the counter." The bloody things were brilliant when it came to chalk lines drawn on the ground, or thresholds like open doorways (which every human knew you could just walk through), but couldn't get it through their oddly shaped little skulls that the customer <span style="font-style: italic;">did not</span> belong behind the counter. They always couched their imposition with some affable excuse like "I was just tryin' ta help guv'ner," or "I have a special recipe that will ensure your customers <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> return."<br /><br />More like never leave, Andrew mused, intoxicated in some sleep that would keep them in the shop a hundred years that would feel like a day. He looked to his right, left, and even turned himself completely around.<br /><br />Nothing. <span style="font-style: italic;">Gonna have to add something for invisible beings</span>, Andrew thought.<br /><br />"I must have the wrong person," the voice said. "You don't seem bright enough to be the man I'm looking for."<br /><br />"No, I'm Andrew Weazle," Andrew said, his brow furrowed in irritation. "But humans can't see invisible beings. I'm bright enough to know that. Are you?"<br /><br />"I'm as bright as the content of my pages," the voice replied.<br /><br />Andrew's head snapped down again. "I'll be adding more than invisible I guess," he said to himself in a low voice.<br /><br />"I beg your pardon?" asked the leather covered binder which sat on the glass counter above the baked goods.<br /><br />"I wasn't looking for a talking binder," Andrew said, gingerly picking the binder up and reading his name misspelled in gold script across the cover. <span style="font-style: italic;">Andrew Weasel. </span>"Here's the problem," he said. "You have my name misspelled. It's spelled W-E-A-Z-L-E."<br /><br />"That may be so," the binder replied, seemingly chagrined at its error. "It could be spelled W-E-A-Z-E-L as well."<br /><br />"Yeah, I know. No one ever gets it right," Andrew lamented. "But it's definitely Z-L-E."<br /><br />"Very well then," the binder replied politely, and Andrew nearly dropped it as a small puff of gold fairy dust erupted from the last three letters of the name inscription, the letters literally leaping off the page and reforming in the air before coming to rest on the cover once again before finally sinking into the leather. "So," the binder said. "I am now looking for an Andrew Weazle."<br /><br />"You've found him," Andrew replied, smiling at the binder's sense of decorum. "What's all the fuss?"<br /><br />"You have been cordially invited to the semi-decadal, often irregular, Spring Symposium of Ontological Overseers to be held on this campus beginning in two weeks," the binder announced.<br /><br />"The...uh...what?" Andrew replied. "Sounds like some sort of conference."<br /><br />"It is," said the binder. "It's a conference for educating guardians of the Tree. All you need to do to register is say 'yes, I'll be attending,' and I'll expedite your confirmation."<br /><br />Andrew frowned. "You'll have to excuse me, but I had a bad experience with a succubus about a year back, and I'm a little...more cautious than I used to be."<br /><br />"The deadline for registration is...in 30 seconds," the binder replied.<br /><br />"30 seconds?" Andrew exclaimed, drawing the attention of a table of sylphs who were flirting with a bunch of frat boys who had mistaken them for underage girls dressed in diaphanous lingerie. "What the hell is my registration doing showing up <span style="font-style: italic;">30 seconds</span> before I'm supposed to be enrolled? Didn't Harry Potter get a whole shit-load of invitations to Hogwarts?"<br /><br />"That's post-secondary administration for you," the binder replied.<br /><br />"No shit," Andrew replied. "Even magical registrars can't spell my name properly."<br /><br />"20 seconds," the binder said.<br /><br />"The last time I made a snap judgment like this I ended up having my life essence sucked out of me and shaped into a doppelganger," Andrew protested.<br /><br />"10 seconds."<br /><br />"No," Andrew said. "You people should have your shit together and give a person time to think these things through. I'm sick and tired of having magical adventures dropped in my lap. I have a coffee shop to run you know!"<br /><br />"Very well then," the binder replied. "We're very sorry to hear you won't be attending this year's semi-decadal..."<br /><br />Andrew grit his teeth as the binder paused, as though giving him another chance to change his mind.<br /><br />"...often irregular..."<br /><br />"How do I know you're not an evil tome, like the Necronomicon?" Andrew asked.<br /><br />"...Spring Symposium..."<br /><br />"The Necronomicon would never string words like Spring Symposium together," Andrew murmured to himself.<br /><br />"...of..." the binder gave one last ostentatious pause.<br /><br />"YES!" Andrew screamed. The whole shop went dead quiet. He smiled at his customers. "Uh...just found out Brandon Routh won't be playing Superman in the next film!" The low buzz of busy conversation resumed.<br /><br />"Sorry?" the binder prompted. "Were you saying 'yes' to me?"<br /><br />"Yes," Andrew replied.<br /><br />"Yes what?" the binder urged.<br /><br />"Yes, I will be attending."Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-52645112745439086552008-03-25T00:56:00.004-06:002008-03-25T01:03:30.207-06:00Get ready for Spring<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBws3THtWoiOsmk942hZl8aqv6E-NXF6sFEDFwM-xetqeC2gMCFLAMvWfWRmnq1PUIh3sOtJUcR2SGIflOlBz2MUHzwc87zyX94G_Iq34Sxp6eVQOYUx28vILSjB1SMuUL1-KPDrdHfZs/s1600-h/three-flat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBws3THtWoiOsmk942hZl8aqv6E-NXF6sFEDFwM-xetqeC2gMCFLAMvWfWRmnq1PUIh3sOtJUcR2SGIflOlBz2MUHzwc87zyX94G_Iq34Sxp6eVQOYUx28vILSjB1SMuUL1-KPDrdHfZs/s320/three-flat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181571028791919922" border="0" /></a><br />No new episode. My apologies. I've been working very hard on finishing my thesis so I can graduate this year. I've been accepted to PhD studies in Comparative Literature at the University of Alberta and so I need to get that M.A. thesis finished. Will be done by the end of this week, so you have my word that April will appropriately be the full swing beginning of Magik Beans Book 2. It would have been pretty cool to have started on March 20 or 21st, but I was busy with family things. My wife and I have another little one, head over to the <a href="http://gotthammer.blogspot.com/2008/03/one-of-best-reasons-to-not-update-your.html">Gotthammer blog</a> to see what Dacy looks like (and the other reason Magik Beans has been on hiatus).<br /><br />In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy my first crack at coloring/painting with my new Wacom tablet. I've got a long road ahead of me for getting used to it, but so far I'm head over heels in love with the unit. This picture was colored in under an hour, and my wrist doesn't feel like it's on fire, something painting with a mouse always ended in. The original sketches are from the days when Magik Beans was going to be a web comic instead of a flog. I'm hoping with the aid of the Wacom tablet to include the odd or perhaps semi-regular piece of art to accompany the week's episode. We'll see how that pans out. I'll need some models for it first...Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-51043337036763922342008-02-19T13:49:00.006-07:002008-02-19T22:52:43.367-07:00Episode 2: Arcane Aprons<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieu43TIOh7eSqlRr9jcRxOlfe6wVzR2qjfeI2jx0f6RE41BHLne2VJQ09fSGE9FgzYxj_Da-7pXhiPMk8KbwNNAijNlQmYK1sYeL8xUWlWm1AAMEm9V5fEOci_5F_vFAjfqrGzyuxRdxs/s1600-h/corset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieu43TIOh7eSqlRr9jcRxOlfe6wVzR2qjfeI2jx0f6RE41BHLne2VJQ09fSGE9FgzYxj_Da-7pXhiPMk8KbwNNAijNlQmYK1sYeL8xUWlWm1AAMEm9V5fEOci_5F_vFAjfqrGzyuxRdxs/s320/corset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168936263674492226" border="0" /></a><br />When Andrew thought about who Lara had been when she'd first started working for him last winter, he had to smile. Her transformation had been no less miraculous than the presence of the giant ash tree which spread its boughs out over the interior of Magik Beans. She was still the goth poster girl, to be sure; jet black hair, blood red lips, and skin so alabaster you'd guess she wore sunblock at night. She still wore the knee high boots that laced all the way up with thigh-high fishnet stockings underneath a black PVC skirt trimmed with black and white lace, complete with what she had confirmed were D-rings, which she hung her key ring from. She'd designed the "Magik Beans" aprons to go with her wardrobe; today she was wearing the black one over a pink top with mesh sleeves. At least she pulled her hair into a ponytail. And he liked the aprons, right down to the five pointed star within a perfect circle on each of them.<br /><br />"You know I'm a Christian by background," he told her when she'd shown him the design.<br /><br />"They're protective wards," she replied. "I'm stitching protective spells into our workwear so we won't have a repeat of that incident with the banshee."<br /><br />"I wasn't the one who forgot to make that latte half fat," Andrew chided with a grin. He realized he was sticking a finger in his ear in memory of how they'd all lost their hearing for a good week. He took the finger out of his ear and rotated his hand indicating for Lara to continue.<br /><br />"Besides," Lara went on, "one of the earliest historical occurrences of the pentangle is in the Christian catacombs. They used it to indicate the five wounds of Christ."<br /><br />"And Sir Gawain had one on his shield," John said from across the room where he was smoking his pipe. John was one of three mysterious men who the Tree had commissioned to educate Andrew in his work as a guardian of the Tree. They were exceedingly piecemeal in this education, and Andrew was forever wishing they'd offer a course on the subject at the University.<br /><br />"Careful what you wish for," Jack, another of the three men while Charles laughed into his tea. They'd said no more on the subject, save that he ought to be thankful <span style="font-style: italic;">they</span> were his teachers, "not some crackpot like that madman Dali," as John had put it.<br /><br />He <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> thankful for their teaching. And for Lara's protective magic. Not only did the aprons protect them from magic, but they acted as a warning beacon for dark magic. The aprons turned cold when in the proximity of evil. The week before they'd been prepared for an attack on the Tree, only to discover that their aprons turned cold every time Nickelback came on over the P.A.<br /><br />No, it wasn't Lara's look, nor her taste in music that had changed. It was the way her smile reached her eyes.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-74927977621956260882008-02-17T21:56:00.006-07:002008-02-17T22:26:45.874-07:00The Redux List<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZz3UxvErJxZy4eQih3PhdMI-XppSVQcdZPY_vK3ExPeEp_ksZqwDDE1DCGXwlIBAPfl-RcJ4WpzhW_Fg8iwxMDHpSUoOJF9q6p9ztzSsZFmptTZ8pAcOFP_l7w239YC81ZUGxM_mSX4/s1600-h/dacy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZz3UxvErJxZy4eQih3PhdMI-XppSVQcdZPY_vK3ExPeEp_ksZqwDDE1DCGXwlIBAPfl-RcJ4WpzhW_Fg8iwxMDHpSUoOJF9q6p9ztzSsZFmptTZ8pAcOFP_l7w239YC81ZUGxM_mSX4/s320/dacy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168187096824018210" border="0" /></a><br />Well, I'm back. As you can see, I've had good reason to be away. Her name is Dacy Mae Perschon, and she was born on Ash Wednesday; February 6, 2008 at 11:07 a.m. Being as she was born on Ash Wednesday, my wife Jenica and I have joked that we're giving up sleep for Lent.<br /><br />A few weeks have gone by and life is finding a rhythm where I have moments (like this one) to turn my attention to Magik Beans. This isn't to say it hasn't been on my mind a great deal. I sat in my wife's hospital room the day after Dacy was born, dreaming up new possibilities for the story, but found more often than not that my mind kept returning to some of the inconsistencies from Book 1 that need cleaning up as I dive into book 2.<br /><br />Hence this post. This is the Redux List. If you click on the title ("The Redux List") at the top of this post and bookmark it, you can come back from time to time to get updates on the alterations I'll be making to Book 1. I thought it best to keep the list all in one place rather than scattering it all over the flog (that's "fiction blog" for anyone who didn't know).<br /><br />The list is already more or less comprehensive, but links to the changed pages will only appear as I make the changes, which will happen over the year as I work through the editorial process and write episodes for Book 2.<br /><br />Redux List:<br /><ol><li>The Tree first appears without foliage (after all, it IS winter).</li><li>Andrew visits Ripper to ask about damage to the comic shop.</li><li>Blackout and Ripper come up with the idea to have a benefit concert to save the coffee shop.</li><li>At the concert, the music causes the Tree to bloom and grow foliage (setting up the idea of music which is a major theme of book 2).</li><li>The fund-raising concert makes enough money to keep the shop from going under (barely).</li><li>The Three Fates explain the Tree's growth to Lara, which sheds light on their concert going habit</li><li>When Lara, Blackout, and crew enter the Tree to rescue Andrew, Ripper brings his bagpipes instead of the tool belt. He explains that bagpipes were used in battle to frighten the enemy.</li><li>In order to focus her healing powers, Lara uses music to block outside noise (her Ipod).</li><li>It is Courtney and Silke who go to the front of the train on the approach to the North Pole, not Courtney and Lara. Blackout goes because Granny explains they will need the pyrotechnics, as her magic is not destructive, but protective and healing.</li><li>When the Leprechauns attack the train and Sunny is wounded, Ripper reacts in the only way he knows; music. He steps from the Train boldly and stands before the oncoming tide of Leprechauns. He begins to play a melancholy Irish lament, which stops the army in its tracks. Overwhelmed by the power of the music and their own shame rising from nostalgic memories of home, the Leprechaun army reject Finn's plan and give themselves up.</li><li>The damage Finn begins with the power of Spring starts a chain reaction of destruction; the ice continues to break, crack and explode, placing <i style="">Jouloutorni</i>, the city of <st1:city><st1:place>Christmas in peril. Andrew's "kether moment" (to borrow Philosopher One's idea) which links him to the Tree permits him to halt this destruction by harnessing elemental power. Lara and Andrew together are able to heal the damage to the Pole and avert its destruction.</st1:place></st1:city></li></ol><st1:city><st1:place><br />This set of changes feels most satisfactory to me, and allowed me to start thinking seriously about the second book without constantly thinking, "but that didn't happen in the first book." I had also felt that the wanton slaughter of the Leprechaun army was wrong from the moment I had written it, but was trying to keep my promise to myself to finish a "first draft" of Book 1 last year.<br /><br />We can all consider the original draft to have occurred on a different branch of the Tree. And with all that set aside, tomorrow will see the second installment of Book 2.<br /></st1:place></st1:city>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-26548480496201517742008-01-19T01:51:00.001-07:002008-02-19T14:23:14.483-07:00Episode 1: Previously, on Magik Beans..."Let me guess," the blonde haired man said, appraising the family of bears standing across the counter from him. He pointed at the Father Bear, or at least the one he assumed was the Father Bear, given the smart looking tie it had around its neck. "You want one that's too big, and too hot." He pointed at the Mother Bear, whose feminine eyelashes, lipstick and apron had given her away. "You want one that's too small and too cold." Finally he turned his index finger on the small bear standing between the Mama and the Papa, ostensibly Baby Bear. "And you want one that's juuuuuust right."<br /><br />"Actually," the Papa Bear replied, "I'll have a low-fat, half-sweet Caramel Machiatto, she'll have a hazelnut flavored latte, and my son will have a Strawberry Italian Soda."<br /><br />"Oh," the blonde haired man said, and called out the order to the dark haired girl working the coffee machines.<br /><br />Andrew Weazle took the money the bears paid with, smiling as he threw the gold coins into the wooden chest beneath the cash register. They always reminded him of the Leprechaun gold and the journey to the Pole, and of Silke. He wondered how she was doing; it had been months since he'd seen her, and weeks since he'd had word of her. In the last letter that had been dropped off, (delivered by a group of prudish witches who were vacationing in their neck of the woods, wanting to celebrate the Spring solstice somewhere that didn't involve acts of wanton sex in fields of grain) she'd written of an increase in Wolves moving boldly through the Deep Dark Wood, and would be on patrol until further notice. She'd closed by saying she didn't know when she would have time to write next.<br /><br />Big Bad Wolves and Deep Dark Woods. A little over a year ago, Andrew would have thought that good subject matter for a Master's Thesis, but in the year since he'd traded the coffee shop's night deposit for magic coffee beans, resulting in the growth of a massive magic tree which turned out to be a gateway to the World Tree, permitting travel between other universes, he'd been nearly killed a succubus who had made a clone-like replica of him; nearly killed by a contingent of rebel Leprechauns, traveled to the North Pole on a magic train, where he'd narrowly averted ecological disaster on several planes of existence.<br /><br />Which was to say nothing of what had happened after he'd gotten home. None of it came close to the intensity of those first three months that the Tree had forced its presence into his life, but there was certainly never a dull moment at Magik Beans. The name of the shop, like the coffee beans that had grown the Tree overnight, was a gift from Father Christmas. Another reality he'd have scoffed at once. Knowing there really was a Santa had certainly made the past Christmas a lot more fun. He'd left out more than just cookies and milk. A thermos of a bold Christmas roast with a spicy taste to it along with a bag of 'Fireside' pipe tobacco. The old man had left Andrew the treasure chest in return; it would only open for Andrew or Lara, the dark-haired girl who was handing the finished coffees to the Three Bears.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-43832510704903492392008-01-12T14:55:00.001-07:002008-01-12T15:17:28.335-07:00Before we get going againI sat up late the night I finished Book I, (which incidentally is called "Winter") making some editorial changes to the overall plot line, but not incorporating them into the malleable text here at the Blog. They'll appear in the edited for print version of Book I, which will be due out this Fall, just in time for...(drum roll) Winter! I can't make any promises, but that's my current goal.<br /><br />Anyhow, the editorial changes are important as we go into Book 2, since I don't want to write another zillion pages with ideas or characters the print version will get rid of or adjust, etc.<br /><br />So, a few summary changes, which currently all involve Blackout and Ripper.<br /><br />Blackout and Ripper are switching occupations. Ripper is said to be the musician and Blackout really suits a comic book store owner much better. In addition, I can actually <span style="font-style: italic;">write</span> a musician - I can't really write a DJ. That's fairly minor in the greater scheme of things, I'd say. In Book 1, Blackout finds out about the Tree earlier than he did in the blog story, simply because Andrew would come to check on the comic shop for damage; Blackout becomes a little suspicious at that point. Ripper is Blackout's roommate - they share rent on the apartment attached to the comic shop. The name of Ripper's band is, no surprise...Gotthammer, and in light of my own pipe dreams (no pun intended), it's one of those goth-metal bands with a uilleann pipe player in it. This is important for the "television show" aspect of Magik Beans - the theme music is official now (as official as pipe dreams ever get). It's the first 30 seconds of "Liam" by In Extremo. Here's a <a href="http://www.celticmp3s.com/listen/InExtremo_Liam.mp3">free download</a> from Free Irish Music Downloads so you can enjoy it while you read. At any rate, the opening credits would feature Ripper and the members of Gotthammer rocking out. This is key for book 2, which will expand on Ripper and the music of Gotthammer. It is entirely possible that Sunny sings in the band, I haven't decided. And for the record, it was a fund raising concert put on by Gotthammer that first weekend of the Tree (An in-store performance) that saved the shop.<br /><br />I was really uncomfortable with the ending of Book 1 insofar as the love scene between Ripper and Sunny seemed rather abrupt, without precedence in terms of character involvement, so expect them to be expanded in the print version.<br /><br />Another little tidbit - Andrew's meeting with Silke, will as per Jim Baerg's suggestion, involve a greater deal of suspicion on Andrew's part. He makes a comment about having trouble trusting perfectly beautiful women, at which point Silke turns to face him, revealing a wicked triple scar from her forehead and down her cheek. She is also blind in one eye - haven't decided if she gets an eyepatch or a wicked cool magic eye, or just a dead white one.<br /><br />So there are some updated thoughts.<br /><br />As I am currently experiencing a kind of sorta writer's block to getting started again, I'm curious to know anything you as readers want to see expanded, or explained, etc. The current idea I'm playing with is a story with two or three plotlines which will come together at the end. Plotline 1: Ripper and Gotthammer enter a Battle of the Bands which spans the worlds. Plotline 2: Andrew enrolls in a very special course at the University along with other guardians of the Tree from other worlds. Plotline 3: Yeah. That's where I hit the wall.<br /><br />I will start Thursday, hell or high water, and see where the muse takes us in 2008.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-31968118523719514112007-12-31T23:02:00.000-07:002008-01-13T16:25:08.911-07:00Episode 52: Solstice (redux)The gifts were presented to each of the travelers as they boarded the rebuilt and repaired Polar Express, shaking hands with wide eyed wonder with the man they had stopped believing in so many years prior. For each of them, he withdrew an object from the legendary sack of toys, and whispered something before they stepped onto the train, overcome with awe.<br /><br />To Courtney he gave a gleaming katana and a scabbard. It was worked with odd symbols she couldn't recognize, but knew weren't Japanese. "For the warrior," Father Christmas said. "It will never lose its edge. It will cut through the scales of an Ice Drake, or cleave rock in twain."<br /><br />To Blackout he said, "For the Master of the Dungeon, the storyteller," and handed him a black rectangular velvet bag. Blackout could feel something inside. He opened the neck of the bag and peeked inside.<br /><br />"Tarot cards?" Blackout said.<br /><br />"Not just any Tarot cards. Take them out."<br /><br />Blackout pulled out one of the cards; The Fool, a young man capering in blissful ignorance at the edge of a cliff. But it wasn't just artwork. This Fool was actually dancing, in motion.<br /><br />"Incredible," Blackout said.<br /><br />"You think that's great," said the Fool from the card. "Wait until you see some of my breakdancing moves."<br /><br />Blackout was speechless as he entered the train.<br /><br />"For the Pathfinder," Father Christmas said as he hung a necklace with a compass on it around Silke's neck. "It will always lead you where you need to go...although that will not always mean where you want to."<br /><br />"For the youngest Fate and the Guardian of the Tree," he said, turning to the only two who hadn't boarded yet. "You both have power within you, so I have no baubles or trinkets. For you, I have a much greater gift."<br /><br />He pulled a long wooden plank from the bag.<br /><br />"This gift will be both a blessing and curse," he told them. "It will identify the shop as a haven, a sanctuary for beings of magic traveling the Tree, and crossing from their world into yours, and from yours into others. It has been carved from the very wood of the Tree itself."<br /><br />He held it so that Lara and Andrew could read it. Lara giggled and gave Andrew a hug.<br /><br />"It's perfect," she said.<br /><br />Andrew nodded, grinning from ear to ear. He was about to board the train when he suddenly stopped, turned, and looked back at the man with the white beard.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">You</span>," he said in disbelief.<br /><br />"Me?" Father Christmas replied.<br /><br />"You were the one...you gave me the beans."<br /><br />The man's eyes twinkled indeed as he smiled and nodded.<br /><br />"Why? And what were you doing in Edmonton dressed as a bum?"<br /><br />"Every year I make my way south for a vacation. I leave the world of magic and then spend some time in one of the worlds I visit, enjoying living as a mortal again, if only for a brief period. I was in your neck of the woods on the errand of choosing a new guardian for the Tree's avatar in your world."<br /><br />"But why me? Out of all the people in the world...?"<br /><br />"I watch you all as you grow up and keep a list of all you do, and all you do not do. The sum of your life is my business. It's why I was appointed with the task in the worlds I visit. And I chose you, because I knew you would do well. Which you have."<br /><br />"But I didn't do well...I nearly got the Tree destroyed..."<br /><br />"And yet here you are. You're asking too many questions, and some of you still have work left to do. You have a coffee shop to run. Best you get back to it."<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />The first elf who entered the coffee shop found himself facing a rather fierce and unshaven looking math professor wielding a long wooden walking stick like it was a sword, and a teenage boy who was attempting two fisted fury with a coffee pot in each hand.<br /><br />"Kill it!" the teenage boy shouted. "It's a Leprechaun!"<br /><br />"It's an elf," a familiar voice said, stepping out of the shadowy foliage of the Tree. Blackout smiled down at the two vigilant watchmen. "Leprechauns have rounder faces."<br /><br />The ladder was put in place, and a group of weary travelers, both elf and human alike climbed down into the shop. Geo and Mikey shook hands, embraced friends they'd given up on seeing ever again, and laughed through tears at seeing how many changes were written on the faces of Andrew, Sunny, Courtney and Ripper.<br /><br />"We have gifts," Andrew announced, taking the book of Magic spells based on mathematical formulae Father Christmas had intended for Geo and the boots of Stealth he'd had made for Mikey.<br /><br />"These really work?" Mikey asked.<br /><br />"You'll make no sound while you're in them. You can sneak out the front door of your house now," Ripper said.<br /><br />Geo looked up from the book's parchment like pages, inscribed with mathematical formula and esoteric symbols, tears in his eyes. "I always knew the universe worked this way. I just <span style="font-style: italic;">knew it.</span>"<br /><br />"But what about Blackout?" Mikey asked. "And the new girl, Lara...what happened to them...they're all right, aren't they?"<br /><br />Andrew and Ripper exchanged knowing looks and grinned. Courtney playfully punched Ripper's arm, and said, "They're both all right."<br /><br />"I'd say they're better than just <span style="font-style: italic;">all right</span>," Ripper snorted and he and Andrew broke into peals of laughter.<br /><br />"So where are they?" Mikey persisted.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"You and Lara need to take our place at the Grotto to bring Spring.” Eostre had told him.<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">“You mean have sex?” Blackout had asked, his mouth having gone completely dry. "Why us?"<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"You're the only two with a strong enough bond amongst your friends. None of the others could work this magic."</p><p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"Sunny and Ripper?"</p><p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"Sunny is still too badly wounded...and Ripper's heart is not fit to the task--yet."<br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"None of the elves either?"<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">"Not the menninkäinen, no. There are elves who can, but we have no time to seek them out and make arrangements, nor is Dieter fit to travel to work the passing ritual. The solstice is coming soon. You are here, and we need your help. Is there a problem?"<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">“I don't think so," Blackout said. "It's just...I wanted to get to know her first...you know?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">Eostre paused, her whiskers twitching. “I think I can help you,” she said at last. A furry paw reached into a leather satchel and produced a rock, which was handed over to Randy. “An amulet,” the hare told him.<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">“Is it magic?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">Eostre said nothing, her brow furrowed. Then she nodded. “Oh yes. It will help you make her understand the depth of your feeling for her. But,” she added, “there are a series of rituals which must be performed right prior to making love. They have to be performed so Lara can see them done or the amulet won’t work.”</p><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal">As Blackout cooked a meal to Eostre's specifications, he and Lara talked. About everything. What had happened, what they'd do when they got home, and in uncomfortable jokes, about what lay before them. Finally, the meal was ready and they ate in silence, looking at each other occasionally, speaking with their gazes.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That was wonderful,” Lara said when they were finished. “What’s for desert?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“The second ritual,” Eostre had told Blackout, “is to rub this ointment all over her body. This is to clothe you in the essence of Spring...the force which lives within Dieter and I.”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The ointment was a golden, translucent liquid with the consistency of honey. Blackout produced the bottle and smiled at Lara. She raised here eyebrows and asked, “What’s this?”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Instead of answering, Blackout began laying out their sleeping bags on the Grotto floor. He didn’t exactly know how much of his body needed to be touching the earth when he and Lara finally...did what they were there to do, but he wasn’t interested in trying to make love on wet grass or moss. This accomplished, he went back to Lara and helped her to her feet. Then, slowly, deliberately, gently he undressed her.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The smell of the oil was wonderful, filling the air with it’s thick, sweet scent. Blackout’s hands worked up and down the entire length of Lara’s body. At times, she made little noises of pleasure, making it all the more difficult to complete the ritual. Finally, her entire body covered by a light layer of the oil, Lara was ready for the third ritual.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“Can you sing?” Dieter had asked him.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“Can't carry a tune in a bucket,” Blackout replied.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“That complicates matters," Eostre said. "It would help if you could sing. Or recite a poem.”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“Which one?”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“Something about love.”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“A poem about love,” Blackout said. "I don't suppose you could 'vague that up for me'?"<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lara’s eyes were still closed when Blackout recited the first words...<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Blackout intoned, "Thou art more lovely, and more temperate..." Slowly, her lids raised and she turned her head to look at Blackout. He was shaking. He missed a line. He stammered. He was beautiful.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Blackout was absorbed with trying to remember all the words he screamed and jumped and cried out when Lara kissed him. Deeply. Passionately. He opened his eyes to see her, one of the sleeping bags draped around her shoulders for warmth.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m cold,” she said in a husky voice. “Come warm me up.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I love you,” he whispered in the darkness. "For quite some time now, I think."</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">"I suspected as much."<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">They slept in the embrace of the earth that evening. In the morning, they woke to a Spring sunrise.</p><p class="MsoNormal">* * * * * *</p>The elves hung the sign Father Christmas had made in place of the old one, which had simply read "Coffee Shop". With the same exquisite craftsmanship that had transformed the interior of the shop from a typical modern cafe into a sacred space filled with decor that evoked enchantment, they mounted the sign, casting spells on it to illuminate it; passersby would marvel at how the sign seemed to be lit from within, and how the letters glowed a faint eldritch green on nights of the New Moon.<br /><br />The letters could be seen by more than just human eyes. They called out to the fairy folk who walked through the campus, those who were coming for a cup of good strong coffee before commencing their journeys to other worlds, and other branches of the Tree.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Magik Beans</span>, the sign read.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-12473073103959029412007-12-30T00:15:00.000-07:002008-01-01T00:17:05.625-07:00Episode 51: Loose ThreadsEostre had bounded from the train moments before the engine had shot off the tracks and into the water, utilizing the chaos of the steam, the oncoming rush of the Redcoats, and the ensuing battle to mask her flight across the ice, winter white fur blending with the frozen landscape. She'd known the source of the bright flash the moment it had lit up the eternal night of the Pole, casting long shadows through the passenger car. And she'd made her mind up to throw all caution to the wind in the hope that Dieter still lived.<br /><br />At the base of the wall, she'd found Finn and Coll near the place where they'd fallen. Coll, being undead, had survived the fall, but the arrow in his neck had caught on something and twisted, snapping the spinal column; unlike George Romero's zombies, he hadn't died, or undied, or whatever it is undead do when they cease to be animated corpses. He hadn't deaniminated. Become still. You get the idea. He was, however, fully occupied in trying to keep his head from rolling at useless angles so that he was either staring entirely at the sky, the ground, or his chest. Eostre gave the best assistance she knew to given that Coll was one of the Leprechauns directly responsible for her imprisonment and Dieter's kidnapping and possible murder.<br /><br />She tore his head off and kicked it like a football out into the frozen lake, where it eventually sank to the bottom. Coll became effectively deanimated.<br /><br />Finn had fared better than his undead first officer in the fall, but was clearly aware that he was going to fare worse if Eostre reached him.<br /><br />The fall had only broken his leg, and so he had dragged himself towards his gun, which was still connected to the box. There was a small amount of the golden liquid pulsing inside of it which had leaked from inside the box through the tube and into the gun. He reached it just as Eostre reached him. Her hind leg kicked out at him and shattered his forearm before he could close his fingers around the grip.<br /><br />Finn screamed in pain and uttered a string of curses that was cut short by another kick from the giant hare's back leg which connected with Finn's mouth, causing him to lose a serious number of teeth.<br /><br />"You sick little bastard," Eostre said, looking down at the gun and the device it was connected to. "You stole the life right out of him...and for what?"<br /><br />Finn tried to mumble something through broken teeth, a lacerated tongue and the blood that kept filling his mouth, but Eostre had picked up the syringe end of the device, whirled and jammed it squarely in the middle of Finn's head. He dropped into the snow, as deanimated as Coll.<br /><br />Eostre looked up to the top of the battlement, looking for the place where the Redcoats had fallen from. She spied it at the top; one foreleg, hanging over the edge.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />The force-shield Granny had woven about the front of the train engine moments before impact with the lake emerged from the water,icy cold liquid sluicing of its surface. The Conductor, Blackout, Courtney and Lara gazed out at the massacre of the Redcoats. A great circle of carnage radiated out from a centrifugal point, and in the center of it all, a tiny figure sat, huddled in the snow.<br /><br />"My God," Blackout whispered. "What the hell happened?"<br /><br />"Andrew," Lara said. "That's Andrew out there."<br /><br />The force bubble floated at Granny's command towards Andrew. It looked to them all as though the Redcoats had been hit by a steam roller, a brick wall, and then dropped off the Empire State Building for good measure. Granny set the bubble down a few feet from where Andrew sat, staring wide eyed out at nothing. Lara felt the wind blow on her face as the force shield dissolved, and ran to Andrew's side, dropping to a crouch beside him in the snow.<br /><br />She took his face in her hands and asked him what had happened.<br /><br />"I surrendered," Andrew said. "I gave myself over to the Tree, and...I became a part of it somehow. I can't explain it. Up until that moment, the Leprechauns seemed a terrible threat. And then in a moment...they were like gnats that were causing an itch...so I swatted them." He looked around at the devastation. "But now that I'm just me again...it doesn't seem so insignificant. I hadn't intended for...this. But when I merged with the Tree...I felt so angry all of a sudden."<br /><br />"You sensed the Tree's perception of what was happening here and gave vent to it through your human emotions," Granny said. "We aren't meant to channel eternity through these forms."<br /><br />Andrew nodded. "I'm so very tired."<br /><br />"I'll fly us up to the city," Granny said, "And hopefully we'll all be able to get some much needed...oh my."<br /><br />Granny was staring at Eostre, who was carrying Dieter across her back. There was a rude puncture wound in the male hare's neck, and his breathing was coming in short, shallow bursts.<br /><br />"He's dying," Eostre said through tears.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />Lara stepped forward without hesitation and placed her hands on Dieter's soft white fur, stained with his own blood. She could sense the life of Spring in his body, only a tiny flicker, like a guttering candle trying to hold its flame in the face of a strong wind. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and again, as with Eostre at Granny's house, she could see the roots, the branches, the great trunk of the Tree. The sap rose, flowed through her, and into Dieter's body, giving strength to the flame. It spluttered, then flared to life again, and began to grow. Where Andrew had felt the Tree's rage at the attempt to destroy Life, Lara sensed Its desire to return that Life to its former vitality. Beneath her touch, the flame within Dieter quickened.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />Hours later, an old man with a long white beard who Andrew would have recognized as Lump stepped from the red and gold sleigh, to stand beside Ilmari-Pekka as he supervised the extraction of the train from the lake, and the removal of the fallen Redcoats.<br /><br />"It took them long enough to find you," Ilmari-Pekka said, a note of chagrin in his voice.<br /><br />"I'm not supposed to be found while I'm on my vacation," Father Christmas replied, his face tanned from weeks in the Dominican Republic. "I'm not sure they would have found me if I wasn't already on my way back." He surveyed the tableau before him. "Quite a mess these Redcoats made."<br /><br />"The boy proved worthy of the gift," the elf said. "In the end."<br /><br />"If I'd known how quickly the forces of Chaos would rise to beset him, I might have made another choice. It's worse than ever before. They've gained footholds on so many branches."<br /><br />"The choice was a good one. He rose to the occasion."<br /><br />Father Christmas smiled.<br /><br />"Take a group of the <i>menninkäinen </i>when they return to their world," Father Christmas said. "I have gifts for them all. They've certainly earned them. And I think that shop could use a little elven craftsmanship."<br /><br />Ilmari Pekka nodded.<br /><br />"And Eostre and Dieter?" Father Christmas asked.<br /><br />"Dieter is still very weak, but the girl brought him back from the brink. He's not strong enough to go the grotto and bring Spring...but we've made provision for it."<br /><br />Father Christmas raised an inquisitive eyebrow.<br /><br />"Provision?"<br /><div style=""><!--[endif]--> <div style=""><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--> <div id="_com_1" class="msocomtxt" language="JavaScript" onmouseover="msoCommentShow('_anchor_1','_com_1')" onmouseout="msoCommentHide('_com_1')"><!--[endif]--><span style=""><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><a name="_msocom_1"></a><!--[endif]--></span> <!--[if !supportAnnotations]--></div> <!--[endif]--></div> </div>Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2331660459075373635.post-71545237283947784052007-12-27T22:48:00.000-07:002007-12-27T23:41:14.208-07:00Episode 50: One thousandth of a secondOne of the questions most common to children at Christmas is to ask how Santa can possibly fly around the world in one night; rational literalists have determined that the delivery of gifts to each household needs to be accomplished in a thousandth of a second. They've also determined that for Santa to make a dead stop at the speed he'd be traveling would result in him being jettisoned at a speed that would first pulverize the reindeer he'd shoot through, and then turn him into Christmas pudding.<br /><br />As if speed had anything to do with it.<br /><br />The truth of the matter is that the infamous reindeer are one of several modes for traveling the Tree. They do not exist within any of the worlds the Tree touches, but have footholds in all of them at once. They are able to travel through and within worlds, but being part of the Tree, perceive Time very differently from humans. Unlike the Tree itself, which, immovable and insofar as humans can comprehend, perceives the goings on in the worlds much like you perceive the microorganisms running around in your hair. The reindeer, as a mode of transportation for the Tree, and therefore able to move at speeds which give the impression of omnipresence to humans, see things as hardly ever moving. They move so fast that even standing still, they seem translucent; a blur to the naked eye. Impossible for detection devices to...well, detect.<br /><br />When Saint Nicholas made his journey to the Pole, he was granted the reindeer as his means of transportation for his journey on Christmas night, which is celebrated in many worlds, and by many cultures within those worlds. The Sleigh was fashioned by the <i>menninkäinen </i>from the wood of the Tree itself, to retain the bond with it. When Santa, or any other being sits within that sleigh, their perception of time slows to match the Reindeers'. The world seems to come to an immediate stop. Objects in mid-air hang, seemingly immobile.<br /><br />It makes being faster than a speeding bullet seem like standing still.<br /><br />So when Ilmari-Pekka took the reindeer from their stable, bridled them to the sleigh, and let them loose with the commands to retrieve the survivors in the besieged train, the Leprechaun redcoats had the impression of something flashing across their vision.<br /><br />What Ripper and everyone else in the train saw was something quite different. Being outside of the worlds allowed the reindeer to pass through solid objects at will, sliding between molecules or some such rot, and so one moment they were not there, and the next, they simply <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span>. Silke was the first to see their blurred forms standing in the aisle of the train, backing the sleigh into the water beside Sunny's limp form. Ripper accidentally leaned against the sleigh to steady himself, aware only of a disorienting blurred motion beside him, and that was when he noticed the bullet hanging, spinning ever so slowly about two inches from his pupil.<br /><br />"Don't let go of the sleigh," a voice said to him. "That bullet will blow your brains out before you even knew it had happened."<br /><br />Ripper turned his head, keeping his body pressed against the sleigh and saw one of the reindeer with his head turned, facing Ripper.<br /><br />"Blitzen," the Reindeer said simply. "Keep at least one part of your body touching the sleigh and help the ladies inside."<br /><br />Ripper turned and put his hand into the water, which gave as little resistance as ever, but moved like it had the consistency of wet concrete. He grabbed onto Sunny's hand and pulled her to him.<br /><br />Items outside the field of the reindeers' influence move normally, and according to the physics of the world they inhabit. Ripper was reaching from within that abnormal bubble of frantic motion to pull Sunny inside its' influence. Until she reached it, she seemed to move at an infinitesimally ponderous speed. He looked at her, lying unconscious, her blonde hair falling down against her cheek...<br /><br />And it was in that journey between the water and the sleigh that Ripper realized a great many things.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />Silke saw Ripper bump up against something and then he too was blurred, like the object behind him. Almost as suddenly as he struck the blurry object...it looked like an old fashioned sleigh...he reached out his hand (one moment his arm was next to him and the next it had taken hold of Sunny and was pulling her closer). Then she felt a momentary spike of pain in her shoulder before being pulled into that blurred field herself. She gasped as Andrew's face came clear in front of her, his eyes panicked.<br /><br />"Are you all right?" he nearly shouted.<br /><br />"I think so," she said, but she could feel a burning sensation on the back of her right shoulder.<br /><br />"Keep your hands touching this," Andrew said, inclining his head toward a magnificent sleigh, painted red with gilded gold knotwork. He kept one hand on the sleigh himself and looked over her shoulder. "I could see the bullet come through the glass," he said. "And it was coming towards you. I was up where the reindeer are..." Silke looked in fascination at the eight beasts tethered to the sleigh. The lead one was speaking with John and Charles. "And by the time I got down here it was entering your shoulder. But it didn't get too far. Turn around."<br /><br />She turned and Andrew pointed to a round ball of lead hanging in the air, its' surface discolored with the red of Silke's blood. She gasped and nearly held a hand to her mouth, then remembered to keep it held to the side of the sleigh.<br /><br />"They're going to take us out of here," Andrew said. "You, I mean."<br /><br />"What do you mean?" Silke asked. "Aren't you coming as well?"<br /><br />Andrew shook his head. "John and Charles and I are remaining behind. There's apparently something we have to do."<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />To be linked to the Tree is to be linked to the Magic that holds the universes together. Time, Space, and many of the constants that the worlds seem to run by are forces for manipulation. Throughout all the worlds, and all the times within those worlds, there are those who seek to access the power to manipulate this Magic. Some have succeeded in gaining the power to manipulate one or another, but never all. That is reserved for those who are linked to the Tree. These are the people to whom Miracles are attributed. Bodies of water displaced and held in suspension while a nation walked to freedom. Blind eyes seeing for the first time. Walking on water. Resurrections.<br /><br />To be linked to the Tree in surrender is a powerful thing, Andrew realized. John had told him what he would have to do in order to fully surrender himself to the Tree. Odin had hung on the world ash for nine days and nights. Jesus hung on the Cross for hours. He only had minutes, but they were spent in the presence of the reindeer, and so time stretched out...<br /><br />And in that time, Andrew too, realized a great many things.<br /><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br />And when that thousandth of a second was over, the Redcoat Leprechauns were left only with the impression of a disturbance in the air before the train car exploded outward in a thousand tiny fragments, and something wild and primordial rose up from a crouched position, unfolding its limbs like a tree unfolding its branches, a dark shape against the white snow and ice, dark as the depths of the forest.<br /><br />The Leprechauns stopped firing their weapons then, uncertain of what had happened. The front ranks of their numbers lay wounded or dead from the debris and shrapnel of the passenger car's explosion. They also stopped firing, because somewhere in their own being, magic as it was, they sensed that firing their weapons would do them no good.<br /><br />Some simply dropped to their knees and hung their heads, remembering a time long passed when they'd run through meadows and danced beneath rainbows, when they too had been a part of the Tree. Others ran in terror, knowing how far they'd come from those days, and fearing that the butcher's bill they had accumulated would be too great for grace to intervene.<br /><br />The dark shape strode into their midst, and there was death upon the snow.Mike Perschonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09335943113292616702noreply@blogger.com5