Story Animal

This is a place to post random bits of joint creative writing. Collective storytelling!

[helpmetellyouastory]

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Great Bank Robbery

Wade Wilson, Merc with the Mouth, Sultan of Swing, Grand Poobah of Bedrock, Master of his Domain...almost, was sitting in his bathtub, bubbles up to his chin, soaking. Besides giving him an excellent opportunity to play Das Boot, the tepid water cooled his constantly mutating, tumorous skin. He closed his eyes. He was so glad the penguins were gone. It had been a long day, and he was busy telling rubber ducky all about it.

His phone began to play “The Ballad of the Green Berets,”and Wade snapped to attention. It never played that song. /Never/! Wade reaches out first for his mask, which he slipped over his damp head. [You don't need the mask.] {We /do/ need the mask.} “It's Cap!” he squeak whispered to rubber ducky. Then calmly and collectedly he answered the phone.

“Captain Rogers,” he lowered his voice from the fanboy squeal level to James Earl Jones.

[Don't tell him we're naked.] {But Cap doesn't like liars.} [Just don't tell him.] “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” He covered the phone and leaned forward to whisper to rubber ducky. “Told you I knew him!!”

Steve Rogers was not used to calling Wade. He was used to Wade calling him and him telling Wade to stop calling. He was used to his lawyer calling Wade. He was used to calling the phone company and having Wade's number blocked. But, this time he was calling Wade. He sighed. “Good evening, Wade. Are you somewhere you can talk?”

“Hang on, let me see if I'm alone.” Wade looked around at the dingy tiles in the bathroom, down at he bubbles, and over at the toilet with the handle you had to jiggle. “I think so. Are you inviting me to join the Avengers?”

Steve closes his eyes with another audible sigh. “No, but I do need your help. I need someone who can break into a high security location and who isn't afraid of bending local law a bit. And Clint wasn't available.” That is what he said.

This is what Wade heard: I desperately need your help. No one can get into top secret locations like you, especially Clint. Deadpoooooooool! I neeeeeeed you!

Here is what Wade answered, “Guess what! I'm wet and naked!”

[Damn!]

“What?”

“Oh, nothing! Where do you want to meet?”

Steve briefed Wade in the plane. The target was a bank in Liechtenbourg, a small country that has made its economy on being a tax haven. Its main bank was infamous for its secrecy. And not being a part of the European Union, it refused to comply with banking regulations that would allow for more transparency. Hydra was thought to have millions of dollars squirreled away in its vaults...and something else. A week ago a vial of Hulk's blood went missing from a government research lab in New Mexico. Bruce would have been pissed had he known. In the hands of the enemy, it could be lethal. Liechtenbourg wasn't about to give any diplomatic help or force a search of the bank. It was up to Steve to get it back. Steve and his team. But Clint was on a mission with Natasha. Bucky was in Russia doing who knows what. Thor was in Asgard, and Bruce. Well, Bruce would have come, but black bag jobs were not his specialty. So it was Steve and his team. Steve and Wade.

It was raining lightly when the plan landed in the small private airport in Germany. The wheels skidded and came to a stop on the tarmac, and a man in a green slicker runs up to roll the steps to the plane.

Steve looked over at the mercenary, who was looking out the window into the early morning light. To save power on his imager, Wade had turned it off. He was wearing his mask. It obscured everything. Steve wanted to tell him he didn't need to keep the mask on, that he didn't mind the scars just so he could try to get a read on what Wade was thinking.

[I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and briiiight!] {He's looking at us.} Wade turns, “well, we're here. Ready to rob us a bank?”

The very idea of that made Steve cringe, but this is why he needed someone like Wade. “Yeah...do you think you can figure out the security system?”

Wade /had/ figured out the security system. It was very good. But the weakest part of the system was always the human factor. And some weak humans would have to die today to protect world peace.

Wade stood when Steve did and he flipped on the imager. Armando Manatee. His favorite alias. “Jawohl! I already figured it out. Just keep them busy out in the lobby.” He understood why he was here, deep down he did. He was here for the dirty work. He was here to protect his hero. When he was little, he had wanted to be like Cap, he told his dad. His dad had laughed. Yeah...no way Wade would ever be like Cap. But now he had to make sure that Cap did not become like him. He watched the man descend the stairs. Broad shoulders, broad back. Symbol of morality and good. Wade leans forward and puts a hand on Steve's shoulder. “I got your back.”

To be continued maybe.

[helpmetellyouastory]

Stymphal & Carlo: The Plot Thickens

The Story Teller went back into his office and sat down in the $3000 office chair and drummed his fingers on the leather blotter. He enjoyed the comforts of the age, but there were hints of age and other times. The pen he used was a quill in a silver inkwell on the corner of there desk. The cushion on his chair was medieval tapestry. The statue in the corner was from ancient Persia. His tea cup was probably at least 1000 years old. He opens the drawer and pulls out a small golden box and opens it. They had cell phones, but sometimes the old way was best. He opened the box and took our a small bit of metal burnished to a reflective sheen. He peered in it as one would a mirror. "Are you there?" It wasn't so much an image which appeared on that bright and shining piece of reflected metal the Story Teller spoke to. It was more of a ripple of motion which seemed to move /through/ it, swirling in gentle waves like a fish swimming beneath the surface of a stream. It was about three seconds before a crackling of something static and tinny resonated softly like the a distant cacophony of thunder and metal echoed. The arrival of something horrible and glorious; a voice called forward, speaking deceptively soft, but still echoed with power resonating beneath it. "I am." The Story Teller hesitates. He doesn't hesitate often, but it's also not often that he has need to to make such a request. It is not something he does lightly. "My son," he says gently, the appellation falling from his lips easily, "I need you to do something for me. I need to speak to you." The hesitation noted with an air of calm rather than expectation as the ripples across the piece of burnished metal ebb into a gentle roil of patience. They do not pick up again until the voice returns, sending pulses of scattering designs through the otherwise solid object. "I'm at your call, Father." Formal and eternal, there is no pretention in that voice as he returns the term of endearment. The rumble of sound murmurs with respectful, round syllables to the Story Teller. "What is the issue?" The Story Teller leans back and watches the metal swirl and pulse. "It's Fekete Peter...the Troublemaker. He's free. Come to me. It has been a long time anyway, and there are complications." He touches the metal with a finger gently. "Stymphal, I can trust only you with this." The piece of burnished metal is solid beneath the touch of the Story Teller, but like non-neutonian substances, it is solid and liquid all at once, rippling out from that point after the fact in recognition and reply. Waiting for those ripples to fade to the edges of that object before the voice responds, heard, felt and visible, "Too long." He agreed amicably with the palpable rumble of sound humming in the background. "As you like." Short, sweet and to the point, he waits a moment longer, present in that object and listening for any further notation, the soft roiling motion on the surface of the object remaining. The Story Teller, who at once has no name and many names' takes back his finger and picks up the metal. Carefully opening the gold box, he replaces it. Some missions deserve to be discussed in person.  The box goes back in the drawer. The being stands up and awaits the arrival of Stymphal...Stymphal... He smiles softly. There are moments that showmanship counts and there are moments where its simply unnecessary. The majority of the Story Teller's office lacked metallic surfaces; elegance is written in good hard woods. The Story Teller's office is a realm he is familiar with, however, and soon after the box is settled in place a whisper of sound is audible. Ther shifting of tides and prickle of magic wound and well-known by the Teller. No secret kept from him, the ripple of arcane is notable if only in the tang in the air, and soon it becomes visible as well in the careful disturbance of light objects in the room, as if from a gentle breeze. Within the center of the space before the desk dust seems to gather en masse, catching rays of light in a lightly metallic hue. Slowly at first and then much quicker, the dust collects and the condenses with remarkable swiftness into the form of a man. Unmistakably humanoid but every inch of his statuesque form and clothing bronzed from the soles of his shod feet all the way to his seemingly sightless eyes and bronzy back-swept hair. Dressed in unmistakably dated clothing by mortal standards, one still couldn't note a specific date in particular with nondescript pants, boots and vest resting on his shoulders. Harmless seeming. No weapons visible, but a hum of power and confidence draped upon him like a cape. As a large statue brought to life, he blinked and gently bowed his head in tendered respect, "Father." Tone humming in low, palpable through the air. The Story Teller stood patiently as the being appeared before him. He could be patient with some, those who deserved it. Others tried his patience. But this one was different. Stymphal never vexed him. Stymphal always delivered. As he waited for the dust to swirl into the form of a man, he picked up his pipe. After the nod of respect, some emotion pulled his lips into a smile. "It has been a long time, Stymphal, my son. Have you enjoyed your respite? You deserved it. Come with me." He heads to the balcony. This time, he looks out from a highrise over a city, "I am sure you remember Peter?" For as weighty as the shining man seemingly composed of bronze should have seemed, gleaming in muted metallic tones, Stymphal was surprisingly quiet as he followed as a respectful, but near distant to the Story Teller.  There were no rustic sounds of metal grinding against metal or anything so tawdry; he was as seamless and wonderful as any creature made of flesh and bone in that fashion. "I have enjoyed it, but there is only so much one can do until the ease of relaxation turns into idle monotony," The thrum of sound from his throat vibrating the air in mild waves as he spoke amicably to the man he addressed so familiarly but respectfully to. Suggesting in no uncertain way that his respite was growing tired on him. He was ready and agreeable toward whatever the Story Teller had in mind. Stepping out onto the balcony, his chin lifted mildly in answer to the coasting breeze above the city, his feet slowing to a stop at the Story Teller's side. His form no taller (perhaps even a couple inches shorter) than his host. Mention of Peter caused a twisting of his expression in disfavor, pupilless eyes turned onto the Teller. "I remember him. If I'm not mistaken, he was not sentenced alone." "Arnyek made his own bed. I gave him a choice. Peter, no. I am not ready for him to be free. He has no appreciation for what he did. And in any case, it is not his decision to come and go. It is mine, and I am not ready." The Story Teller shows some very human like anger in his voice when he speaks of Peter. He gestures to the city in front of him. "He is here. I want you to bring him to me, but there is a problem. There is a human involved." The Story Teller looks at the bronze man, assessing him with his calm expression. He squints a little as the light glints of the bronze man. "Bring them all here." Those moments of telling anger didn't seem to surprise Stymphal. That doesn't mean that it wasn't worth noting, however, as his attention stilled on the Story Teller, so personally wound up in the capture of this particular being. And yet, he didn't comment on it, or at least he didn't comment until his task was set before him, murmuring a slow and resonant, "I understand."  Two simple words, four syllables, and yet he seemed to speak beyond the acceptance of his task.  He remembered Peter. And if he didn't know outright the reasons for his confinement, he certainly had his tautly drawn suspicions from all he'd seen of the ordeal. Including the personal investment the man he endearingly called 'father' had in it. "Shall I speak with Greta on the details?"  Recognizing the emotional output in the Teller's tone, delicately offering that alternative to making him speak on the subject any further. Something heartwarming was on the way, which could be annoying. Borderless, glowing, and dressed in the /finest/ and very modern English cut suit, in a frosty blue, with a black shirt and a skinny tie made out of...well...probably wishes and dreams or some nonsense, but it mostly looked like ivory silk. Bare feet poked out the bottom of his pants and his wings were invisible while in flight and dragon-fly shaped translucent blue when they weren't. His eyes were a dark blue, his skin a dusky light brown, and his hair slicked back black, and short. Because...everyone knows the Blue Fairy is Italian. An Italian named Carlo. The Story Teller was eternal. He has looked the same for centuries,  eons, except for the occasional change in clothing and hair cut for amusement mainly. Despite his look, he embodied youth. Things took energy from him and grew. He was called father by more than just Stymphal, though there was something additional in the tone by which the Story Teller called Stymphal "son". But every so often, when his his barriers were lowered, when he was angry or sad, and everyone can become angry or sad, even the Story Teller, every so often, he looked old. Now he looked old and worn. "Yes, you can talk to Greta. Don't eat her cookies..." He smiles a little and then freezes for a moment as though listening. "Someone is coming." 'Someone' could mean anything. Anything from Carlo the Italian Blue Fairy to King Goldemar the Kobold to Fekete Peter himself, having grown bored with wherever he was and come to taunt the Story Teller.  Caught in a moment of candid exchange between the two 'men' -- as with many creatures with the will to turn incorporeal, Stymphal had not been assigned a true gender, but simply preferred that of a man--the figure with the buffed and glowing bronze skin took pause...and then seemed to shatter into a shower of metallic dust. The majority of which blew away, but an animated tendril separated from the rest of the mass and drew swiftly toward the Teller. Swiftly swirling around him and wrapping around the man's right wrist to reform to that of a bronze torque bangle; nondescript swirls like the wind inscribed on the surface, surrounding a single feather quill.  Stymphal lay in wait. Carlo arrived as a manifestation of blue and gold light, bobbing through the corridor because that pleased him, then in and out of random rooms, and finally into the Storyteller's chamber. The glow grew bigger at the edge of the Storyteller's desk until finally he took form in the bare-footed figure of Carlo, leaning casually, ankles crossed and hands also crossed and laid on one leg. He cocked his head and smiled. Despite being called the blue fairy, and an experimental century where he dressed like a woman for better PR, Carlo was /all man/. "Is thas a bad time?" Accent...thickly Italian. He reached out to try to pat the Storyteller's cheek, "You luk /awful/, my friend. So /tiiired/ and weaaary..." As it had been noted, the Story Teller had patience, endless patience for some. Carlos was not one of those 'some,' however, and the Story Teller stiffened. One, two, three. He relaxed again as he breathed out a long breath. "Carlos, have I not told you...more than once! To let me know when you are coming? And of course I look old. I /am/ old. As for it being a bad time, yes it is. I am conducting business. What brings you out of your happy place? I haven't spoken with you since the affair with toy maker. I hope that went well. It was most unorthodox." His tone of disapproval could be noted, but he did not appear ready to throw the fairy out. He /had/ been known to throw beings out of his office before. "I have come, " here Carlo lifts one finger and shakes it loosely in the air, "because of a very peculiar wish." He arches his brows. "And believe me, the boy is deserving.  /Crippled/. Kind-/hearted/. Generous. He has raised $200,000 for research for child illness." He squints his piercing eyes and makes an 'mmf' sound as he relishes in the worthiness. "But you know this is a /curious/ wish. A wish that would you affect /you/. " A tilt o f his head and a slight hunch of his shoulders, "I am reluctant to simply /graaant/ such a wish without some-a.../discuss-i-on/." The torque hugging the Teller's wrist remains quiet and entirely unremarkable while Carlo speaks with such flourish over this new boy and his odd wish. Occasionally the mass of the piece of man-jewelry may shift slightly, making its presence known to the Story Teller, but otherwise? He is silent for now. The old man approached the desk and sat, touching the torque lightly and then taking up the pipe again and this time lighting it. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. It was not as nearly as comfortable as his chair. Then he opens a drawer and takes out a ceramic bottle and two small ceramic shot glasses. The liquid in the bottle looks like gold. He remembers details. From this bottle he is able to pour any number of different drinks. This one is for Carlo. Far be it from him to be a poor host. Especially when this was a distraction from the matter with Pelznickel. Now that he had the bronze man on it, he was a little calmer. "Talk, Carlo, and please remember I am extremely busy. How can this wish involve me? Send the child to Disney World and be done with it." "I am-a extremely com-fort-a-ble where I am." At the 'weird being' conventions, he's totally the one that wears his name-tag on his pants instead of on his left breast like /everyone else/. "The boy wishes /lucid dreams/." Carlo widens his eyes and pinches all his fingers together and blooms them open as he says the word 'dreams'.  "To live-a life...a /free/ and /pungent/ life when he sleeps, in control of his own dreams. But." Carlo frowns and speaks more seriously. "He would be /off-limits/ to /you/." He points upwards. "DIS-ASTER! You remember. Those with many lucid dreams...dangerous." The touch against the metallic surface, much like the piece of metal earlier, ripples very mildly as an echo, but does nothing otherwise. Undoubtedly listening. Amongst any other number of things The Story Teller shrugs as the fairy stands, but he still offers him the golden liquid. "Carlo? What exactly are you asking? I am not going to have my Gardeners avoid one boy just to allow him to dream he is not crippled. Perhaps for one night, but I cannot give him free rein. Human's all get a taste of their dreams. They usually leave enough for some pleasant memories...or horrid ones. Who is this child that you would grant him this wish?" The Story Teller gives Carlo a penetrating look. I feel that there is something more than to have me allow him to keep his dreams one night." Carlo's eyes glitter brightly. "It is but-a one boy. If I give him his wish...he could become a Crafter. He could. In time." Like playing with fire, allowing a human to craft their own dream. "You know that you will need one eventually." "I know I will need one? Hmmm maybe. Who is this boy and is he worthy of this? He would need a minder. You know that Peter Pelznickel begin this same way..." Carlo stands up entirely, glancing at the bracelet for a moment. "I am not a minder. I grant wishes to the worthy who look to the bright stars and pour out-a their heaaarts. Give the boy one night...and see what world he makes. Then," Carlo lifts his chin, "you will know." "His name is Klaus." He can communicate in some telepathic capacity or some such way of understanding so that with only that name, the Storyteller knows which of the billions he is talking about. The Story Teller drinks his shot glass full and takes a puff on the pipe. The smoke swirls around his hear, resembling for just a moment the Black Gardener before it dissipates. "Klaus." Yes, the Story Teller knows which one this is. "One night." He presses the intercom button. "Greta, find Rustin and have him call me." There is an acknowledgement and he removes his finger from the button. "There. Consider it done, though I don't see what you wish to prove from this." Carlo walks backwards, ball to heel of his bare feet. He spreads his hands and starts glowing. "We will seee. We will see..." And then he's incorporeal and soon enough, gone. Whether Stymphal acknowledged any glance from Carlo or not, there is no sign as he remained silent and patient, literally at the Story Teller's left hand.  Not three seconds after the blue fairy vanishes does the torque dissolve and wind away, back to the floor and around the desk. "I wish he would not do that. He knows I do not like that, and he is very lucky I am a kind and generous soul." The old man speaks to Stymphal as he materializes again. "What do you make of that? I do think his heart is in the right place, but I wonder about his priorities." He pauses, "So...son, do you understand what I want /you/ to do?" Reforming to his humanoid form once more, winding from the ground up and appearing poised and attentive. "The wishing and dreaming fae are too generous. Too tender hearted. It's long been my opinion, Father. Long before Peter." True or not, he was a creature who did not often like to express his opinion unless directly asked. But directly asked, he was! "Bring the escaped here, and whoever it is who assisted. Is that all?" As if it were his afternoon coffee order. The old man smiles, "Thank you, Stymphal." He takes another puff on his pipe and picks up a ledger of some sort.

[helpmetellyouastory]

Concept art for Sami's Door storyline. The painted door on the concrete floor Peter and Arnyek were trapped behind before Alice released them.

[loathingandloving]

[helpmetellyouastory]

What Arnyek finds.

[helpmetellyouastory]

Every Story Needs Some Trouble

Alice wondered, as she drank her coffee and looked out her kitchen window, what kind of world this was becoming. Demons and stories and shadows and bunnies that weren't bunnies...she wondered how long she'd survive it. At least she'd been published already; she'd done her name proud, even if she didn't believe she was of -that- Carroll line (she was, though).

Peter and Arnyek exchanged some words in that odd way they had. Peter eventually joined Alice again. Arnyek slipped away into the ductwork of the house, perhaps chasing mice or whatever it was the strange creature liked to do in his spare time. Soon he would be tired and look for a place to sleep. Peter leaned over Alice's shoulder and kissed her on the neck. "Can you do me a favor, my dear."

An easy slow smile curled across her face. "Whatever you need, Peter." She sipped from her coffee again and considered how ....dangerous things were probably going to get. Hmm.

Peter handed her a cell phone with a slight smile on his lips. "Call the number there and asked for Morris." He straightened up and looked pleased with himself.

"And what do I say to him once, I have him on the line?" She glanced at the number and hit "send".

Peter put his finger to her lips. "You will know." He grinned. "I shall not spoil it. "Go...call."

The look on her face was one of fond incredulousness. She put the phone to her ear and waited for someone to pick up.

The cell phone rang. On the third ring someone picked up. A woman's voice, primly said, "Hello?"

Alice cleared her throat and put down her coffee, keeping eyes on Peter. "Morris, please."

The pleasant woman's voice turned distinctly cold. "Who /is/ this? You have some nerve to call here like this!"

Both eyebrows went WAY up. "Alice. Morris, please."

Peter was beside himself. He had perched himself on the back of a chair, feet in the seat. He was grinning as widely as a certain cat. The woman spit, "Look, slut! You stop calling! He is /mine/!" There was the sound of her hanging up. Peter cackled like a maniac, which brought Arneyk back out of the vent.

Alice kept both eyebrows up. "What the actual fuck..." She blinked and held the phone back out. "Okay, next time you have me prank someone, you gotta explain that shit."

Peter jumped down and shook his head, "Ah, but where is the fun in that? Now we wait. I think you will see...tomorrow morning, perhaps." He shrugged. Arnyek draped himself over Alice's shoulders, only detectable as a layer of warmth.

She shook her head and laughed, reaching up to stroke at Arnyek's heat, whether he can feel it or not. "You'll be the death of me. What do you want to do today, darling?"

Arnyek was a shadow among her fingers, but he roiled with energy. Peter pursed his lips, "What would you have done, had I not been here?"

"Hmm. I'd tend the roses, see if I needed anything from the store, and try fruitlessly to work on my next book." At least she's honest!

His hand snaked to hers, "Come with me. We shall make some stories, shall we?" He fluttered his fingers like a magician and a credit card appeared in his hand. "Come...do you have shopping?"

She smirked. "I could probably use some bread and fruit and stuff...and anything you would want, since you're staying with me." Is that a black AMEX? Hot damn.

Peter laughed, "I need some clothes and you need some jewelry. Take us somewhere." And though the card bore Alice's name, the money was charged against a banker who recently embezzled $120,000 from the account of a small family pizza restaurant.

"Well, far be it for me to stop a man who knows what he wants!" She plucked the card from his hand and grabbed her purse. She ran her fingers through her hair, tossling it and hoping for the best. It wasn't long before she was handing off keys to a valet and leading Peter into Saks Fifth Avenue, which glittered on four stories, each more absurdly priced and well-tailored than the last.

Peter had acquired some flipflops and a shirt before he came, but he was wearing little more. And though he could change his appearance, keeping up the impression that he was wearing clothes tapped more energy that he thought it worth. He did make an effort to blend in a little more...or rather just be a little less noticeable to people. Their eyes slid over him like he was made of Tefal, and he would barely be remembered. Arnyek skirted around, casting shadows, tipping up displays and zipping under dressing room doors to distort the images the shoppers saw of themselves. There was a scream in one room, Arnyek came swiftly pouring out.

Alice's head shot around a corner, the rest of her swiftly following. She stopped and sighed with a smirk. "I can't take you boys anywhere." She pressed a handful of coathangers, draped with many different styles of slender-cut and very fine clothes, at Peter. "Try things on and don't make too much fuss!"

Peter tilted his head and gave Alice a studying look as he took the clothing, "You do know who I am and what I do, right?" He grinned and slipped into a room. A second later he opened the door and threw a ball of shadow out. Arnyek unballed himself and disappeared. In only a few more seconds, Peter came out in a stylish outfit of black and greys. "What do you think?"

"Brilliant! Good choices, and now I know what size you wear. If you want custom tailoring, I can get the boys from downstairs to take care of it." She'd already been accosted by the ladies from tailoring.

Peter grinned yet again, "Yes, yes, let's have that done. Have you found anything for yourself?" He noted another shopper about to leave the store. He flicked a finger, and an alarm went off. This drew a security guard. He did good? Maybe. Maybe not. With another flick of his finger with the security guard distracted, he knocked down a display crashing open a case of expensive jewelry. Jewelry flew everywhere.

This time, Alice, didn't even flinch, almost like she -knew- it was coming. "I did, a few pretty things." She didn't want to say how much those new boots cost, or the louboutin pumps, the four new dresses, the silk underwear, or the pretty jewelry...

Peter could not care less how much anything cost. He grinned as people scrambled after the jewelry. Then he linked his arm in hers. "Good! Now, what do you like to eat?" And these troubles were the little ones. His very being lurched a cog wheel into play, creating chaos.

"There's an insanely good French place on Broad Street..."

"Then there we shall go!

In the morning papers the next day, beyond the coming foul weather, a story told of the beginning of the downfall of an empire. Morris Linton, CEO of Linton IT Corp was found dead in his penthouse apartment in New York on the same day as his initial public offering of the corporation. Linton was considered an entrepreneurial genius and named one of the thirty under thirty entrepreneurs of the year by American Business Journal. He was the heart and brains behind the company, and news of his death, which appear to be suicide, torpedoed the IPO. The company would suffer, and many would lose their jobs. Only Linton's wife, who sold the company soon after, would show any sort of profit from the transaction.

"Oh nonononononoooo..." Alice covered her mouth with both hands and dropped the paper, skittering backwards until she was tripped up by a chair. She didn't care that Peter was right there in the room, or that Arnyek was around her neck.

Nausea overwhelmed her.

Peter reached out to catch Alice, noting what she was reading. Arnyek slipped to a corner of the room. "My dear Alice! Are you all right? Our work went quite well I see." He took the newspaper with a wily grin. He was wearing his clothes that they bought for him, and he looked very stylish, though not human. He definitely did not look human this morning. His horns pressed through his jet black hair. Two short goat-like nubs. "You seem distressed. Yet, you know who I am."

"I KILLED A MAN, PETER!" She stood up shakily and felt really, truly dizzy. "He's dead because of me!"

"Killed a man? Oh, Alice my dear! You did not." He tossed the paper aside and leaned over to try to kiss her. " He was murdered. Though I doubt that she will be discovered. She had been planning it for some time. " Peter's lips quirk, "And you were perfect! Perfect!"

She didn't stop him from kissing her, and in fact, the touch made her nausea abate a little. Weird, that. "She was? I was?"

His kiss was intoxicating, it is true, and he almost seemed to absorb any nausea that she might have had remaining. "You were perfect and, and she might not have ever gotten to killing him without our little push!" He swooped over and sat at the table near her. Arnyek slipped outside and into the sun. "What did you think had happened?"

"Then...it really was me. Shit. She might never have killed him, Peter! She killed him because of us..." Alice leaned heavily on the table. "How do I even start to let that hang out around my conscience?"

Peter spooned some sugar into his coffee and stirred it. "Alice, you have much to learn. Do you not know how one creates a story? How one grows? Life is a series of challenges. It is my job to create them. All the people in the company have challenges that they have to overcome and their stories shall be richer for it. Morris' story was over."

Alice pulled out her chair and sat in it. NOW it made sense. She couldn't fault the grim reaper for showing up to a funeral, so why was she blaming Peter for keeping the wheels of the story turning? A small nod. "Pass the sugar, darling."

Peter pushed the sugar bowl over to her. "You are so sweet, you need no extra sugar." His long tongue darted out and licked her ear. He just couldn't help it sometimes. "I am like the rat catcher, no? I serve a very important purpose, but no one really likes me."

"Well," she took a deep breath and finds herself nearly giggling at his forwardness. "I like you, and everyone else can go fuck themselves."

"I have a better plan," he whispered with a salacious throaty tone of voice. His arched eyebrows rose, and his eyes appeared goat-like for just an instant. "Let's fuck everyone else instead."

"Well...." She appeared to think about it. "OKAY!"

[helpmetellyouastory]

[Heinz] ...I hate fae...

“…I hate fae…” The arguably ironic comment mumbled past Heinzelman’s thin-fingered hand as he rubbed it over his face, grinding the heel of his palm into the corner of one eye and across his mouth.  The childlike kobold had been in the same spot for the last half hour, dealing with the same obnoxious set of … what were these ones, again? Heinz sighed and moved his hand from his eyes, looking down on the two tiny, squat creatures with their grotesquely stretched grins and their funny scraps of fur capes they must’ve peeled off a mouse or something judging by the tatty nature of it.

Bwbachs, that was it.

Currently the two he had cornered were bouncing up and down on their toes in an exhausting manner, wringing their knotted hands and giggling back and forth like a couple of crack addicts. Every third word made sense if Heinz was lucky and every so often one or the other would simply dash off in a blur of motion, midsentence, reappearing a couple moments later needing to be reminded of what they were talking about.

“The /dhoor/,” Heinz stated, again. Trying to hold his temper but it was wearing thin at this moment. For as mischievous as he was to his chosen families, these creatures were infinitely more frustrating. Frustrating, but /useful/. Their only allegiance to the house itself rather than the inhabitants, they made the best kinds of watchdogs when it came to the Story Teller’s Doors. “The dhoor Pelznickel an’ the Gardener came out of,” further prompting the chittering creatures once again as the second one vanished in a blur of mousy grey and trailing giggling.

Before the second one could vanish, one of Heinz’s childlike fingers reached out and snared him --her? Did Bwbachs have females? Judging by the loincloths and fur capes, he’d never seen any gender identifiers…huh.—by one thin arm and glowered into the milky purple eyes of the chaotic creature.

“Stay. Still. For two bloody sehconds, or I’ll ask the Story Teller turn ya into a toadstool in the forest somewhere!” Heinz gritted out between rows of perfectly formed teeth, knowing that the little house fae wouldn’t know he couldn’t make good on the threat. But the thread of being an immobile fungus /outside/ somewhere was threat enough as the creature screamed and chattered, trying to manically bite Heinz’s hand. Which only resulted in vigorous shaking of the wingless fae; the long mouse tail on the back of his cape flinging every which way as Heinz grabbed him by one thin arm, then the other to whip him back and forth like a child with a rag doll. “I. Swear. To. The. Skies. I. Will. Yank. Off. Your. Stupid. Furs. If. You. Bite.Me.You. Nasty. Little. House rat!”

Suddenly stopping the shake down (literally), the bwbach’s eerie eyes rolled around in his head, dizzy and disoriented for a couple seconds as he hung in mid-air by his arms, still stretching a toothy grin as his head fell forward and toes dangled a foot off the ground. Wilted. Defeated. And his friend sure didn’t come to his aid. Not against Heinzelman.

“Nhow…the dhoor Pelznickel came out of,” Heinz reminded, deceptively gentle and slightly winded from the shaking. “/How/.” The word was not a question, nor request, but a demand as he glared into the flickering, milky violet eyes as thin limbs tugged against his own still small hands by mortal standards, but he was still easily six times larger than the bwbach he held captive.

Through giggles, jittery tugs and the occasional snap of grinning teeth if Heinz’s hands seemed too tempting, he had to shake the living sense out of the creature four more times before he got the whole story of the glowing outline of the door whenAliceentered the room and Peter and Arnyek’s escape.  Something the bwbach was more than happy to be rid of; getting Pelznickel and the Black Gardener out of /his/ (her?) room.

“Yeh, well, don’t ghet too used to it. He’s comin’ back,” Heinzelman muttered and glanced toward his periphery. The escaped bwbach had returned with others in their family that claimed this particular room in this particular house; the shadows giggled and shifted with blindingly quick motion.  Against two or three, Heinz was an easy win, but against a whole family? Ehh…

“…I really hate fae…” he grumbled again and waited a single second more before he began to set down the giggling, snapping bwbach he held in his hands. A second too long, though, for in the instant he bent over several blurs streaked across the floor and pounced on Heinzel, their mousy furs grating against his sensitive skin, the tails attached to the back whipping and snapping as they zipped to him and suddenly away again, never lingering long enough for him to get his hands on them.

“Git off me, yah mangy…ugh!” Dropping the creature in his hands unceremoniously on the concrete floor with a punt of his powder blue shod foot, Heinz suddenly vanished, giving up his corporeal form and stepping smoothly into one of the many realms left as hidey holes for myths and creatures of fate, time and mysticism. His voice immediately that of a ringing childlike tone as it giggled cruelly at the confused fae as they fell into a heap on top of one another, quickly scattering faster than any cockroach.

Heinz sing-songed at them with undeniable mischief to a room he knew was anything but empty as it seemed, “Silly little house mice in their silly little room, run, run, run! Why deny me my calling while I leave you yours? Be grateful it was I sent here to you and not Hodekin. If you’d rather, that could be arranged.”  The threat topped with sugar and fruit in that sweetly childlike voice as Heinzel watched from behind his veiled existence.

Humming a little tune under his breath, Heinzel turned and with a thought, left the room. He had someone else to see about this ‘Carroll’ woman who seemed so smitten with Pelznickel.

[helpmetellyouastory]

What's with Rabbits?

While Peter is busy doing something, and his familiar is nearby, an inky black rabbit hops through the thinly trimmed lawn of the house the manis at. Rabbits are not entirely unusual, though a black one is, a bit, but this one has a distinctly ‘off’ quality about it, moving and extending its legs too much, and moving with a twisted grace. Hop hop hop. Light reflects pink off his eyes. Arnyek is busy sunning himself on the lawn, looking like the shadow of the bird bath, except the sun is not coming from that direction. Peter is just inside. He doesn’t like the sun as much as Arnyek. Arnyek notes the arrival of the black. Arny can recognize one of his own, or something very similar. This /has/ a solid-looking form, but as Arny investigates closer, it can see that the blades of grass go through its body. In whatever language the familiars speak, it does. “Sleeping while the master plays?” Hop hop. Arnyek hisses in surprise and draws back. He was not expecting to be recognized for what he is. In their language, he asks, “What I do in the day time is my own. Who are you shadow brother? I don’t recognize your scent.” And inside, Peter tilts his head. “I am Retreat.” The rabbit smiles, broadly and with people-like teeth, rather than rabbit teeth. Hop hop. “And I am watching you today. Its my task…and I am going to follow you into a dream. Did you know I can do that?” “Retreat? Should I know you?” The cloud that is Arnyek roils in offence. “Who has sent you to watch me, and you will not follow me into a dream. I have work I must do. You know the work of a Gardener is important and should not be interrupted.” True he was not the usual Gardener, but the same concept applied. The smoke starts to encircle the rabbity thing. The rabbit sat up on its haunches and held its little bunny paws on its belly. “I am only going to watch.” Arnyek brings his circle of smoke closer around the rabbit, tentatively touching the energy that is the rabbit. “Why?” He asks. He sends Peter a signal of concern, but Peter is working on a scheme in side. “Why do you watch?” The bunny hops a few more times. “I’ll be watching…I’ll be watching. He Ha Ho!” Arnyek draws back and swirls in confusion around the bird bath, causing a jay some alarm. He will have to tell Peter. What was this thing?

[helpmetellyouastory]

Es Tanzt ein Hi Ha Heinzelman in unserem Haus herum

The Story Teller went back to his desk, and he sat in the expensive ergonomic chair and leaned back. He did not have Heinz's number memorized, and he asked the receptionist to connect them. These days everyone had cell phones. Even Heinzelmaenchen.

Heinz's voice picked up almost immediately after the first ring; likely expecting the call. Let's be honest, he was probably doing more than 'waiting'. Idle hands and all that. It was even more true when he was nervous or anxious or under stress or hungry or tired or...really anything mood altering. The slight sound of a winded puff of Heinz's slightly nazled voice. "Sir! Thank you for calling meh back. Ah we, we, well, I?" he pauses and huffs slightly. "There's an issue."

The Story Teller's voice was soft and deep, the patience had been added in several layers. "Heinz. It has been a long time. You know I am very busy, don't you you? This had better not be like last time. I am calling because apparently, Greta has a weak spot for you and put your call at the top of my list this morning." His voice was kind and patient, but it was clear he was not pleased to be calling Heinz. "So....an issue?" He put the phone on speaker and reached to take a pipe carved from the horn of some mythical beast or another. He began to pack tobacco in it. Immortals need not worry about lung cancer.

Nothing new, there. Heinz had grown accustomed to the Story Teller's general exasperation with him beneath the poured velvet of his voice. Used to it, and with all the boldness contained in the very particular man, he carried onward. "Yes, sir, I uhnderstand. Greta's a peach." Plus, she knows his 'panic' voice. Didn't make her any less of a peach. Kind of just backed up that claim. Clearing his throat --which never seemed to get clear anyway-- he got down to it. "Whe've had a breach, sir. Intahr fearance with a mortal."

The old man lit his pipe without aid of a match. Somehow the burning glow came from a long bony digit. He takes a puff as he listened to how fruity Heinz thought his receptionist was. She was not a peach. She was a reformed Hexe of some sort. Just try to get the woman to bake anything that didn't have some sort of poison in it... "Yes, she is...now..." There is a pause before he said, "Do speak in words that you yourself understand, Heinzel dear, and tell me what has happened."

A puff of breath is exhaled into the receiver that sounded rather tense and ponderous, even cantakerous, even with the allowance of speaking freely. Silence touching the airwaves but for an instant before Heinz continued. "Someone seems ta have Found Pelznickel's door." It was nothing to 'find' it. Heck that was the elegance wasnt it; hiding in plain sight? Any number of doors existed in plain sight. Doors cut into realms and secrets and dreams and oasis of wonder and horror, both. Paintings, etchings carvings, stained glass...the possibilities endless, really. But the emphasis on the word suggested more. "The acktual door, sir. By the time I got there, Pelznickel and the obnoxious twit of his were gone."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. A long silence, which was indicative of the gravity of the situation. "Pelznickel's Door...I was assured that it would be secure. Who opened it? Who would risk my wrath by opening it for him, because he could not have opened it himself!" Yes, there was definite annoyance in the man's voice. More than that. Anger. The patience was gone, but at least the anger didn't appear to be directed at Heinz...yet. "Peter has escaped...and by twit, I assume you mean the black Gardener? You should hear what he used to call you, Heinz...but go on. Tell me what you know."

An undignified snuffle of a snort it Heinz's first reaction to what the Gardener used to call him. No love for Arnyek was wasted on Heinz, he didn't both justifying the remark with a reply. Not while he was twisting away at his facial hair in agitated concern for what those two might be up to. "Still working out the details on that, sirh," Quick and almost clipped in his reply, annoyed as well, but it was a far less directed emotion. Annoyed at a great many things on that list of things he could be annoyed at in this moment. "By all signs and sorts from the surface lands, seems thar were some mortals sniffing around the location later in the evening, but I can't understand how any of them should've been able to see it. One of the Someone or something called through it to him, must've given him an idea which direction to go." A couple of whispers resonate on his side of the phone and a hand must clasp over the receiver because his gruff voice is muffled when it snaps back, "Stop tugging on me! Can't you see I'm speaking ta -- ... ..." His voice came back clear once more. "Sir, someone said it was a girhl. A mortal girhl."

The Story Teller put down his pipe and rubbed his forehead. Once for the situation and once again that he had to hear it from Heinz. "Heinzel, I wish you would get all the details before you talk to me..." He sighed. Heinz was useful. He would probably have to add him to the solstice party this year for this...despite what had happened at the last party Heinz attended. "And now you are being foolish. Tell your people to get it right. A mortal girl may have been there, but no mortal should be able to open a Door." And the way he pronounced Door was different from the way he would pronounce door. "Heinzel, find out who opened the door and where Peter went, if you can. However, I have another in mind who will find him if you do not know. Do /not/ get in his way, otherwise you will not be joining us at Solstice."

Heinz felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and another gruff sound of a blustered breath was expelled without a word between as he listened with pregnant silence from his end of the line. When he spoke next, it was with a deliberately calm tightness in his thickened voice, "It seemed something of an imperative to let you know the /result/ of whatever happened, sir. I know no mortal /should/ be abel to open a Door, s'why I'm still getting details; whe're just as flumuxed as you're." Muttering something annoyed under his breath to someone off to one side, there's a yelp of pain and a growl as he comes back to the receiver properly. "Seems Peter 'n' the Gardener went /with/ the girl--/IF she so exists/." Seeming to say that more to whoever he's speaking to on the other side than the STory Teller.

"You have done well, Heinzel." The Story Teller threw Heinz a bone. And with a flick of his fingers, the Story Teller rendered Heinz's sordid life just a little less sordid. The next meals he had would be better tasting. The female whatever he found to diddle would be slightly less diseased. His brainless cohorts would grow a couple of extra synapses. This, the old man could do and do easily. "I will get Peter and this...whoever it is who let him loose. If you meet him, Heinz...please please don't make me have to extricate you from some embarrassing predicament." Heinz should remember to what the Story Teller is referring.

Ah, the grandness of being a piece of shmutz working for the Story Teller in the realm in inbetweens and balancing out the odds and ends. Heinz's only comment sounds actually..../modest/ to that praiseworthy note. "Thank you, sirh."  He may have been a gruff, bravado driven fellow sometimes, but Heinz knew where he lined up, and where his bread was buttered. And quite honestly? His sense of duty was pretty damn well positioned. Henzel couldn't have dreamed to do anything else with his somewhat menial existence. If he was modest previously, the next clearing of his throat and touch of wording was outright embarrassed, hiding behind a thick curtain of wirey pride, "Of course, sirh. I'll see what else I can get from the rest of mine 'n' stick to the walls out of sight."

The Story Teller actually smiled as he nodded and said into the phone, his finger lingering over the end call button, "Very well. Let me know if you find out anything that I should know. Do you have anything more? I should make a couple of calls. I think you know who I have in mind." He took a puff on the pipe and put it back down again. Peter was out. He grit his teeth. He hadn't forgotten Peter's crime.

"Nothing more, Sirh." A short squeak of sound flitted around like the obnoxious buzzing of a fly as far as Heinz was concerned, grumbling under his breath but last moment before he figured he'd be let go, he added in a rush, "Alice, Sirh." More of the rapid, high pitched hum in the back ground. "That's her name; Alice Carrol." Some of the damn house fae had such an obnoxious habbit of getting distracted and showing up after the fact. At least this time this one hadn't gotten back /after/ the call ended. "Anything you need of me, Sirh."  Not a question, not a request, but a farewell. One he'd been using for almost as long as he could remember now. Familiar and weighty, it served as a reminder to himself just what he was doing here and a nuancing point of respect for the Story Teller.  You know.  When he got hold of him.

"Alice Carroll," he repeated. "Alice...Carroll. Very well, Heinz. Carry on." And that was usually how he ended his conversations with the shmutz. His finger dropped on the button. He pressed another before he forgot. "Greta," he gave a sigh. "Put Heinz on the invitation list for the Solstice." He didn't even wait for her response, he was so secure that she would do what he asked. He released the intercom and stood up again and walked back to the balcony. This time, he leaned over and gazed at the icy cold, frozen river below and the glaciers moving ever so slowly from their beds in the mountains that seemed so close you could almost touch them. He would need someone who would be able to deal with Peter....and quite possible, a /mortal/.

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Gardener (part 2)

Alice's dreams were what marked her as different. Of course she dreamed of the places her ancestor wrote about, because those places were real, if only in dreams. She had never told anyone, had never acknowledged that it might be the case, because his shadow had followed her everywhere she'd ever gone. She'd even thought about using a pen name, but her father had very nearly disowned her for the mere thought of it. So, into the dreams. The cast was different, as time had passed, but the world stayed much the same. There were times in which Alice was small and fought with the flowers, and there were times in which Alice was big and stomped around trees like a giant rubber monster. But each colour was bright and tasted of itself (yes, magenta has a taste!), and each personality was painfully neurotic, as the inhabitants of Wonderland had always been. A veritable feast for a dream eater, and all for Arnyek to develop. These places were not the only dreams she had, but they grew like weeds and were delicious, rich things that hung as heavy as lush ripe fruit.

Arnyek rolled off his beach and went to pluck the stuff that dreams are made from. There might be other Gardeners who would touch gently at the mind and turn away, realizing this mind was occupied. They would not know that Arnyek was the Gardener, though. This was good, because he did not want to give away Peter. Arnyek strolled through the forest and smirked a little at the wall where Humpty Dumpty might have sat. That the colors had a taste was not news to Arnyek as he closed his eyes and absorbed vermillion. Then there was a noise, and he slipped into the view of the Queen of Hearts. She stared at him, and he stuck out his black tongue. The red Queen furiously shouted at him. Off with his head, of course! But Arnyek slipped her energy into his bag. She vanished, and Alice would have little memory of the red Queen when she awoke. Fury...Peter could use fury. So went Arnyek's work.

The Hatter, as her family had cycled through lifetimes, had become a withered man with eighteen bastard children he loved dearly. Some of them had rabbit ears, some of them were part Dormouse, and a handful of them looked far too much like the White Queen for comfort. The Caterpillar had lived and died and butterflied more beautifully every time he came into being, and more recklessly. The hookah was different these days as well, but that was harder to explain. Knights and knaves made more knights and knaves. It was Cheshire who had, in the American haze of repression, becomes something of a masterpiece. He, more than anything, explained just by his existence, why Alice was frighteningly comfortable with the demon, for he had grown up slowly and luxuriously into a beast of an anthropomorph. A slinky, powerful force of nature was the Cheshire Cat, the product of so many lonely and confused adolescences tipping the balance of sex and innocence upon a fulcrum of madness.

Arnyek came across the cat, and tilted his head. He knows nothing of this story. It is a blip in time for him. Perhaps Peter would know these characters and symbols. He did so like to live in the moment. Arnyek new what they represented thoug, and he could a representation of sex and lust. Peter could use lust too. And Arnyek smiled wickedly. Gardeners would not be remembered int the dream, and if he took the cat, this would melt away to be conjured another day. The no threat of repercussions, Arnyek hissed to the cat and moved forward. It had been a long time for him as well.

There had been many harvesters over the years in Wonderland, but as it was so richly and deeply rooted in the human consciousness (and had been for a century prior), regrowth and regeneration was nearly immediate. This family in particular always saw Wonderland in fairly full glory, whether they ever remembered it or not. Cheshire was a wary sort, being a cat, but he was also territorial and slunk from the ground to the tree branches whilst eyeing the shadow man. "You're not an Alisssssssssss," he very hesitantly rolled from his tongue, his very human eyes watching, watching, always watching.

"I am /not/ an Alice. " Arnyek's own voice was black velvet. "Must I be an Alice?" He could move through a dream like a dancer, and not realizing his resemblance to the character himself, he put himself beside the cat in the tree. Arnyek's inhuman eyes met the cat's human ones. "Why are you in this dream? Do you have a purpose?"

When Cheshire stretched out, long masculine limbs rolled from his body, a faux yawn turning his mouth into a lovely little 'o'. "/If/ I had a purpose, would you still eat me up like that tart of a Red Queen? Or is it better for me if I'm a boring sliver of nothing, fading as fast as you might?" Stripes. The Cheshire was only half-there.

Arnyek reached out his hand and the pull towards it was strong, coaxing the bit of imagination and emotion towards him. It was possible to avoid at this level, but the pull was warm and inviting. "I would eat you up more quickly if you were boring. Or eat up whatever your energy becomes. But I like you in this form of lustfulness. And if you were to please me, perhaps I would not take you and put you in my sack. Do you know what that would mean?"

A slow, sickeningly wide smile with so many teeth curled along Cheshire's mouth. "What would pleasure be to you, shadow man who is not an Alice? I've been a glorious little haunt in this place, in the flip-conscious of millions, for so long I do not remember the beginning. You would not be the first to traipse these paths hungry for something." Ohhh but the Cat could play, and he was so delicious as he did.

Arnyek laughed aloud and draped arms around the cat stroking him as the cat could have never felt before. For as shadowy as Arnyek was, he was real. Very real. And the real touching the unreal created a flame in the mind of the dreamer that would cause the sleeper to draw his or her breath and sweat from the intensity. "Pleasure would be for you to succumb to me and fondle and kiss me. Worship me. And I would spend myself in you and feed from your lust for myself. I would not put you into my bag for another. And if I did not take you in my bag after, you would remain in the mind on waking. A memory of flames and desire and a memory of my touch."

"Oh, to have an Alice in flames over a shade! You have a deal, shadow man. To a long and happy partnership." Kneeling up and towards Arnyek on the branch as only the feline could, with that preternatural balance even though humanoid...Cheshire reached forward and drew Arnyek to his mouth, tongue flickering along canine fangs and a myriad of sharp teeth before finding something solid enough to be a mouth, hot enough to bring such sustenance. He licked into it, and kissed it, his back arching for every touch the shade afforded him.

The cat's kiss was satisfying, and Arnyek curled a leg around the branch as he received it. He absorbed the cat's lust and emotion as though he were a sponge. This was not for Peter, this was for himself. And Peter owed it to him, getting him stuck for so long. He loved Peter and also loved to make him jealous. If he did not harvest this dream, Alice would remember it. And it would be an intimate memory between him and the woman who had freed them. Take that Peter! Arnyek grinned. Here Arnyek had form and mass, though vague and malleable. He caught up the cat and jumped down from the tree, in slow motion of course.

When carried, he was easily more cat than Cheshire, but there was always something integral to him and him alone that gave him form, whatever felinity he needed for any given situation. "Plan on taking me somewhere, or just letting me know you can stuff me in your bag at any time?" Cheshire teased, slinking and sulking just a little when the kiss was broken, when they were on the move.

Arnyek places the cat at the bottom of the tree, and he leans over him on one knee, his darn skin shining and his green beacon eyes glowing softly. "I am a flexible fellow, but your world gives me weight and mass..." Though not much. "...and I do not wish to fall out of a tree." He laughs. The strange bag is not there. "Do you fear my bag? It doesn't hurt, you know." He pets the cat's fur and smiles, "I can do what I wish with you really, though I suppose you could run away. This is not your dream...nor mine. You are energy, a wisp of imagination taken shape. Does this bother you?"

"Maybe. Maybe imagination itself has a weight to it, over time. You consume, I am a part of a creation. If its your job to eat me, I'm sure you could. That's a part of being here: eating things." He stood, taller and more human because he could. He whipped the end of his tail under what would be Arnyek's nose, if he had one. "I'm not even sure I'd be the best thing here to savour."

He reaches to catch the cat's tail and smells it. He smiles, "I can tell how strong of a creation you are by whether you have a scent. Who bothers with that sort of detail when it is a simple dream about shitting in public? Even shit doesn't stink in those dreams." He laughs. "But you know...I have already begun to eat you. He pulls some energy through the cat's tail and he breathes deeply, his eyes getting even brighter. "I have no need to chew... and you can spare it. You taste like lust...would there be a better taste for a starving being like me?"

"I would think not," Cheshire sighs, almost proudly. "Don't you think, however, that this could be more...fun, somehow?" He turned and leaned against the tree, barely dressed in Victorian rags that were edged in gold and black. "Because everyone who comes to Wonderland leaves a little of himself behind, its why there is such power." Ahh, there is the ticker! Alice is, because of her lineage, at the centre of a flourished shared unconsciousness.

Arnyek laughs and winds the tail around himself. "I will have fun with you. If I had not something in mind, you would be in my bag by now. As I said I have no need to chew and my hunger can be slaked other ways." He presses a warm smoky hand through the fur on the cat's chest and trails it down to the loins. "You are male." And a caress proves it to Arnyek. "I am...neither...or both perhaps."

"No matter who sees me, no matter the dream, I'm always male, yes. Others drift as the Alices do, like tides made of tears." He lets Arnyek touch and find and decide. "And if you can be whichever you like, it must be horrible deciding." Anyone else would have had to use his body to get his message across, but not Cheshire. The jut of his hip, the slightly dilated human pupils, the pricked ears, the tail slinking around Arnyek.

"Why must it be so horrible? It is what it is. Gardeners do not care so much about these things, because you can send me into ecstasy with a simple touch or look. It is in the mind, and all my body is a receptor to absorb your lust." He engulfs the cat in a kiss and his body presses against the cat like a flame. He gives another subtle caress. "I know where you keep your passion, though."

Cheshire had never felt anything like it in all of his years. He'd guided, cajoled, teased and flat out /had/ many of the multitudes of Alices (and really only a few ever deserved that titles, and they were almost all of the Carroll line), and being set aflame was new "You would deflate me, leave me to gather myself up again out of dream-things and ruins? Not at all a gentleman.." His back arched a little, and he narrowed his eyes, interested. "Do you now?"

"Yes, I do exactly." He gives another caress of Cheshire's fuzzy genitals. "Deflate you? I am not a gentleman, cat thing. I am Arnyek," he whispers in the cat's ear. "And if I deflate you, you will be in ecstacy...but do not fear me. I cannot hurt you. Can you feel me?" Arnyek is getting excited. His body is growing warmer, and there is a catch in his breathless voice.

"Of course I can. You don't do this often at all, play with your food, or I'd smell your quarry on you. I'm not afraid," Cheshire was totally afraid. "I want to see what you are, Shadow man." His hips, as they were, rolled into Arnyek's touch, his body responding in kind, with arms reaching for the solid blackness.

Arnyek laughs and licks the creature's neck. His breath is not just warm, it is burning hot. "Fear has a spicy taste, and mixed with lust is delicious. Did you do that for me? I would tell you not to be afraid, but it amuses me." The dark man, for he mostly looks like a man, moves down to take the cat man in his mouth. He whispers, "If I please you, give me your lust."

Well, that was a first for Cheshire. No one had done anything even remotely like that before for him, although he certainly had in many a dream. He found himself frightfully solid and leaning back into the tree just to stay upright, his breath tight in his chest because of pleasure and shock. "My dear Shadow Man," he purred, "I fear you because you could end me, but if you keep at that, you can have so much of my lust. There will be an abundance to feast on." He tremulously reached down and stroked Arnyek's ...jawline.

And he does have a jaw line, because form and substance can be so convenient at times. His face, for he has one, is smooth with a strong Roman nose and high cheek bones, looks up to Cheshire with a hungry and knowing smile and glowing green eyes. "I will not end you quickly, because you have so much." When he bends back down, Cheshire, or at least those vulnerable sensitive parts of him are consumed. There is a tongue, and a soft grazing of teeth, heat..almost too much. Almost. With perfect empathy, he feels his own arousal growing within him.

"Don't 'end' me at all, and we could do this dance for a very long time indeed," Cheshire noted with more breath than voice. "Spare a poor puss his life, Shadow Man, and I could make it worth your while." He drew Arnyek back up to his mouth for a kiss, because even that was so good, so delicious as to be addictive. "Pleasures of the flesh, and a million tiny dreams to eat here..."

Arnyek laughs a smooth velvet laugh before he kisses the cat. "But you will not end anyway! If I do not take you now, you will slip away when she opens her eyes, living in the corner of her memory, only hoping she will bring you out to play once more. But, you have been taken many times by other Gardeners, I think you must have, just to come back...because she must either love you or fear you very much." He flicks his tongue inside Cheshire's mouth and strokes his hair. "Be calm now, because I have tasted enough fear for now..."

"I'm not just /her/ dream, Shadow man." He -must- be powerful, but he didn't seem to use it for anything but shape change and bouncing from place to place. "Either way, you'll find me delicious and I can either be here for when you come back...or..." He tried to swallow down his fear a little, and it worked well enough. Not that the arousal left. In fact, the fear had given it a bit of an edge, something lovely. So did the pain.

"You aren't just /her/ dream?" Arnyek contemplates this as he leans forward to kiss the creature again. No wonder the energy of the cat was so strong. It was at the same time, disturbing, threatening. There were others that could move through dreams? Arnyek rises and grows bigger, expanding his darkness to surround the dream being. Fingers of hunger pry to the center of the cat's consciousness. "Tell me more about about this?" The whisper comes from all around Cheshire at once. Arnyek presence is tight, and there is a gently caress, "You feed me well with your lust."

There was that great grin, so many teeth... "I think you should know about places that exist in dreams, from dream to dream and still maintain a little of itself, no matter who walks the lands." Cheshire seemed proud, even in his roiling fear and need. "You must have tripped into these lands before, once or twice. Anyone can come to Wonderland, Lord Arnyek. There's a beautiful simplicity to the worlds of Alice. We're powerful because we're universal."

Arnyek continues the pressure. He continues his entry into the cat's being, and he increases his speed and pressure. He fills the cat as he swells in his arousal, absorbing, taking, taking, using the cat. Oh, he will definitely be pleasing the cat in ways that creature could not imagine and could not have ever felt, but he is losing himself to the heat of the moment as well. There is an inhuman groan, but what other type of grown would come from the lips of a shadow. A low musical groan like the low notes of an organ.

The anthropomorph arched and lost his train of thought, brilliant green eyes closing in absolute pleasure. "And I'd -love- to know how you do that," Cheshire breathes, covered in touches and filled with solid shadown, with need and that same burning heat. "It would make so much trouble, somehow being able to inundate with sense..." It wasn't but a moment more before he tried to push back, to give as well as be given.

Arnyek had gone such a long time without an encounter such as this. With only a small flash of regret in his inhuman being, Arnyek reaches his climax. For this sort of creature it is not an explosion, but an implosion that marks his orgasm. Arnyek's body suddenly and violently pulls the cat's lustful and frightened dream energy from him in pulsing an colorful waves.

The leaving, the absolute exhaustion that follows...it mingles and pulls what suffices as a peak in a dream (far better than what normally occurs in these realms, these tiny microcosms, which is a waking before completion) out of the Cheshire Cat. The heat, the greed and helplessness...it enchants him, in its way, and he feeds the Shadow Man abundantly and with quality.

"I won't take you totally tonight," Arnyek whispered into the Cat's mind. His whisper is ragged with similar exhaustion. He stopped himself just short of gorging himself so completely on Cheshire. Had the cat been a lesser creation, he would have been sipped up like an errant drop of milk on the lips, but the cat fed Arnyek better than he has feasted in a long while. Arnyek began to part from Cheshire with a sweet sensitive peeling away. "She will wake, and I should leave now." He places a kiss ever so gently on the cat's lips.

Cheshire gathered himself as best he could. Even disheveled and pale, he was absolutely beautiful. His paw (yeah, bit more feline now) reached out and patted Arnyek. "You didn't destroy me. You were delightful, a wonderful change. Here," In great gratitude, "take this with you." A bruise-purple stripe slipped from the tip of Cheshire's tail and down to Arnyek, settling right under his navel, pointing languidly downward. "A piece of me. You can come back to Wonderland at will...no matter where you find yourself."

Arnyek laughs again, a mad satisfied cry. He strokes the cat, touches the stripe and turns around, melting into smoke and shadow, Arnyek twists and turns and slowly, gracefully unwraps himself from Alice's cortex, slipping back through her ear. He draped himself fat and happy along the book shelf in Alice's room. Time to sleep. There is a flicker of purple in the smoky cloud.

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Story Teller

The long black Mercedes limousine pulled up in front of the Willis Tower, and the driver, a swarthy young man in a smart grey uniform, white gloves and wearing a Sikh turban jumped out of the driver's side and circled around to open the door. The gentleman inside was old in that timeless sort of way that made one wonder if the man had ever been young and that gave one confidence that the man would never die. His white hair grazed his shoulders and blended into a matching full beard that covered a long face. When he raised to his full height, one could see that he was tall. He was dressed well in a well tailored suit with a long dark overcoat, black leather gloves and a red cravat. The walking stick he held but did not use, had a curved silver handle and was made out of an exotic dark wood.

The man nods to his driver. "Thank you, Balwant," he said in a voice so low and soft, but so clearly heard. The young man returned the nod that was almost a bow as he gazed into the old man's clear blue eyes. He longed to look into the old man's eyes, and when he was able to even for a moment as short as this, a cold chill ran up his spine as he saw the tigers stalking men through the jungles, the beautiful young woman with the crooked smile and the full lips who might be his wife someday, the cold mountains of a future mission. "My pleasure and honor, sir." He meant it and expected no tip or bonus.

The man took a long breath and walked into the building and stepped into the elevator. The button he pressed was one that was marked with a number that looked familiar, surely it belonged somewhere in that row of buttons, but no one ever seemed to notice it or push it. The elevator door opened with a soft bing and hush.

The gentleman stepped off, and the receptionist, an older humorless looking woman handed him several notes. "Sir, you have a meeting at 2:00, and that note on top  is for you to call Heinz." The man gave her a steady look, but it did not phase her. "Yes, I know," she sighed disdainfully, "But he pleaded with me that it was important."

The man nodded, "Very well." he went back to his office door. It is made of thick oak with a brass handle. Opening the door he stepped into his office, put the notes down on his huge oak table, and stepped out to the balcony. The Story Teller removed his gloves, so he could feel the cool rough stone of his castle beneath is hands, and he looked across the rich green valley to the mountains beyond.  After a few moments of rest, he walks back into his office to sit on his throne and call Heinz.

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Story Teller

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Door in the Floor (part 2)

Peter slipped out behind her and into the car. He didn't look too surprised at being buckled into a large metal contraption. "Please," he said, "Rommel once gave me a ride in his tank!" He giggled as Arnyek settled around the seat belt. "Delightful man just found himself on the wrong side of the war." He looked her over and smiled, "If it is revenge, then you and I are both pawns in this game. I think though, he doesn't know I am gone yet, or we would see him."

"There's a good chance that whomever had you tied up down there is dead and gone. Then again, you never said how long you were held captive." Ahh, now the fun part of having this car. She shifted gears and put the top down.

And PHHOOOOFFFF, Arnyek got sucked out through the top of the car. Peter raised and looked behind him with a cackling laugh. "Oh, dear!" Then he settled back down in the seat. "Speed....no no. My captor is ever living, but a very busy fellow. And not long after my ride with Rommel, he sent me there for my misconduct, he said."

She looked over her shoulder as Arnyek was sucked away and giggled at the change in things. "If your captor is St. Nick, I'm going to ask where the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny are, next."

Peter shook his head and stretched his arm across the back of Alice's seat, tickling her neck. "Oh, no. Mikulas, St. Nick? Those fellows are small time, they work for Him. He does keep his identity hidden well in your culture, doesn't he? "

"Him? Elabourate, and I can tell you more. St. Nick is Santa Claus these days, doesn't look a thing like the original myths and is very commercialized. Damn you, I am /trying/ to drive."

Through the heating vent in the car, a curl of thick shadow pours itself into Alice's lap and wraps itself around the steering wheel. Peter waves a flippant hand, "Those guy have no need for me, they say. Changing times. But the Storyteller does. Without me, he is lost, and he knows it, so how can he treat me so?" He asked indignantly. "How far is it, could we not just have walked?"

"You do not understand how many miles we've gone just in these few minutes? Look around you instead of at my chest for a moment." It -was- true, they'd gone into the city and it looked entirely different. Lights, sounds, annoying bicyclers catching up to them at red lights. "Welcome to Charleston, land of the loosest Bible belt you ever did see and home of the old and gay."

"This is no doubt a fun and exciting way to go, but I have traveled many miles int the blink of an eye and through many realms on a whim. He peered out of one of the windows a cyclist, who abruptly crashed into the car beside him. He rolled in the road behind them as they drove.

"Oh you're going to be fun," Alice grumbled, but secretly, she was excited. This really was going to be fun. "This is a tourist spot, but right now we don't have many because school is still in and its kind of cold. We might get some around Christmas, but that's not for a while yet. Is Christmas still terribly busy for you these days?" A touch of humour in her tone as they passed a market place. It had once sold slaves, and now it was packing up from selling baubles and knick knacks and food.

Peter grumbles himself, "Oh, shut up about Christmas! First they moved it all around, and those church people asked me to follow the Christ child, can you imagine!?" He gets a wicked grin, "I love Christmas," he said deadpan, and Arnyak hissed. "Tourists are fun, though!" Who do you think invented travelers' diarrhea?"

"Christmas...er, sorry, Yule is supposed to be -fun-. People get together with friends and family, give gifts, and throw parties. I always liked Halloween..er, Samhain, best. Dressing up and being spooky for a night, eating all the chocolate you can find, and kissing whomever is behind the mask." These days, Alice was far more sober in her partying; she'd moved down to Charleston for a job and a man, neither of which had panned out. Still, she'd gotten published in the meantime, and so she was living well enough to pay rent on her returns.

He grinned, "It used to be fun. Holidays used to be fun. Now..?" He shrugged. "There is work every day. I am surprised he kept me locked up. You can see what is happening without me!" He leans back and sighs, "You will bring to your room, and I will show you what trouble can do."

"You keep ordering me around. I'm not your minion!" Another stop light. She rolled her eyes and really wanted to run over the kid on the skateboard but didn't. "You could try asking nicely. At least that gives the illusion that I'm not being ordered around by a burnt out holiday demon."

"I am so much more than a holiday demon!" He baulked. And Arnyak on the wheel tried steer the car towards the skateboarder. "I am vital! And I have been being treated like a pimple on the ass of humanity!" Peter smiled at Alice, "You are so silly, woman. How about? Please nourish me upon your soul! With the energy of your loins, you will keep me whole."

Alice turned on the air conditioner and blew Arnyak into the back seat, regaining her control and heading the last few blocks to her house. Turning in, she turned off the car and stretched as she got out. "That sounds beyond wonderful, especially after the last few weeks. I can only hope you are able to keep up with me." She'd worn out a few boyfriends. Alice jingled her keys to get the one she needed, and she unlocked the side door and went up some stairs. This was a two story affair with separate entrances and a garden in front and in back. Roses /everywhere/. "My housemate has been on sabbatical in Rome for the last month, and she'll be coming home after the new year. Until then, mi casa es su casa, oh demon lord of putting children in bags." She grinned over her shoulder and put her keys into the dish by the door. The kitchen was mainly white and yellow, clean and small.

If a bit of shadow could look surprised, Arnyak managed it. When they parked Peter slipped out, looked around with a grin and went to smell a rose. He could not help it as he dropped a caterpillar on the bud. Arnyak followed them as they went inside, and Peter lifted his finger, "Nothing breaks here foul cloud, or I shall cork you in a bottle again. And not a whiskey bottle. Cheap wine." He turned around and looked, "You cannot wear me out, Alice," he leaned close and kissed, while the other hand traces her curves.

"Mmm, maybe not," she assented, "but we can have a great time finding out." Alice was a modern girl, with modern comforts. That having been said, she did take a moment and think aloud, "My room, not the kitchen table. Or floor. Floors aren't very forgiving to friction or to throwing someone around." This man kissed like a fire, raging in one moment and smoky licks the next.

Arnyek spun and danced with agitation and made rudely shaped shadows on the wall. That of a Bockish man jerking off among others. Peter grinned and whispered, "Jealous smudge. You will get your chance." He wrapped an arm around Alice and led her to her bedroom as if he knew already where it was.

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Door in the Floor

Yes, it is a drawing on the floor, most certainly. The house was old, but not ancient, and basement was fairly modern extending under the dining room. Directly under the floor should be the washer and drier. The basement ceiling was a simple construct of cross beams from which hung an electric light to see in the laundry room. So it had to be a drawing. So why was there a glow coming from the edges of the drawing and through the stylized key hole in the door shaped design?

Alice had walked through the house in polite silence, because isn't that what people did when they were places they didn't know? With people they'd only just met? Still, she'd excused herself to find the restroom and ended up here afterwards. She knelt at the side of the door and frowned, wondering if the glow was real or just the effect of too much wine with dinner.

The glow did not diminish. There was a flickering of it as a matter of fact, and the sound of some scuffling, and then some whispering. A scraping sound of metal at the key hole. "Shhhh!" Silence. Then metal against metal and clinking prying.

Her eyes widened and she reached out to touch the keyhole. "No way, there can't be people underneath! There's not a cutaway, and there's not a basement!" She wondered if she was about to find a terrible secret, like bodies or a child-slavery ring.

"Shhh!" A pause. "What? No. You're being a fool. I will beat you!" Another pause. The voice, and there is only one you can hear, wass musical and eerie. More metal against metal, and something moved in that lock. A tumbler slid within the lock, and there was a delighted gasp. Now the door moved.

Alice finds that she's holding her breath. She leans back wards, on her haunches instead of her knees.

The door opened. Rather it was pushed open, slowly at first and then with a hard push, knocking a chair out of the way with a scrape, and the glow brightened. It looked the color of moonlight almost, and a dark figure pulled himself though the door. "Come! Quickly!" He called back down, for is seemed a male voice. And a shadow, something, whisked up and around behind the figure. A delighted laugh, and he closed it again. He was a dark silhouette as he stood in the near empty room.

Alice stood up and blinked. "What in the hell..." With the glow lessened, she could almost make them out more clearly. "Um, how did you get in through the floor?" She felt for the edges of the break in the floor, but they had melded back into that pattern.

The figure started and turned toward the woman, and by the dim light he was visible in the room. But seeing was not explaining. His silver eyes fell on Alice, and an amused smile percolated from his delicate lips. Standing at about 5'10, he was slender and lithe, his movements fluid and efficient, and masculine. He was dark as though covered with a thin layer of soot, coal black hair cropped close to his head and ears that swept up in devilish points. He was wearing only a pair on close fitting black trousers. Something hid behind him like a shadow. "I came through the door."

"...." Alice stood up slowly, warily. "I'm not entirely sure how you did that, but um...I should go get the owner..." She backed up a little bit.

The man, creature, or whatever he was, laughed, "By all means, get the owner." He walked over to where there was a glass figurine on the shelf above the side board. A black swirling shadow followed and flowed into a teapot through the spout and out again. The creature/man laughed again as he picked up the figurine and put it back down. "I know!" He said softly to ...someone, and then turned back to Alice. "Did you light up the door for me? I have been looking for it a long time!" His eyes flashed again, dark eyes, silver int the dim light of the room.

"Um..." she laughed nervously. "Maybe? I just was looking around and it was THERE, it was obviously a door, but it was just a really great door pattern, so I bent down and it lit up.." She very much thought about the owner, and that he really should know. "Why were you looking?"

He stepped closer to her and walked around her looking at her. His shadow companion rattled through the china, exploring, apparently. "If you were trapped, wouldn't you look for a way out?" He laughed again, in an infectious way that made you feel as though you were privy to a special mischievous secret. "Who are you?"

Oh this was a hundred levels of double plush ungood. "I'm Alice, and you were trapped in someone's floor?" It was obvious she didn't know the owner well, but also that she'd made the door work.

He mmmed, "Apparently, so. Odd, isn't it? I came through caverns and forests though." The china rattled, and the man grumbled loudly, "Stop it! I will tie you in knots!" The shadow puffed up huge from behind the china cabinet as if to threaten, then jumped with a swirl like smoke to curl around the man's legs. He reached out as though to take her hand and bring it to his delicate lips. "Thank you. You must have a special quality about you." His smile was as though was hiding a secret. "Peter Pelznickel, you may call me Peter."

"Alice Carroll. Pleased to meet you." Her blonde hair was up, and her blue eyes betrayed the hesitation she felt. "What is that thing, the smoke curl?"

"Arnyek is...my ..." Then a broad smile grew on his face, "...My helper, but he is troublesome. Naughty." He reached down and brushed his hand through the smoky shadow. It shivered and clung to his fingers as he brought his hand back to Alice. It let go and slipped away once more as Peter started to walk towards the kitchen. "The smell of food touches my senses. Some wine?" He winked at Alice, again drawing her into his secrecy.

"Er, yes," she said nervously. "A dinner party, actually. My friends dragged me out of the house because I'd been moping around for a few days." She didn't even know the owner well enough, but her friends had invited her, so what was the use in turning down a free meal?

He looked around as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Alice in the dining room with a curling bit of smoky shadow lurking at the doorway. "Can you help me?" He called. "It's late, isn't it? Where are these friends." There is a hushing musical sound as Arnyek swept into the kitchen. "Can you give me some food?"

"I...um, sure? I think the kitchen is through here," she followed Arnyek and Peter found it on their own. "I wonder ...why were you trapped in the floor?"

The smoke crawled up to a shelf and pushed off a cup. Peter caught it and chided the shadow again. "Stop it! I know!" Peter put the cup back just in time to catch a plate. This he kept and handed off to Alice. "Your name is familiar." He found an orange in a basket much to his delight. He began to peel it, and the sweet scent filled the kitchen. He took a section and gave it to Alice. "I was being punished." He jumped to sit on the counter. Here in the better light, it was easy to see him. He was...not human.

She nodded and took the orange slice, the tang of orange oil filling her senses. Nope, definitely not human. "I don't see why it would be. I haven't done anything special." She cocked her head. "Punished for what, though? That's the real question."

If she ate the orange when she took it there was some magic at work. Inherent in the nature of Peter. A building of a tie. A foothold for him to work his charm. He ate part of the orange. He waved his hand in the air, and Arnyek became caught on it as he shrugged, "Oh all manner of misconduct. Scaring children, mainly. Stupid brats. Stealing lovers. Giving people bad ideas." His wicked dark eyes tried to catch Alice's. "But I'm not bad." Arneyk pushed a plate off the shelf. This time Peter could not or would not catch it, and it crashed to the ground.

She totally ate the orange. Then she cringed as the plate fell, but the luck was good! The plate was plastic! "So you're a troublemaker. Most people don't get locked away for scaring little kids and making people upend their flower gardens. You must have crossed someone really important." The guy who owned this house didnt -seem- important at all.

Arnyek slipped quickly down to watch the plate spin as it clattered on the floor. Peter finished his orange and grinned again. "You could say that." He jumped from the counter onto his bare feet. "Someone important...stole his lover." He reached our to touch Alice's lips with the tip of his finger. "Now, he likely didn't know about this door and that you led me to it. He will be angry with you as well now."

A frisson of a shiver down her spine when he touched her lips and she looked up his hand and to his smiling face. Ever smiling. "Whatever, I don't know the guy that lives here. I can just walk away and pretend none of this ever happened. Except you're hot and obviously not human."

"He doesn't live here!" Peter laughed again, and it reverberated through the kitchen. He took his finger and stroked it against her cheek. "The one who lives here is a fool. Arnyek would starve from his dreams." And the smoke curled around both of them like a silk scarf. Peter was not shy. He pressed his lips against hers.

Oh, this was probably not healthy at all, but Alice wasn't all that pained by it. It was cool, actually, so she leaned into it as the smoke slid along her neck and shoulders. "Arnyek eats dreams?"

Peter kissed well. His lips were warm and cool at once, and he kissed in such away that you would know he enjoyed it. And he did enjoy it. It nourished him as much if not more than the orange. For that was physical nourishment. Now Peter could taste Alice as a person. And what flavors did he taste? "Arnyek feed off parts of dreams. It is difficult to describe." He tried to get another taste of that soul.

Something rare, cultivated mango or candied violets. Champagne with flakes of gold in the glass. "I really don't know you," she said before letting him kiss her again. This was delicious, something terribly weird from a novel or a game, but she could roll with it. Probably because he was absolutely gorgeous and wanted to kiss her. A lot.

And the more he kissed her the more he absorbed her flavor and grew stronger, though not through any physical weakening of her. Arnyek curled about agitated, and then cheekily in and around and through their legs. And though there was no substance to Arnyek, it was delightfully warm. "No? No one does these days, though people used to know me. Some of them." His hands smoothed down her sides, catching the swell of her breasts and the beautiful curve of her hips. "Whose are you?"

What a question! "No one, not these days." Fine, if he was going to get handsy, so was she. She dragged a fingertip down his chest and rested her palm against his hipbone. "And really, I think your shadow might be a pervert." What a day to have worn a skirt.

There was that wicked laugh again, "Oh, Arnyek is a beautiful pervert. Wait until he visits you in your dream." His chest rose and fell, that nice strange shade of sooty flesh. "But it is a shame you are noone's. Stolen fruit it so much tastier." What a nice day that she has chosen to wear a skirt. His hands smoothed down over her hips again and then up under the skirt. "Who does live here?" Her hand on his hip was welcome, and the non human became aroused in the same way as a human would.

She batted at his hand a little, "Cheeky boy! I think his name is David, he's dating a friend of a friend, but they aren't getting on well. She thought a dinner party would help things along, but you've missed dinner by a few." Alice's cheeks flushed fairly quickly and she thought out loud, "If this is going to turn into random one-night-stand territory, it can't be here. Hell, if I'm going to cultivate you into my own personal demon or something, I -really- can't do that here either."

He grinned and Arnyek seemed to swirl around as if keeling over laughing. "Not here? I am not even sure if others can see me. Wouldn't that be interesting if they walked in on that?!" He removed his hands slowly from beneath her skirt. "Note my restraint, and I have been called a demon before back in the old days Back when I had real power. So where does one ravage young women these days?"

"Generally? In their rooms or their homes or a hotel, but not in a stranger's house with a stranger who also does not live there. Most people take a little wooing with their ravaging. What do you mean, real power?" God he was hot. Like, had to hold back from climbing him, hot.

"Back in the days when I had no time to woo." Strong crafty fingers slipped behind Alice to pull her closer to him, so she could feel his arousal. "When I took whatever woman or man I wanted. When I stole their children." He grinned wickedly. "I never ate them, no, though they accused me." He shrugged a slender shoulder, "But now people don't know me, I have trapped away. They don't fear like they used to. "

"Nope, light is everywhere and everyone is pretty well connected. Its easy to face down fear when its scientifically pulled apart and exposed. So, what are you, exactly? I'm human and normal and can possibly open doors." She let him pull her close, and she was all curves and legs. "What and who."

"Should I tell you all my secrets?" His eyes slowly closed and opened like those of a cat as he rubbed against her. "I am as you said a troublemaker, in that very sense. "I told you who I am, though I have many names and forms, as any good demon should...though demon is not the right word. I am Fekete Peter, Peter Grampus, Bartl...And I am immortal. A lovely thing until you are trapped away. Let me take you, and you might then know."

"Really? Not much of a wooing. I'm not that /easy/, Peter. Grampus...sounds like Krampus, whose legend lives on. Stuffing children who were bad into his sack and hauling them off to eat for dinner. No, you're not forgotten." She got a smile to give him. "There are Krampus celebrations even still."

His grip around her tightened as she talked, and his expression became focused and stern, his breath slowing. "Old times, when people claimed I ate children and appeared with horns?" And his appearance had changed so subtly. He had small nubby horns on his head, soft fur on his body, and his feet appeared cloven. Arnyek wisped around his back side and put a tail on Peter. Peter showed his teeth. "Krampus...what fun! But one of many duties. Many duties that I have completed. But they are no longer frightened. " He pressed another kiss upon her, "You /are/ that easy. For /me/ you are."

She laughed. Actually straight up laughed. "You underestimate my self-control, fuzzy. And there's as much literature out there with your head stuffed between some beer wench's breasts as there is of you tossing kinds into your sack." Surprise! Alice is part German!

He shook his head, "Meine Dame, your control has nothing to do with how easy it is for me to take you. " His more goat like characteristics then disappeared as he dropped his head to plant a kiss in that spot where your neck meets your shoulder. "Busen und Bier, das rat ich Dir." A wink. "Mit Kinderschnitzel?" And while he is so close, he adds in a velvet purr, "I can smell you. How much you want me."

"Ich esse keine Kinder, und i nicht mit wunderschönen nuttig Männern verkehren." It was said with lots of starts and stops, and the closest she knew to 'fuck' was 'consort', and even then she said it wrong. "Which is a real shame because you are delicious and I've never met a legend in person. That said, you probably want a shower and a change of clothes, and I can do that much."

Arnyek was swirling around and was about to push a crystal vase from a shelf. Komm, hör auf, du Scheißwolke." And he quickly reached to yank the smoke away. He purrs back to Alice. "I will come with you and then I will come with you. Take us before your terrible friends return."

She pulled out her phone and texted someone a few rooms over. <sorry, upset stomach. please let the host know I send my thanks.> "I am so glad I brought my car tonight." Alice takes him by the hand and rushes him out the front door. "If they can't see you, this is even more realistic." She opened her car door and then realized how weird it must look. Rounding to the other side, she opened Peter's door and sat him down, strapping him in. "Its not kinky, its /safety/," she explained. "I don't know how much you know about this world, but getaways are so much more fun now." She put it in reverse and kicked up dust on the gravel driveway before hitting the road. When they were finally out and headed back towards town, she breathed out. "If this is revenge because I was too sexually aggressive with my last boyfriend, I definitely don't want to be the punchline of the joke."

[helpmetellyouastory]

The Gardener

As Alice drifted off to sleep, Arnyek became excited. He had visited the sleeping minds of Peter's victims...er triumphs?...lovers?...yes, lovers! before. It worked out conveniently, as they tended to have delicious dreams. He oozed over her chest, warmth flowing across her, and curled around her neck. Peter opened his eyes and reached over, stroking through the shadow that only had substance to him. He would be jealous, but Peter was always jealous. A thin finger of smoky shadow slipped in Alice's nose, and Arnyek poured himself into her brain. There he spread himself like a blanket over her cortex, took form and opened his own eyes.

Arnyek was what they called a Gardener, though he had crossed the Story Teller by working with Peter. That was a dangerous choice, but for Arnyek totally worth it. The other Gardeners toiled long hours growing the stuff of life stories and harvesting it for use by the Story Teller, leaving only the odd remains. The extra mundane chaff, unused snippets or those twisted bits that should not or could not happen in the life story of a human. Arnyek harvested for Peter fears, monsters, embarrassments, troubles. The dream of falling was a nice example, and Arnyek would watch as Peter would use it to make the man in the grocery store fall as he was changing the light bulb above the fruit display. Peter could use the same to make the mountain climber slip and tumble into black depths of a cravass. And while Arnyek worked wrestling these horrors into manageable bits, he could feast and play.

Arnyek in this form was a wisp of pure dark beauty. Human shaped, but vague around the edges as though out of focus or unfinished, his body was like a flickering flame, bending and dancing of its own energy. His skin was black and shiny like the depths of the darkest well at night, and his eyes glowed green like beacons. His hair fell down his back like a river. His back was bare. He was bare.He was male, but mostly only because he wanted to be. Arnyek could change his appearance, but this was most true to him.

The first dreams that came when someone fell asleep after sex were sweet and fat. Not as arousing as the ones of those who were anticipating the act, oh but so intensely satisfying and they melted in Arnyek's mouth like a buttery croissant. He took his time and feasted, almost to the point of being too full. Only then he began to explore Alice's dreams to seem what he might find. He was a Gardener, he did not plant the stories here, but could tend them and make them grow. He prepared her mind like a farmer would the soil for a rich crop. He had been doing this forever; he was a good gardener. He stroked the pleasure areas of her brain and pulled out a flicker of a memory of a beach, where he lay sunning himself while she slept and grew her dreams.