A sneak-peek at what is coming soon to a fandom near you...

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Beneficial

Prologue: Scarborough Fair

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It wasn't every day, anymore, that Ian came to call. So when Thom opened the door and found his twin standing there, he was surprised on a number of levels. The slightly younger man didn't even pause, pushing past his brother and storming inside.

"It's a fine mess you've gotten me into this time, Thom," he grumbled. "Just look at me! Look at my face!"

Thom was startled by how much his twin had changed in a few short months. He had lost so much weight, he looked sick. His face was weathered and tired, as if he had suddenly aged 20 years or more, and all the color had drained from his once brown hair. They had spent their whole lives sharing the exact same face. Today, only their prominent noses and brown eyes showed that they could even be related at all.

Ian was much farther along with his part of the secret project. In fact, he had five Stitchpunks left to create. Thom had only created the first of his so far, and only because the five of them had all created their firsts together. After that, they had gone one at a time creating their other eight. As soon as he had shut the door and the lock clicked shut, a familiar blonde head popped out of Ian's coat pocket, looking around eagerly for her many comrades.

"I see you brought Parsley," Thom noted, trying to make pleasant conversation. At the observation, Ian visibly softened.

"I thought, as long as I was coming here, she ought to be with them," he explained, gently scooping the blonde Stitch-woman out of his pocket. Seeing Thom, she smiled and waved.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Thom," she greeted.

He returned her smile. Parsley had certainly been endowed with her creator's softer side.

"The others are all upstairs," he said, leading the way to the stairs. There were already 24 other personalities mingling in his study on the fourth floor, most of whom Parsley didn't know very well. It felt like they had taken over the study for their own personal ends, a better dwelling place now for curious, industrious Stitchpunks than for a human scientist. In fact, he feared he would have to move them somewhere else before he began his own.

1 is going to hate that, he thought, not for the first time, as they climbed the stairs. It seemed like 1 didn't like things in general. Having the pickiest and most intolerant part of his soul removed had proven to have its benefits recently. But he wished it hadn't chosen to go into the one who would be his clan's leader. It was a shame, but there wasn't much he could do about it now.

At the top of the second flight, Ian had stop to catch his breath.

"You just had to hide them all the way at the top, didn't you," he snapped.

"The last place government officials would bother to look. Who wants to hike up four flights of stairs?"

"Certainly not I. I'm not as young as I was last month."

The change in his own brother bothered him intensely. Thinking how this was what he was likely to become made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"Ian, I can take her from here," he offered. "Go on to the kitchen. I'll make us some tea when I get back."

Ian handed his first and rather favorite creation over, and then sulked back down the stairs and out of sight. Thom continued upwards alone, say for Parsley's lighthearted company.

"How are the others these days?" He asked.

"A rowdy bunch, now that there's more of them," Parsley answered in a disapproving tone. "Still, Sage, Rosey and the boys are mine, and I am quite fond of the four of them."

"Boys? Four? I thought there were only three others yet."

"Hm... There were odd complications surrounding the twins' birth," she answered, compensating her vague wording with flowery vocabulary. When Thom made a very puzzled face, she added, "I'm certain that Ian will explain it all. I'm afraid I couldn't understand it if I tried."

That was true enough. Parsley was an Elder, not a Seeker, and such things failed to hold her interest at all.

"I'm afraid the bunch here has also gotten a bit rowdy," he apologized. "Or perhaps its merely that there are so many and that they've become very loud. It's difficult to tell."

"It will be nice to see my good old boys, though," she remarked with a smile. "I haven't seen them in weeks, and I do miss the company of real adults every once in a while. Rosey looks grown enough; but she is a poor excuse for a lady."

She sounded dissapointed about that. What part of Ian could the young woman have been filled with? He stopped just outside his study door and cracked it open, setting Parsley on the floor to let herself in.

"I'm terrified I might step on one of the youngsters, the way they run about," he explained. "Go right in, ma'am."

Parsley chuckled warmly. "Such respect, young man. That 1 could stand to learn a thing or two from you, about how to treat a lady."

As she walked in, greeted by excited cheers of welcome from various voices, Thom shut the door behind her and sighed to himself. He did, indeed, know how to treat a lady. The fair lady who had taught him since grade school was dead now-all that remained of her were the little pieces of her soul, eight of which now populated his study. He distracted himself from the stab of grief that gripped him, by listening through the door at how happy the other 24 were to see Parsley again.

Analyn's Bearer is still missing, somewhere, he thought, another hurdle to distract himself. All the Bearers so far have yet to be found. I wonder, if any of the three ever left the places where they were born...?

Thom returned to his kitchen and found Ian sitting at the table, his head resting wearily and impatiently on the table top. He didn't even look up when his twin moved into view, headed for the stove and the copper tea kettle on the counter beside it.

"Parsley seems well," he commented.

"She's already tired of them," he answered. "Just like me. Thom, I can't tell you how old this is getting. The adventure was fun at first, but now I'm ready to run away with what little of myself I still have, and never come back.

"But then, what's even the point in that?" He rambled philosophically. "I've already lost so much of myself, I can never be whole again. What kind of life would that be? I'd may as well stay and see it through. I'm too tired to go very far, anyway..."

Thom listened in silence as he filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove, and filled a teapot with loose early grey-his brother's favorite, he knew. Maybe he just needed to vent on someone. All their friends were already dead. They were all they had left now.

"Thom... I'm going to die soon. I'm going to die for you, and your precious witchcraft. Maybe Johan was right about you and Analyn. Maybe I should have had the courage to listen to him, for once. Then maybe none of us would be where we are."

"You blame me for this?"

"It was your stupid idea! I used to be an artist-I was doing something I loved with my life. So was Johan, and Analyn, and even Eli, even though he was trapped in your attic. And where are they all now? They're all dead because they listened to you."

"Analyn was happy to help me."

"Don't pretend she was at peace with this. She walked into this with you because she loved you. If you loved her too, you would have taken better care of her. She gave you plenty of other choices, and you know it. You could have done anything else, and you chose this anyway. This isall your fault! You've killed us all, Thomas Brian Townsend."

Thom was tempted to shout back; but perhaps it was his soul's newfound lack of impatience that helped keep him silent as his brother continued to list his many offenses.

"Mum and dad are surely spinning in their graves," Ian moaned dramatically, letting his face fall into his hands. "And what is Ignatius going to do? Will he ever know what happened here?"

At the mention of their younger brother, Thom's grudge with him bubbled to the surface. As if reading his feelings, the kettle began to whistle angrily. Turning spitefully to see to it, he barley kept himself from growling like a hungry animal.

"If he cared that much, he wouldn't have betrayed my Machine and run off with all my money," he snapped. "None of this would have been set in motion, if he hadn't handed it over. Clearly, our being here now is all his fault!"

"Sure. Blame it on the child. Very mature of you, Thom. He always thought you were the crazy one."

"We'll if you didn't want to do this so badly, you should have run off to find him. You could have spent your lives with your souls intact, laughing to your graves about what a crazy bafoon I am."

"I couldn't have done that," Ian replied coolly, and odd, manic grin spreading over his face. "Your plan is still insane, and its wearing me to rags. But I was too intrigued by the talisman's charms to turn it down, once Parsley was born."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you seen it yet? It was one thing for our Analyn, a barren woman who craved children, to split up her soul like this. But for me, and you, and the others... Can't you imagine what it's like, for someone like me-a creator of painted masterpieces? My skill and creativity can only go so far, in acrylics and canvas.

"But this... A rare opportunity to create something no other mortal man ever could..." he explained, becoming more and more manic with every word. He stood up and marched into his brother's face, as his grin became devilish.

"With a talisman, filled with my Source... Thomas, I can create life! No other man on earth can say that he creates something so powerful. I didn't believe it at first... But that shining moment, as I watch Parsley draw her first breath-oh, I knew it was so. I gave her life. All by myself.

"It only goes to show, brother: man truely is greater than the God that Johan and Eli clung so desperately to. He is greater than God, he is greater than woman, and he has earned his place in the world. No one can ever unseat him, while he has this power in his hands.

"And don't think for one second the others didn't feel it, as well. I hope they both died secure in that knowledge. We've outsmarted God, the four of us boys. That invisible whisper is in no place to dudge us. Ha, I hope they were given medals when they got... Wherever it is they went!"

This was a little too much powerlust in one place for Thom's comfort. But as long as his brother was slowly, painfully losing himself, who was he to rain on his parade? Startled as he was, he chose to let his brother spin happily in his revelation. He would be dead soon; better he die happy, thinking he had finally, thoroughly succeed at something, in the end.

I hope this doesn't happen to me...

"Sit down, Ian," Thom insisted, propelling his twin back to his chair. Ian did as he was told, pouting like a child all the way. When Thom sat down across from him, setting the teapot and two cups on the table, he took a deep breath while he chose what question to ask next.

"Parsley said something about twins," he said as he filled the cups.

"Oh yes, another creative venture of mine," Ian agreed with the same sinister smile. "I'm not making nine, Thom."

He raised an eyebrow as he raised his cup to his lips. "What do you mean? There are only nine pieces to be split."

"So it would seem. I've split the Seeker in half-I'm making 10."

Thom chocked on his tea, sputtering as some of it burst painfully out of his nose.

"Just the creative genius coming out," Ian went on, triumphant in his brother's pain. "We're already beating God at his own game; so I figured, why not beat Him to the fullest?"

Thom hurriedly wiped his mouth and dripping nose and stared at his brother in mild horror. "How did you do it? How did you survive? That's supposed to kill a person!"

"Luck, I suppose. You could call it... A botched suicide attempt. In fact, I've been so utterly foiled, I've found the strength to see it through to the end. You should see my boys-Thyme and Dill. A slight deviation from the original gameplan, but I like them very much. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme... And Dill.

"Funny," he mused, looking up and off into space. "I hadn't created boys yet. Perhaps they will be just like you and me..."

Thom was unnerved. Now Ian was the crazy one. As he continued to regard his brother with growing concern and alarm, Ian began to hum absentmindedly to himself, and then began to sing in a vague, scratchy voice.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair... Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thymmmmmme... And Dill..."

"I'm tempted not have you leave this house," Thom decided. "I'm going to fetch your things and your other 'punks from your house and bring them all here, but I'll not let you go wandering the streets like this."

Ian looked back at him with a defensive face. "Who are you to care so much?"

"I'm your twin brother, is who."

"I can think perfectly fine for myself, bossy."

"No, Ian, no you can't."

Ian pouted again, and slumped in his chair. "I hope one of your 'punks ends up with a brother as bad as you are."

This time, Thom was able to sip his tea in relative peace. "And perhaps your Thyme and Dill really will be just like you and I."

Ian scowled.

"Touché." He reached for his cup and raised it. "To bad older brothers."

"To bad younger brothers," Thom agreed, clinking his own cup against Ian's.

Neither brother would live to see the impact of that toast, and maybe it was for the better. Their two clans should have been bound as brothers. Instead, over the years to come, Ian's Fair-Punks would only come to cause mayhem, which Thom's Prime-Punks would never be able to mend...