Necro: I'm trying to come back, my darling readers. Not been feeling like myself, but I'm trying. Don't give up on me just yet.

MP: With that in mind, please know that comments, whether a compliment or criticism, keep us motivated. We need your support like we need food. And don't forget that we have a Tumblr and you can find us under necro-floodwaters-writings-inc. If Tumblr isn't an option for you, let us know!

Who is this guy that has you all worried, John? From what I can tell, you're a bit of a badass.

"Yes, but even I have my limits. I am well trained, but I can only fight up to eight high level opponents." John huffed out, slowly unbending his body from the upward curl that was required of one of his preferred exercises. "And while a normal army is not made up of elite soldiers, numbers do influence a fight. How many have I done again? I lost track." He breathed out.

Seventy. Ok, but if numbers do matter, why are we talking as if-

"As if I would be fighting alone? I have no idea how the fight will go. I like being prepared. And really? Seventy? I could swear it was closer to seventy-five or six." John shook his head and curled his body up again, his upper torso upright once more while legs remained wrapped around the bar protruding from the wall. "So that's seventy-one?"

Yes. I can count, you know. Thomas added in a grumble and John had a brief mental image of the younger man shaking his head.

"I know you can count. You count my steps when I walk to the gym for class." John chuckled, resting for a moment to feel the blood rush to his head.

You know, I'm surprised that you aren't bigger, considering how much you lifted earlier. You're really…

"Lean?" John supplied after another curl.

Yeah! You're really lean. And short.

"I'm5'5"! That's not that short!" John protested, gasping as he breathed in at the wrong moment.

Average height for a white male, like you, is six foot.

"I'm not white though! I'm an alien! In the literal sense!" John took a moment to get his breathing rhythm back under control before resuming his curls.

Then what's the average height where you're from?

John cleared his throat uncomfortably and responded, "6'3"." It took ten minutes for Thomas to stop laughing. "You're a bit of an asshole, ya know that? Not my fault I got the short gene!" John hit his hundredth curl and let himself drop, landing on his hands and rolling upright. "The man that will be coming here, he's very dangerous. He will be a major danger to this school."

Yeah, I got that from the talk you had with Lord Death.

"Yeah…it's my fault. Damn it, this was just supposed to be a routine talent scouting." John sighed and sat down on his cot. "I can't ever have a quiet day. Either there's a problem at headquarters, in the city, or when I'm just out! And now I'm gonna have to call up my brother for a favor and he'll probably show up just to punch me!" John pulled a large pocket watch out of his jacket, which he had tossed aside before working out, and held it up to his ear, just listening to the ticking.

You have a brother?

"Yeah. Really good guy. Bit of a hothead sometimes. I'll call him if the situation gets any worse." John decided, his eyes closed and the watch still held up to his ear.

How could it get any worse? There is an army massing on the other side of the country, readying to attack the DWMA!

"They could have war machines. That would be worse." John pointed out then stood up suddenly and grabbed his violin case.

Where are we going? Thomas envisioned himself pressing against the inside of John's eyeball, trying to see out, but he knew it would do no good. One eye was completely dead and the other just didn't do anything.

"Music room. Every school has one, even one like the DWMA. Just gotta find it." John pulled open the door to his dungeon room and walked out, leaving it cracked, having already had to pick the lock once and not wanting to repeat the incident.

You going to play something?

"No, I was just gonna sit in the room with my violin on my head like a hat." John replied casually, though the sarcasm felt like a physical blow to Thomas. "Yes, I plan on playing a few songs. It helps me think. And I need to think right now." John wandered the school, listening into each classroom, searching for the familiar sound of brass and wood that usually filled a music room. "Here you are." John pushed open the door and smiled, taking in a deep breath. "When you're as old as I am, you truly begin to appreciate the timelessness of good music, Thomas."

How old are you again?

"Old enough to give out little bits of wisdom, ok?" John sat atop a tall wooden stool and unfastened his case, gently setting it on the ground after pulling out his instrument and bow. "Give me a song. Any song. I just might know it."

"Do you know Moonlight Sonata?" A voice asked from the door way.

"That is usually played on piano, is it not? You would know, Soul." John didn't bother looking up, instead he chose to tune his violin.

"Yeah, but you said any song. I want to hear Moonlight Sonata. I don't get to hear many classical instruments here, besides my piano and a few others." Soul sat down at the grand piano situated in the center of the large room, several feet from John's stool.

"Improvised or straight up?" John asked, getting into position, violin under chin, hand around the neck, bow at rest.

"Regular Beethoven." Soul answered, watching his teacher ready himself.

"Alright, let's see if I have the right…" John began playing and almost immediately stopped. "No, that's Radioactive. I've listened to a lot of songs." John cleared his throat, put the bow to the string, and began again. "There we are." He sighed, closing his eyes as he played. "I never understood why classical music isn't as popular now as it was. Such beauty has almost never been replicated."

"Not many people put as much effort into the instrumental, since most songs have words now." Soul said, surprised by how into the music John already was.

"I suppose the words are important as well. That's why so many spiritual songs had words back then. Of course, most of the populace not being able to read probably contributed to that. Gotta teach the bible somehow." John chuckled. Their conversation continued for a few hours, Soul supplying a song each time John finished one and John relaying little known facts about each one. Eventually, John stopped playing and 'looked' over at Soul. "Why don't you play with me? I haven't played a duet in a very long time. In fact, the last duet I played displeased a king and I was punished severely."

"I don't like to play very often, especially not for others." Soul watched as John shrugged and began to put away his violin.

"Probably for the best. I imagine it's getting very late. I'll get you to play with me some day, Soul. In the meantime, get home safely." John picked up his violin case and headed for the door, turning back when the young albino called his name. "Hmm?"

"Aren't you supposed to discourage students sneaking into the Academy building?"

"What do mean? I didn't see you." John smiled and turned away, waving good-bye. "Just be home before it's too late! I'd rather not have Maka on my ass about you!" Halfway down the hall, John heard the soft notes of a piano and his smile grew.

MadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMadMad

In another dimension, place, and time, a man slept in a large bed, covered in thick blankets. He rolled over onto his back, his long black hair fanning out on his pillow. He smiled slightly and sighed contentedly. Just then, a bright light filled the previously dark room, followed by a sound.

Ring-Ring Bling

Ring-Ring Bling

Ring-Ring Bling

The man groaned and pulled his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block out the ring tone and the light. "Damn it, this had better be good. This is Victorian London; I shouldn't even have a cell phone!" The man blindly reached over to his night stand for the phone and pulled it under the pillow with him. "Mason speaking. Deliver your message then go die in a hole for waking me up."

"Hey, brother! Sorry about that! Didn't know what time it was over there." The voice coming out of Mason's cell phone was very familiar and as much as he loved his brother, the raven-haired man would gladly strangle John if they were in the same room.

"What do you want, brother?" Mason pulled the pillow off his head and got out of his bed, heading for the window.

"Who says I want something? I call you all the time to check up on you." Mason could not deny the truth of his brother's words and instead chose to remain silent as he checked for the moon in the night sky.

"Based on the position of the moon, it's one o'clock in the morning here. If you called just to check up on me, I'm going to convince Ethan to break your Watch." Mason yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth or stifle the noise.

"Alright, alright. I need a favor, but you won't like it." Something clanked in the background of John's side of the call and the man side. "Thought I had that in there good."

"Brother, please focus. I may not need sleep, but I do enjoy the dreams." Mason snapped his fingers and a candle on his nightstand flickered to life, a small flame burning away at the wick. Mason returned to his bed and watched the flame.

"Ah, right, sorry." The something clanged a second time and Mason shook his head. "There's a bit of a problem developing where I am."

"Aren't you supposed to be on a scouting mission? What could you have possibly done while helping look for a new Master?" Mason rubbed the bridge of his nose, doing his best not to sigh out loud.

"I didn't really do anything. I kinda got killed while in the original location. And then when I came back, I was somewhere else, so I figured I would keep going with the job until I was told otherwise." Mason heard the creaking of a cot in the background and felt tempted to stand up. He always hated it when they accidently mirrored each other.

"Ok, but I am not seeing the issue here."

"I'm getting to it. There's a Card Hunter after me."

Mason really felt the desire to laugh. And not that kind of laugh that you let out when someone tells a joke. No, this would have been the deep, full body laugh that most comedians dream of getting out of people. "The problem is a Card Hunter? Like one of the ones I work with? We're talking about the same people, right?"

"Yes, brother, we are. But you are thinking of the ones that go it alone. I'm talking about the big guy. The one with the massive army."

The urge to laugh had died. "Are you speaking about uh…?" Mason pulled open the drawer on his nightstand and pulled out a small, leather bound notebook and began reading through the list of names written in spiky letters. "Curtis? That's him, right? Curtis Wrights?"

"That sounds right. I've only heard the name once." John sighed. "This could end up going very badly, brother. He brought an army to catch me."

"How bad could it be? Maybe he's not even there for you." Mason flipped to the page containing Wrights' current status and bounties. "Oh, scratch that. Yeah, he just recently took up your active bounty. Ooh, you've gone up five thousand units since I last checked."

"Really now? Do I finally hold the record?"

"Nope. Jack is still ahead by fifteen thousand."

"Damn you, Jack. Just how bad is Curtis?" John asked after a moment of silence.

"Says here that he was demoted once for leveling an entire city in pursuit of one bounty target." Mason shook his head as his read, unfolding the page to get an idea of just how long the list of transgressions really was. "Goodness, he might have a longer rap sheet than you, brother."

"Impressive. I'm truly amazed that someone found out everything that he's done wrong and recorded it for future use. Well done on his part, really." Mason could almost hear the eye roll.

"Father was right, you are a sarcastic little shit." Mason chuckled, folding up the page and shutting his notebook.

"Yes, but he loved my sarcasm, whereas you used it as an excuse to hit me when we were little."

"You deserved it. Sometimes."

"Bullshit!" John laughed. They spoke like that for some time, the topics ranging from what they had been up to since last they saw each other to what would taste better in a pie, frog or snake, simply because they could. "Mason, will you at least consider it?" John asked after several minutes of comfortable silence.

"Yeah. Just for you, I'll consider helping." Mason answered. "I have to go now, John. Try to sleep, ok?"

"I'll always do, Mason." Boop! The call ended.

"Love you, too." Mason murmured, setting the phone down and standing up. He moved over to his wardrobe and pulled open the doors, looking for his uniform. He pulled out the black, formal suit and quickly changed. He had around an hour before he needed to worry about breakfast, so he made his way to his favorite room: the piano room. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bench, lifting the fall board and tapping a key to check the pitch. "I'll have to tune you once the weather begins to change." Mason tested a few more keys just to be sure and smiled. "Perfect."

Mason set his fingers on the keys, closed his eyes, and began to play. He did not play a particular song, instead he allowed the rhythm wander, he let it loose into the air and simply followed behind it. As he played, he thought. He thought about what his brother had asked of him. He thought about the work he needed to get done. He thought about what sort of trouble he was bound to get into if he went to his brother's aid. He thought all the times his brother had helped him. And lastly, he thought about how he knew that his brother knew exactly what his answer would be the moment he decided to call. "I love you, brother, but I hate it when you do that." Mason muttered, opening his eyes and watching his lightly tanned fingers as they played. "I think I should call Ethan." He sighed and stopped, figuring if he did so know, he would still have plenty of time to make breakfast. "Not like she will wake up before I 'force' her out of bed."

Back in his room, Mason scrolls through his contacts until he finds Ethan's number. "Better be awake."

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If not for the very loud nature of the music Ethan had chosen for his ringtone, he doubted that he would have heard it over the noise his table saw. "Ethan, Master of Inventors, speaking. Wha' do ya need?" Ethan spoke into a Bluetooth headset that John had gotten him so that he wouldn't accidentally cut his phone in half. Again. He took advantage the headset then to check the cut and the measurements of the wooden bar.

"Ethan, I need a favor." Mason said, surprised that he did not have to shout to be heard.

"You and every other person that has my number, Mason. Too long." Ethan added absently, flipping a small lever on his goggles to activate the magnify function, which shut off the sunglasses mode. "Oh! The lights are on!"

"Ethan, focus! This isn't a technology related favor."

"Oh? Then what do you need of me? I only build things and blow stuff up." Ethan ducked right then as a metal insect flew at his head. "Found you! Beets, where have you been?"

"Beets? Do you mean that insane beetle you made a decade or so ago? You KEPT it? You NAMED it?!"

"Of course I kept him. You never throw away a good idea, no matter how crazy it might be. Now, what was this favor of yours?" Ethan held out his free hand for the brass beetle to land on and set the piece of lumber aside in favor of a bottle of oil.

"Brother has asked me to do something and I think it will require a little of your talents. Would you mind?"

"Oh, not at all. Been a while since I left the warehouse for anything except coffee. Just send me the coordinates and I'll see if I can't convince the warehouse to swing by." Ethan, finished oiling the clockwork bug, stroked along one of its wings, which caused it to shiver and flutter the gossamer pieces. "Oh, and Mason, I still need that pin back. I told you you couldn't keep it." Ethan hung up the phone and before he could walk off, received two rapid texts, one with the requested coordinates and the other a very obscene series of words which was then followed by this: Sorry. That last one was for John. Remembered he woke me up. Ethan shrugged and headed over to his computer to translate the directions into something the warehouse would understand: musical notes. He smiled and pulled off his goggles, and immediately tumbled into a pile of cogs that he hadn't seen because of the zoom function. "Damn it, that's gonna bruise." The albino mumbled.

Necro: Some of my older readers will be able to guess who Ethan is. Anyway, have to leave it off here, but I will try to have something ready by next week. Thanks for reading my nonsense!

MP: Remember to comment, please!