Title: Flotsam and Jetsam Part Three
Author: TangleToy or Tangles
Email: TangleToy@hotmail.com or tangles@subreality.com
Disclaimer: The Marvel Entertainment Group owns the universe I'm playing in. They also own: Callisto, Caliban, BrainCell, and Marrow. There is no copyright infringement intended, and I'm making no money off the creation or distribution of this story. It's all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out. However, Jet, Zan, Skitter, Mandrake, and the Haven setting are mine. They aren't making me any money either. Damn fictives. You feed and cloth them, and they run off and amuse people for free. Do they care that the writer who created them lives on Ramen? Oh no. I don't even get a Christmas card. Ingrates.
Story Notes: This story is part three of a long ass fic that just won't leave me the hell alone. Pity me. Someone should since my muse points and laughs hysterically. This story is a sequel to another story I wrote. Confused? Up your dosage...no kidding. Stop in at my site and check out the rest of the series. http://www.crosswinds.net/~tangletoy Rated PG17 for horrible language. My mother won't even kiss me.
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank my beta readers: Carma Sari, Novadear, Crantz, and Foe without whom coherency could not be achieved. Many thanks, and sloppy kisses to everyone. No MSTings or Pop Ups please. If you'd like to archive this piece, let me know so I can bookmark ya. Feedback can be sent to tangles@subreality.com Flamers will be hosed down and fed to rabid bampfs. Special hugs to Winter, Manda, and the folks in #novasolace You all make me smile, and that makes writing this much more fun. And now everyone knows whom to blame. ;)
Summary: Zan is welcomed to the Morlocks, or not.
Flotsam and Jetsam Part Three
By TangleToy
"Um, hi." Zan waved her fingertips in the direction of the massive group, her heart hammering like steel on an anvil. She hated being new all over again, hated it more than she could express. It was worse now because they obviously knew she had been coming. They had an advantage, which irked her to no end. Hawk among the sparrows; they looked at her with cautious eyes.
"Found yourself kicked out of Haven, did you?" Mandrake barked, his tone carrying more than a vague disdain. "So what did you do, hmm? Not wipe your feet on the welcome mat?" There were some chuckles among the crowd, but they were silenced almost immediately by the sound of Callisto clearing her throat. There was a warning in that sound, and a danger telegraphed to those who needed it.
"I suggest, old man," Callisto poured out in a voice like honey through gravel, "you should back down. Yes? Yes. I've already spoken on this, I have." Her dark eyes moved over the other Morlocks and Zan could sense some sort of will imposed strongly. Feet shuffled and eyes turned away from their leader's stare. It was the look of a lead bitch to a pack of wolves, and they could not shake off her stare.
'That must be Callisto,' Zan thought. The woman's ragged appearance reminded her of Skitter's frayed one. Like a cloth left too long in the wind. They looked so similar that Zan began studying the faces around her to see if it was something created like Jet's pointed ears. Would she too me masked as a Morlock?
A tall, gaunt giant stood behind Callisto grinning. His pale moon skin seemed to give off it's own light. 'And that should be Caliban.' She smiled at him, and was rewarded with the closest shiver of thrill a man can do without a dog's tail. He was gargoyled faced, but one sensed that it to was a mask, and the being beneath was far more beautiful.
The sound of flowing water grew stronger and heads turned to the ceiling. Rain was making its way underground. It would get very cold in the tunnels soon. Some less interested moved out of the meeting junction, and where they stood chilled dampness hurried in to fill the void. The coolness spread until it was a presence that reached out and touched the sixteen-year-old's cheek, making Zan shudder. Cold was an enemy. So was starvation and greed.
She shifted, uncomfortable in the sweater Em had given her. It was heavy from being damp, and the material felt greasy and itchy. The backpack, carrying her life from Haven, cut into her shoulders and ground against her bones. If it were possible to feel more cold, wet, and miserable, Zan didn't know how to achieve it. Her eyelids went half-mast, and she sighed deeply. 'Hate this. Hate this. Hate this.' No one was talking. They were waiting and staring, measuring her like a gem with a possible flaw. It made her want to scream, to throw up her hands and shout, "Damnit what do you want from me?" Or shatter to pieces.
The touch at her elbow startled her, and she looked into the face of a woman much like Em. Wiry gray hair topped a face soft and warm. It confused her for a moment, but then the confusion slipped away, as did other minor worries like water drained from a cup. Instead, she felt warmth in her heart, and calmness. "Who are you?" she whispered. The room had seemed to melt away, leaving her and the old woman locked in a gaze. It was so familiar and cozy in the fuzzy state. She didn't want to leave it. Her heart ached for it, and she named the moment with her own mothers face.
"My name is Ana Lee," the woman replied in the same whisper. Barely touches of breath were her words, but so heavy in the ears.
"I'm Alexzandra."
The woman smiled kindly as she stepped away, "I know. Everything will be okay." The room rushed back to them, but it wasn't half as bothersome now. The woman eased the rusk sack from her shoulders and dropped it were Zan could still see it.
"Thank you, but unnecessary," Callisto told the older Morlock. "She'll make do, like the rest of us. We all manage, or we go back top side." Her lips set themselves in a thin line as she tried to decide how best to approach this. She didn't like that her people were objecting to a newcomer. An outcast was an outcast. No one was better than any other here. Except maybe herself, but then someone had to be a leader with Xavier's lap dog gone. Her fingers drummed along her hips, and she settled on bluntness for now. It had always worked before, and she was just damn good at it. Diplomacy was for fools and perfumed hands. "You're welcome to stay, but Haven is not welcome among the Morlocks. Say you're from Haven and we've no use for you here. No bed for you."
"But, I thought?" Zan looked about confused, until Jet's words came back to her. 'You're not a Morlock until you can think like one.' Why was everyone treating her like a walking mistake? "Well hell. Screw it then," Zan sputtered and turned to leave. Was she ever going to be truly welcome anywhere? She spun and walked face first into the chest of someone taller than her and, when she tried to pull back, found she couldn't. "What the fuck?"
"Ow," the chest rumbled with the words, and Zan's cheek peeled away to bounce back stuck again. "No need to throw yourself at me. I'm not that hard up for dates yet. Oh, wait. Yes I am. Oooh baby!"
2
"Someone peel her off Tarbaby, please?" Laughter broke out behind her. They were laughing. At her. It was salt to a gut wound.
'Riiiight. Peel me off,' Zan thought and struggled to free herself. The more she struggled though, the more she stuck and the harder people laughed. It was like being caught on flypaper only worse, because she wasn't a fly and everyone was watching. "Let go, damn it!" She was undulating with his belly laughs.
"Would if I could, sweetheart," the sticky youth replied chuckling. "You don't think I enjoy having you try to knee me and stick, do you? And say, mind removing your thumb from my eye? I'd sorta like to be able to see later."
Hands were all over her like flesh colored spiders, and Zan's agitation grew to a fever pitch as they pulled. Her eyes pricked and her chest felt tight. A calm tried to creep over her, but knowing where it came from, she pushed it away and followed with a vicious elbow that was pulled into being a stomach jab. An old woman cried out, and Tarbaby staggered back sticking to the wall behind him. "Oof!"
"She got Ana! Someone look at her eye."
"Leave her stuck, that'd teach her."
"You'd think living Upworld would have given her manners."
"That tickles! Get your hand away from there."
"You're not helping Tar! Stop laughing and try to be less...er, tarish."
"It's not a toom-maaar."
"That's not funny!"
"Someone find Leech."
"I'm stuck for suggestions!"
"Tar, that's not funny!"
"Leech!"
The tiny room glowed with the warm yellow light of flickering candles. The smell of burnt oil, wax, and match sulfur created an incense of devotion, which no church could hope to equal. But that's what the room was, a church. A shrine built to a memory, where one could contemplate how to build a life around it in peace. The sacred hymn was a low keening sob, and it echoed in on itself, chasing its ghost around the room.
Skitter rocked back and forth on her knees. She swallowed repeatedly trying to take back in her screams of rage before they passed her lips. Swallowed inside her, the pitiful why me's, and the muttered cruses of a crazy person. There were no tears but the old trails remained, etching a mask of deep inner pain.
Once called Leigh, she had two children, named Eric and Manda, and a husband who loved her despite what she or the children looked like. The neighbors whispered, but it was all right. Inside their house was a world of love, and hate had no place there. But things change, and you can't always fix them. People's hearts hang themselves on new courses, and marriages break without the sound of tinkling glass. It's no one's fault. Things happen.
Welfare can only do so much. There are so many mouths to feed with hands held out, and a pocket can only be so deep. Cracks open, people trip and fall through. No one notices one less hand when so many are clutching at you. No one realizes how hard it gets to keep on living; it's scary when you find your death would be cheaper than one more year of scratching out a life. Pushing through thoughts like that can make a person empty and tired. It takes the fight out of you, and you just don't care. Life is a series of rituals after that. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find shelter in rain. Eat. Sleep. Survive. You stop being a person. You just become a thing that moves on it's own. But you have the rituals. It's what keeps you from slashing your wrists and just stopping it all.
Skitter was a thing, really just an it, and it was a small woman with two wailing sacks of flesh attached to her hips. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find haven in the rain. Find Haven. Survive. Survive. Survive. That's all she had tried to do. Damn the rules. She needed to feed her kids. They cried all the time, bellies so hungry. Little Dice and Jacks, both so tiny. But rules are rules, and screw your rituals. No stealing. No surviving. How dare they demand you do more than survive? Who could live through this?
Than came winter on the streets. Shelters filled up with survivors of personal wars fought on soil closer than home. But there was no room at the inn. Baby Jesus my ass, and Merry Fucking Christmas to you too. Mutie! Mutie! Rat woman and your little ratfink brats, go survive somewhere else. Things happen. No one looks, no one sees, cracks open. People expect so much, but really, life can only offer. After that, it's up to you to do the living.
The keening sound was louder now, and Skitter's rocking harder. Her hair swung over the guttering candles, and her movements put some of the weaker flames out. She couldn't be bothered to relight them. Her mind was too filled with the images of Jacks in her arms. Tiny blue lips pursed as if to kiss. The chattering teeth chattered no more, and her eyes were glassy with icy tears. Winter is a cruel, greedy woman, and she wants everything. There's no surviving when she holds you to her cold breast.
"Skitter? You here?"
Leigh swiped at still dry cheeks and breathed deeply. She flipped a switch deep inside, and a smile played across her features. She pushed aside the curtain that separated her private place from her dwelling, and went to greet her visitor. There were rituals to perform.
Zan's face was red and raw from where they finally peeled her off Tarbaby. A man they called Healer had declared her just fine, and gave her a good scrubbing with a rag probably dirtier than she already was.
"Well, that was fun."
"Shut up, Tar."
"Sheesh. I was only joking, Cal. Relax. You'll pop a vein or something."
Most of the gathered crowd had wandered off to their own lives. As amusing as watching Zan humiliate herself was, there were things that had to be done and lives to get back to living.
"Tar dear," Callisto warned, the dangerous tone creeping back into her voice, "do you really want to annoy me? Do you? I wouldn't if I were you. No, I wouldn't. Go play in sewage."
"You wound me," the youth teased as he back-peddled from the room.
"No, but I can, if you really want me to." She said it so casual and deadpan that Zan wondered if the feral woman was joking or not.
By the look on Tarbaby's face, he was wondering himself. He backed up into Mandrake, who was entering with a pink haired child in toe.
"Watch yourself, boy. You almost stepped on Sarah."
"Sorry, Manny," Tarbaby replied flippantly as he tousled the girl's hair. Glancing back toward Zan, he gave a jaunty wave. "Later."
The wrinkled, angry man, thumped closer to where Zan stood with Callisto. "I heard you almost killed yourself hugging Mr. StickyFingers. What's next? Going to trip and strangle yourself in your shoelaces?"
"Bite me."
"If you insist. Although it will be far more fun for me."
"Mandrake, what do you need?" Callisto broke in. She had no intention of letting this degrade further. The day hadn't gone as planned as is.
The old man frowned; upset by his chance to needle the Havenite was spoiled. "Doll, says there 's been people wandering the tunnels to the east of the community rim. I'm going to check it out and see what's what. I'm taking Sarah with me. She'll help me collect some interesting fungi I've seen growing lately."
"Fine," Callisto agreed. "If you find something of importance, hurry the information back through BrainCell."
"Don't worry." He put emphasis on his ending. "I know how to follow rules." He shot Zan a smug smile that said, 'I've got your number,' before moving away.
"Boy, you people are friendly. Any friendlier and people would flock here as a vacation spot." Zan watched the man move off with the girl in tow. She turned back once, and Zan winced at a strange horn growing out the side of her head.
"Friendlier than the streets," Callisto replied, low and fierce.
Zan rubbed her still pink face. "Right."
The grizzled leader raised an eyebrow. "Why did you get kicked out of Haven? I'm curious."
"You don't know? The way you knew I was coming, I assumed..."
"If I knew, would I ask? Why speak if you haven't a thought between your ears?"
"I broke a rule. I got kicked out." Callisto stared hard at her, and the air seemed to get thick.
'Must be leadership through intimidation around here,' Zan thought. 'Not much different than Haven.'
"If I ask again, you'll find your welcome even more friendly."
Zan growled and crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. I was kicked out for using my mutant abilities on another resident."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"And they kicked you for that?"
"Well, I did probably kill him."
"Probably?"
"Hard to check since his body has left this plane of whatnot or some other," she waved her hand to indicate the room. "Time stuff. I'm not really sure on the specifics. No one's ever bothered to help me figure it out."
Callisto frowned, "I see. So they thought sending you here was a good thing."
"Apparently."
"You don't agree with that?"
Throwing her hands in the air, Zan shook her head, "What do you want me to say? Yay, I'm in the sewers."
"These aren't the sewers. The sewers are above us. This is 'The Alley' and it's a series of abandoned tunnels built by the government."
"Whatever. It's damp, it smells, and there's rats."
"Oh, you're a charmer, you are. You're charming me into wanting to slap you. I can see they must be heartbroken to have lost you. Heartbroken Haven, lost their favorite girl." The words had their intended effect, and Zan shrunk into herself. "You're confined to the tunnels for two weeks. You go up world and you stay there. You do as you're asked, and you don't give me cause to kick your ass. If you can manage that, you can stay. But I may just kick your ass for the fun of it."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Get out of here. Go find someplace to sleep." Zan didn't need to be told twice, and she rushed out of the common area. Heading back the way she came, the feeling of fleeing pressed into her back.
Jet moved through the tunnels with a spring to his step. He twirled his Bo staff, and occasionally stopped to practice a move he'd been taught. "Pow, Pow," he grunted as he thwacked imaginary attackers.
"Friend Jet went to the surface again?" Caliban asked coming out of the darkness ahead. Instantly, the giant found himself alone in the tunnel, Jet having manipulated the surface of the light to camouflage himself from sight.
"Oh, jeez. It's just you, Caliban," Jet said stepping back into view like stepping out of thin air. "Give me a damn heart attack, why don't you?"
"Caliban sorry."
"It's okay. Just make more noise when you come through. Give me warning."
"Caliban thought Friend Jet was a guard. Caliban thought you know when people are coming."
"Yeah, well. I was just..." He floundered for a way to sound less irresponsible.
"Waving your stick around?" Caliban helpfully supplied. He turned and started leading Jet back towards the community.
"Something like that," Jet replied grinning and following. Caliban was all right. A bit slow, but a nice enough man. The two looked odd standing together. Caliban was taller than the average person, and while Jet was no slouch, he seemed small compared to the other; and, their skins, moonlight pale and midnight sky complimented each other in a stark way. "Just remember, my going to the surface is a secret."
"Caliban remembers. Friend Jet has to go to learn how to wave his stick right."
Jet chuckled. "Yeah. No one down here has a clue about offensive strengths besides brawling. I swear, if we ever do get attacked, we're in some serious trouble."
"Morlocks getting attacked?"
"No, no. But if we ever do, is all I meant."
"Don't worry. Caliban save everyone."
Jet laughed, a warm deep sound. "Sure you will. You and me. We'll fight all the villains off and be heroes. Like Skywalker and Han Solo."
"Caliban is Han Solo this time."
"No way, man, I'm Han. All the way."
"Not this time. Caliban was saving the princess today," the gentle man said with pride. His chest puffed out and he looked like the savior of every distressed damsel and treed kitten.
"And what princess were you saving today, Big Guy?"
"Caliban save Heaven Girl," he replied stopping to mime the rescue. He play-acted putting someone against the wall and setting his foot against an imaginary chest. Then he grabbed another invisible body and gave a great yank.
"Someone got stuck to Tarbaby again? He needs to wear a shirt, so people don't trip and stick."
"Caliban save Heaven Girl from Tarbaby."
"Heaven Girl?" Jet looked puzzled as to who that was. His grin was fast and wide, when the answer finally dawned. "Sheesh. I would have loved to see that. Bet she was a wet cat, all hiss and spit."
"Not a wet cat. She was a girl."
"Yeah I know, but I meant..." he trailed off as they reached the community and the topic of discussion came into view. She hadn't seen them yet, so Jet took the opportunity to bow out of sight. The air around him seemed to ripple, but it was his ability to change the surface of the light around him. When the ripple worked itself out, Jet was gone from view. "Don't let on I'm here." He hurriedly whispered to his friend.
Caliban sniffed the air, testing it and turned to look right at the strange youth. "Why Friend Jet hide? Don't you like the Heaven Girl?"
Zan had gone looking for Skitter after her meeting with Callisto. Not finding her old friend in the area she kept, Zan had gone in search of her. Instead of Skitter though, she had found Caliban, who seemed to be talking to himself.
"Um, are you alright?" she asked.
Caliban spun around, his eyes wide, shaking his head. "Caliban fine. Caliban was not talking to himself."
"I didn't say you were, but you did look like you were talking to yourself when I walked up."
He shook his head and repeated, "Caliban was not talking to himself."
"Okay. You weren't talking yourself. Wonderful. Glad we got that out of the way. So, whom were you talking to?"
This was not what he was expecting her to ask, and Caliban found himself at a loss. "Um...Caliban was...er, Caliban was talking to Han Solo." He nodded solemnly as if this explained everything, and the meaning of the universe.
"Han Solo? Riiiight. Do you take medication?"
Jet couldn't help himself. He appeared suddenly bent double laughing, leaning on his staff. Caliban seemed very relieved to see him.
Zan sighed and shook her head. "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Solo." She looked less than pleased that he had been hiding.
She moved to walk away, but Jet sobered and called out, "Wait. Don't leave mad. I didn't mean anything hiding like that."
"Sure. You thought avoiding me was a friendly gesture of welcome." Caliban moved to stand by and watch, his head moving from first one then the other.
"I just was playing." Jet offered, sliding his staff back to its home sheath. "I was going to tug on your hair or something."
"Well, sorry your amusement was ruined. Maybe you can find a baby to kick."
"Ouch. You're in a pissy mood. Get stuck to Tarbaby or something?"
Zan's eyebrows rose into her hairline, and her mouth opened in an O of surprise. She turned and shot a glare at Caliban who promptly looked abashed. She glared again at Jet. "You can be a real jerk." She turned to walk away again, and even shrugged out of Jet's grasp when he grabbed her shoulder.
"Wait. Don't stomp off. Okay. That was a cheap shot. Wait. Come back. Don't leave all mad." His long strides brought him to her side quickly, and he stepped around to stand in her path. "Wait. You haven't told me. How did it go? Are you staying?"
"What do you care?" Zan snapped trying to step around him.
He thwarted her and held her arms. "Would you stop being so angry? Don't be so hard on me."
It may have been the sound of his voice, quiet and warm to her ear. Perhaps it was the feel of someone so close and touching her, which wasn't a regular occurrence. Or it may have been the feel of his warm hands through the itchy sweater. Whatever it was, Zan suddenly found herself very aware of how close he stood to her, and how pleasant it really was. She could see how smooth this odd matte colored skin was, and the pointed tip of his ears, as they peeked out from between strands of long, navy hair.
"See, Heaven Girl likes Han Solo." Caliban announced.
Zan and Jet quickly broke apart. Her cheeks were pink and he himself looked slightly ashamed at being caught doing something. "Sorry, Sorry." Jet mumbled. He looked away, and cleared his throat a couple times.
"Well...I, I've got to go find Skitter. And my backpack has gone missing, so I've got to find that for more clothes."
"Right." Jet agreed, a small smile ghosting his lips, "So I guess that means you're staying?"
Zan stopped and glanced back, "Yeah. Looks like I'm the newest Morlock. Ain't that a kick?" She walked backward a moment regarding the other two, then jogged off down another branch of the tunnels. Jet watched the spot she had disappeared from, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head.
"Caliban thinks Friend Jet likes the Heaven Girl."
"Well, Friend Jet thinks Caliban doesn't know what he's talking about." He strolled off towards the main chambers, a happy whistle floating back to Caliban.
Caliban stood watching the youth walk away. He smiled and made plans all this own. "Caliban is very smart. And Han Solo always loves the princess." Then with a nod, he made his way through the tunnels.
"Very good, Sarah," Mandrake praised the little girl. Truthfully she had given him a moss he already had in his stocks, but it wasn't often a child took interest in anything other than themselves so he encouraged her. Besides, the things he gathered now could ease someone's cough come the winter. With so many, he could never gather enough. That thought made his temper simmer. They had enough people to care for, who came to them all the conventional ways. There wasn't enough room or will for the cast off from the sister community.
"Are you mad at me, Manny?" the child asked fearfully. She had come upon him too quiet for notice and he startled.
"No, sweetheart, just mad at the old bones. I'm not what I used to be." The lie sufficed, and she merrily scampered ahead. He watched the pink hair turn a tunnel and sighed. How could they teach these children to have any pride in themselves at all, if they allowed themselves to be a dump for unwanted from Haven and the ilk? The Morlock community wasn't a halfway house and it certainly wasn't redemption. 'We've come to far,' he mused, 'to be made into a pile of nothing. Too many plans are in play. We're a new civilization. A society not to be bred into meat by careless husbandry.' If the Morlocks were to survive this winter, or any winter afterward, he would have to make them understand this. He would merely have to sacrifice that girl for the lesson.
Author: TangleToy or Tangles
Email: TangleToy@hotmail.com or tangles@subreality.com
Disclaimer: The Marvel Entertainment Group owns the universe I'm playing in. They also own: Callisto, Caliban, BrainCell, and Marrow. There is no copyright infringement intended, and I'm making no money off the creation or distribution of this story. It's all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out. However, Jet, Zan, Skitter, Mandrake, and the Haven setting are mine. They aren't making me any money either. Damn fictives. You feed and cloth them, and they run off and amuse people for free. Do they care that the writer who created them lives on Ramen? Oh no. I don't even get a Christmas card. Ingrates.
Story Notes: This story is part three of a long ass fic that just won't leave me the hell alone. Pity me. Someone should since my muse points and laughs hysterically. This story is a sequel to another story I wrote. Confused? Up your dosage...no kidding. Stop in at my site and check out the rest of the series. http://www.crosswinds.net/~tangletoy Rated PG17 for horrible language. My mother won't even kiss me.
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank my beta readers: Carma Sari, Novadear, Crantz, and Foe without whom coherency could not be achieved. Many thanks, and sloppy kisses to everyone. No MSTings or Pop Ups please. If you'd like to archive this piece, let me know so I can bookmark ya. Feedback can be sent to tangles@subreality.com Flamers will be hosed down and fed to rabid bampfs. Special hugs to Winter, Manda, and the folks in #novasolace You all make me smile, and that makes writing this much more fun. And now everyone knows whom to blame. ;)
Summary: Zan is welcomed to the Morlocks, or not.
Flotsam and Jetsam Part Three
By TangleToy
"Um, hi." Zan waved her fingertips in the direction of the massive group, her heart hammering like steel on an anvil. She hated being new all over again, hated it more than she could express. It was worse now because they obviously knew she had been coming. They had an advantage, which irked her to no end. Hawk among the sparrows; they looked at her with cautious eyes.
"Found yourself kicked out of Haven, did you?" Mandrake barked, his tone carrying more than a vague disdain. "So what did you do, hmm? Not wipe your feet on the welcome mat?" There were some chuckles among the crowd, but they were silenced almost immediately by the sound of Callisto clearing her throat. There was a warning in that sound, and a danger telegraphed to those who needed it.
"I suggest, old man," Callisto poured out in a voice like honey through gravel, "you should back down. Yes? Yes. I've already spoken on this, I have." Her dark eyes moved over the other Morlocks and Zan could sense some sort of will imposed strongly. Feet shuffled and eyes turned away from their leader's stare. It was the look of a lead bitch to a pack of wolves, and they could not shake off her stare.
'That must be Callisto,' Zan thought. The woman's ragged appearance reminded her of Skitter's frayed one. Like a cloth left too long in the wind. They looked so similar that Zan began studying the faces around her to see if it was something created like Jet's pointed ears. Would she too me masked as a Morlock?
A tall, gaunt giant stood behind Callisto grinning. His pale moon skin seemed to give off it's own light. 'And that should be Caliban.' She smiled at him, and was rewarded with the closest shiver of thrill a man can do without a dog's tail. He was gargoyled faced, but one sensed that it to was a mask, and the being beneath was far more beautiful.
The sound of flowing water grew stronger and heads turned to the ceiling. Rain was making its way underground. It would get very cold in the tunnels soon. Some less interested moved out of the meeting junction, and where they stood chilled dampness hurried in to fill the void. The coolness spread until it was a presence that reached out and touched the sixteen-year-old's cheek, making Zan shudder. Cold was an enemy. So was starvation and greed.
She shifted, uncomfortable in the sweater Em had given her. It was heavy from being damp, and the material felt greasy and itchy. The backpack, carrying her life from Haven, cut into her shoulders and ground against her bones. If it were possible to feel more cold, wet, and miserable, Zan didn't know how to achieve it. Her eyelids went half-mast, and she sighed deeply. 'Hate this. Hate this. Hate this.' No one was talking. They were waiting and staring, measuring her like a gem with a possible flaw. It made her want to scream, to throw up her hands and shout, "Damnit what do you want from me?" Or shatter to pieces.
The touch at her elbow startled her, and she looked into the face of a woman much like Em. Wiry gray hair topped a face soft and warm. It confused her for a moment, but then the confusion slipped away, as did other minor worries like water drained from a cup. Instead, she felt warmth in her heart, and calmness. "Who are you?" she whispered. The room had seemed to melt away, leaving her and the old woman locked in a gaze. It was so familiar and cozy in the fuzzy state. She didn't want to leave it. Her heart ached for it, and she named the moment with her own mothers face.
"My name is Ana Lee," the woman replied in the same whisper. Barely touches of breath were her words, but so heavy in the ears.
"I'm Alexzandra."
The woman smiled kindly as she stepped away, "I know. Everything will be okay." The room rushed back to them, but it wasn't half as bothersome now. The woman eased the rusk sack from her shoulders and dropped it were Zan could still see it.
"Thank you, but unnecessary," Callisto told the older Morlock. "She'll make do, like the rest of us. We all manage, or we go back top side." Her lips set themselves in a thin line as she tried to decide how best to approach this. She didn't like that her people were objecting to a newcomer. An outcast was an outcast. No one was better than any other here. Except maybe herself, but then someone had to be a leader with Xavier's lap dog gone. Her fingers drummed along her hips, and she settled on bluntness for now. It had always worked before, and she was just damn good at it. Diplomacy was for fools and perfumed hands. "You're welcome to stay, but Haven is not welcome among the Morlocks. Say you're from Haven and we've no use for you here. No bed for you."
"But, I thought?" Zan looked about confused, until Jet's words came back to her. 'You're not a Morlock until you can think like one.' Why was everyone treating her like a walking mistake? "Well hell. Screw it then," Zan sputtered and turned to leave. Was she ever going to be truly welcome anywhere? She spun and walked face first into the chest of someone taller than her and, when she tried to pull back, found she couldn't. "What the fuck?"
"Ow," the chest rumbled with the words, and Zan's cheek peeled away to bounce back stuck again. "No need to throw yourself at me. I'm not that hard up for dates yet. Oh, wait. Yes I am. Oooh baby!"
2
"Someone peel her off Tarbaby, please?" Laughter broke out behind her. They were laughing. At her. It was salt to a gut wound.
'Riiiight. Peel me off,' Zan thought and struggled to free herself. The more she struggled though, the more she stuck and the harder people laughed. It was like being caught on flypaper only worse, because she wasn't a fly and everyone was watching. "Let go, damn it!" She was undulating with his belly laughs.
"Would if I could, sweetheart," the sticky youth replied chuckling. "You don't think I enjoy having you try to knee me and stick, do you? And say, mind removing your thumb from my eye? I'd sorta like to be able to see later."
Hands were all over her like flesh colored spiders, and Zan's agitation grew to a fever pitch as they pulled. Her eyes pricked and her chest felt tight. A calm tried to creep over her, but knowing where it came from, she pushed it away and followed with a vicious elbow that was pulled into being a stomach jab. An old woman cried out, and Tarbaby staggered back sticking to the wall behind him. "Oof!"
"She got Ana! Someone look at her eye."
"Leave her stuck, that'd teach her."
"You'd think living Upworld would have given her manners."
"That tickles! Get your hand away from there."
"You're not helping Tar! Stop laughing and try to be less...er, tarish."
"It's not a toom-maaar."
"That's not funny!"
"Someone find Leech."
"I'm stuck for suggestions!"
"Tar, that's not funny!"
"Leech!"
The tiny room glowed with the warm yellow light of flickering candles. The smell of burnt oil, wax, and match sulfur created an incense of devotion, which no church could hope to equal. But that's what the room was, a church. A shrine built to a memory, where one could contemplate how to build a life around it in peace. The sacred hymn was a low keening sob, and it echoed in on itself, chasing its ghost around the room.
Skitter rocked back and forth on her knees. She swallowed repeatedly trying to take back in her screams of rage before they passed her lips. Swallowed inside her, the pitiful why me's, and the muttered cruses of a crazy person. There were no tears but the old trails remained, etching a mask of deep inner pain.
Once called Leigh, she had two children, named Eric and Manda, and a husband who loved her despite what she or the children looked like. The neighbors whispered, but it was all right. Inside their house was a world of love, and hate had no place there. But things change, and you can't always fix them. People's hearts hang themselves on new courses, and marriages break without the sound of tinkling glass. It's no one's fault. Things happen.
Welfare can only do so much. There are so many mouths to feed with hands held out, and a pocket can only be so deep. Cracks open, people trip and fall through. No one notices one less hand when so many are clutching at you. No one realizes how hard it gets to keep on living; it's scary when you find your death would be cheaper than one more year of scratching out a life. Pushing through thoughts like that can make a person empty and tired. It takes the fight out of you, and you just don't care. Life is a series of rituals after that. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find shelter in rain. Eat. Sleep. Survive. You stop being a person. You just become a thing that moves on it's own. But you have the rituals. It's what keeps you from slashing your wrists and just stopping it all.
Skitter was a thing, really just an it, and it was a small woman with two wailing sacks of flesh attached to her hips. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find haven in the rain. Find Haven. Survive. Survive. Survive. That's all she had tried to do. Damn the rules. She needed to feed her kids. They cried all the time, bellies so hungry. Little Dice and Jacks, both so tiny. But rules are rules, and screw your rituals. No stealing. No surviving. How dare they demand you do more than survive? Who could live through this?
Than came winter on the streets. Shelters filled up with survivors of personal wars fought on soil closer than home. But there was no room at the inn. Baby Jesus my ass, and Merry Fucking Christmas to you too. Mutie! Mutie! Rat woman and your little ratfink brats, go survive somewhere else. Things happen. No one looks, no one sees, cracks open. People expect so much, but really, life can only offer. After that, it's up to you to do the living.
The keening sound was louder now, and Skitter's rocking harder. Her hair swung over the guttering candles, and her movements put some of the weaker flames out. She couldn't be bothered to relight them. Her mind was too filled with the images of Jacks in her arms. Tiny blue lips pursed as if to kiss. The chattering teeth chattered no more, and her eyes were glassy with icy tears. Winter is a cruel, greedy woman, and she wants everything. There's no surviving when she holds you to her cold breast.
"Skitter? You here?"
Leigh swiped at still dry cheeks and breathed deeply. She flipped a switch deep inside, and a smile played across her features. She pushed aside the curtain that separated her private place from her dwelling, and went to greet her visitor. There were rituals to perform.
Zan's face was red and raw from where they finally peeled her off Tarbaby. A man they called Healer had declared her just fine, and gave her a good scrubbing with a rag probably dirtier than she already was.
"Well, that was fun."
"Shut up, Tar."
"Sheesh. I was only joking, Cal. Relax. You'll pop a vein or something."
Most of the gathered crowd had wandered off to their own lives. As amusing as watching Zan humiliate herself was, there were things that had to be done and lives to get back to living.
"Tar dear," Callisto warned, the dangerous tone creeping back into her voice, "do you really want to annoy me? Do you? I wouldn't if I were you. No, I wouldn't. Go play in sewage."
"You wound me," the youth teased as he back-peddled from the room.
"No, but I can, if you really want me to." She said it so casual and deadpan that Zan wondered if the feral woman was joking or not.
By the look on Tarbaby's face, he was wondering himself. He backed up into Mandrake, who was entering with a pink haired child in toe.
"Watch yourself, boy. You almost stepped on Sarah."
"Sorry, Manny," Tarbaby replied flippantly as he tousled the girl's hair. Glancing back toward Zan, he gave a jaunty wave. "Later."
The wrinkled, angry man, thumped closer to where Zan stood with Callisto. "I heard you almost killed yourself hugging Mr. StickyFingers. What's next? Going to trip and strangle yourself in your shoelaces?"
"Bite me."
"If you insist. Although it will be far more fun for me."
"Mandrake, what do you need?" Callisto broke in. She had no intention of letting this degrade further. The day hadn't gone as planned as is.
The old man frowned; upset by his chance to needle the Havenite was spoiled. "Doll, says there 's been people wandering the tunnels to the east of the community rim. I'm going to check it out and see what's what. I'm taking Sarah with me. She'll help me collect some interesting fungi I've seen growing lately."
"Fine," Callisto agreed. "If you find something of importance, hurry the information back through BrainCell."
"Don't worry." He put emphasis on his ending. "I know how to follow rules." He shot Zan a smug smile that said, 'I've got your number,' before moving away.
"Boy, you people are friendly. Any friendlier and people would flock here as a vacation spot." Zan watched the man move off with the girl in tow. She turned back once, and Zan winced at a strange horn growing out the side of her head.
"Friendlier than the streets," Callisto replied, low and fierce.
Zan rubbed her still pink face. "Right."
The grizzled leader raised an eyebrow. "Why did you get kicked out of Haven? I'm curious."
"You don't know? The way you knew I was coming, I assumed..."
"If I knew, would I ask? Why speak if you haven't a thought between your ears?"
"I broke a rule. I got kicked out." Callisto stared hard at her, and the air seemed to get thick.
'Must be leadership through intimidation around here,' Zan thought. 'Not much different than Haven.'
"If I ask again, you'll find your welcome even more friendly."
Zan growled and crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. I was kicked out for using my mutant abilities on another resident."
"That's it?"
"Yep."
"And they kicked you for that?"
"Well, I did probably kill him."
"Probably?"
"Hard to check since his body has left this plane of whatnot or some other," she waved her hand to indicate the room. "Time stuff. I'm not really sure on the specifics. No one's ever bothered to help me figure it out."
Callisto frowned, "I see. So they thought sending you here was a good thing."
"Apparently."
"You don't agree with that?"
Throwing her hands in the air, Zan shook her head, "What do you want me to say? Yay, I'm in the sewers."
"These aren't the sewers. The sewers are above us. This is 'The Alley' and it's a series of abandoned tunnels built by the government."
"Whatever. It's damp, it smells, and there's rats."
"Oh, you're a charmer, you are. You're charming me into wanting to slap you. I can see they must be heartbroken to have lost you. Heartbroken Haven, lost their favorite girl." The words had their intended effect, and Zan shrunk into herself. "You're confined to the tunnels for two weeks. You go up world and you stay there. You do as you're asked, and you don't give me cause to kick your ass. If you can manage that, you can stay. But I may just kick your ass for the fun of it."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Get out of here. Go find someplace to sleep." Zan didn't need to be told twice, and she rushed out of the common area. Heading back the way she came, the feeling of fleeing pressed into her back.
Jet moved through the tunnels with a spring to his step. He twirled his Bo staff, and occasionally stopped to practice a move he'd been taught. "Pow, Pow," he grunted as he thwacked imaginary attackers.
"Friend Jet went to the surface again?" Caliban asked coming out of the darkness ahead. Instantly, the giant found himself alone in the tunnel, Jet having manipulated the surface of the light to camouflage himself from sight.
"Oh, jeez. It's just you, Caliban," Jet said stepping back into view like stepping out of thin air. "Give me a damn heart attack, why don't you?"
"Caliban sorry."
"It's okay. Just make more noise when you come through. Give me warning."
"Caliban thought Friend Jet was a guard. Caliban thought you know when people are coming."
"Yeah, well. I was just..." He floundered for a way to sound less irresponsible.
"Waving your stick around?" Caliban helpfully supplied. He turned and started leading Jet back towards the community.
"Something like that," Jet replied grinning and following. Caliban was all right. A bit slow, but a nice enough man. The two looked odd standing together. Caliban was taller than the average person, and while Jet was no slouch, he seemed small compared to the other; and, their skins, moonlight pale and midnight sky complimented each other in a stark way. "Just remember, my going to the surface is a secret."
"Caliban remembers. Friend Jet has to go to learn how to wave his stick right."
Jet chuckled. "Yeah. No one down here has a clue about offensive strengths besides brawling. I swear, if we ever do get attacked, we're in some serious trouble."
"Morlocks getting attacked?"
"No, no. But if we ever do, is all I meant."
"Don't worry. Caliban save everyone."
Jet laughed, a warm deep sound. "Sure you will. You and me. We'll fight all the villains off and be heroes. Like Skywalker and Han Solo."
"Caliban is Han Solo this time."
"No way, man, I'm Han. All the way."
"Not this time. Caliban was saving the princess today," the gentle man said with pride. His chest puffed out and he looked like the savior of every distressed damsel and treed kitten.
"And what princess were you saving today, Big Guy?"
"Caliban save Heaven Girl," he replied stopping to mime the rescue. He play-acted putting someone against the wall and setting his foot against an imaginary chest. Then he grabbed another invisible body and gave a great yank.
"Someone got stuck to Tarbaby again? He needs to wear a shirt, so people don't trip and stick."
"Caliban save Heaven Girl from Tarbaby."
"Heaven Girl?" Jet looked puzzled as to who that was. His grin was fast and wide, when the answer finally dawned. "Sheesh. I would have loved to see that. Bet she was a wet cat, all hiss and spit."
"Not a wet cat. She was a girl."
"Yeah I know, but I meant..." he trailed off as they reached the community and the topic of discussion came into view. She hadn't seen them yet, so Jet took the opportunity to bow out of sight. The air around him seemed to ripple, but it was his ability to change the surface of the light around him. When the ripple worked itself out, Jet was gone from view. "Don't let on I'm here." He hurriedly whispered to his friend.
Caliban sniffed the air, testing it and turned to look right at the strange youth. "Why Friend Jet hide? Don't you like the Heaven Girl?"
Zan had gone looking for Skitter after her meeting with Callisto. Not finding her old friend in the area she kept, Zan had gone in search of her. Instead of Skitter though, she had found Caliban, who seemed to be talking to himself.
"Um, are you alright?" she asked.
Caliban spun around, his eyes wide, shaking his head. "Caliban fine. Caliban was not talking to himself."
"I didn't say you were, but you did look like you were talking to yourself when I walked up."
He shook his head and repeated, "Caliban was not talking to himself."
"Okay. You weren't talking yourself. Wonderful. Glad we got that out of the way. So, whom were you talking to?"
This was not what he was expecting her to ask, and Caliban found himself at a loss. "Um...Caliban was...er, Caliban was talking to Han Solo." He nodded solemnly as if this explained everything, and the meaning of the universe.
"Han Solo? Riiiight. Do you take medication?"
Jet couldn't help himself. He appeared suddenly bent double laughing, leaning on his staff. Caliban seemed very relieved to see him.
Zan sighed and shook her head. "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Solo." She looked less than pleased that he had been hiding.
She moved to walk away, but Jet sobered and called out, "Wait. Don't leave mad. I didn't mean anything hiding like that."
"Sure. You thought avoiding me was a friendly gesture of welcome." Caliban moved to stand by and watch, his head moving from first one then the other.
"I just was playing." Jet offered, sliding his staff back to its home sheath. "I was going to tug on your hair or something."
"Well, sorry your amusement was ruined. Maybe you can find a baby to kick."
"Ouch. You're in a pissy mood. Get stuck to Tarbaby or something?"
Zan's eyebrows rose into her hairline, and her mouth opened in an O of surprise. She turned and shot a glare at Caliban who promptly looked abashed. She glared again at Jet. "You can be a real jerk." She turned to walk away again, and even shrugged out of Jet's grasp when he grabbed her shoulder.
"Wait. Don't stomp off. Okay. That was a cheap shot. Wait. Come back. Don't leave all mad." His long strides brought him to her side quickly, and he stepped around to stand in her path. "Wait. You haven't told me. How did it go? Are you staying?"
"What do you care?" Zan snapped trying to step around him.
He thwarted her and held her arms. "Would you stop being so angry? Don't be so hard on me."
It may have been the sound of his voice, quiet and warm to her ear. Perhaps it was the feel of someone so close and touching her, which wasn't a regular occurrence. Or it may have been the feel of his warm hands through the itchy sweater. Whatever it was, Zan suddenly found herself very aware of how close he stood to her, and how pleasant it really was. She could see how smooth this odd matte colored skin was, and the pointed tip of his ears, as they peeked out from between strands of long, navy hair.
"See, Heaven Girl likes Han Solo." Caliban announced.
Zan and Jet quickly broke apart. Her cheeks were pink and he himself looked slightly ashamed at being caught doing something. "Sorry, Sorry." Jet mumbled. He looked away, and cleared his throat a couple times.
"Well...I, I've got to go find Skitter. And my backpack has gone missing, so I've got to find that for more clothes."
"Right." Jet agreed, a small smile ghosting his lips, "So I guess that means you're staying?"
Zan stopped and glanced back, "Yeah. Looks like I'm the newest Morlock. Ain't that a kick?" She walked backward a moment regarding the other two, then jogged off down another branch of the tunnels. Jet watched the spot she had disappeared from, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head.
"Caliban thinks Friend Jet likes the Heaven Girl."
"Well, Friend Jet thinks Caliban doesn't know what he's talking about." He strolled off towards the main chambers, a happy whistle floating back to Caliban.
Caliban stood watching the youth walk away. He smiled and made plans all this own. "Caliban is very smart. And Han Solo always loves the princess." Then with a nod, he made his way through the tunnels.
"Very good, Sarah," Mandrake praised the little girl. Truthfully she had given him a moss he already had in his stocks, but it wasn't often a child took interest in anything other than themselves so he encouraged her. Besides, the things he gathered now could ease someone's cough come the winter. With so many, he could never gather enough. That thought made his temper simmer. They had enough people to care for, who came to them all the conventional ways. There wasn't enough room or will for the cast off from the sister community.
"Are you mad at me, Manny?" the child asked fearfully. She had come upon him too quiet for notice and he startled.
"No, sweetheart, just mad at the old bones. I'm not what I used to be." The lie sufficed, and she merrily scampered ahead. He watched the pink hair turn a tunnel and sighed. How could they teach these children to have any pride in themselves at all, if they allowed themselves to be a dump for unwanted from Haven and the ilk? The Morlock community wasn't a halfway house and it certainly wasn't redemption. 'We've come to far,' he mused, 'to be made into a pile of nothing. Too many plans are in play. We're a new civilization. A society not to be bred into meat by careless husbandry.' If the Morlocks were to survive this winter, or any winter afterward, he would have to make them understand this. He would merely have to sacrifice that girl for the lesson.