These characters are from the sweat-beetled brow of Craig Bartlett... lucky stiff.
Rated T cause I felt like it, and some characters might end up nude later. We'll see...
Enjoy.
Necropolitain Writers Notes - Chapters 1-3
Hey all, thanks for reading Necropolitan I hope you're enjoying it. Arnold and Helga dealt with personal loss in different ways, and show the polar opposites in their coping mechanisms. If you watch carefully in several episodes, Arnold demonstrates that while he's good at dealing with other peoples problems, he seldom seems to take his own advise, and really wasn't prepared for the inevitable deaths of his grand parents. Now he and Helga both are entering adulthood with clean slates in Hillwood, she from a life waway and he with his past pretty much erased.
For those of you that are keeping track of such things, this story was heavily influenced by a video game called "Silent Hill" and it's sequel "Silent Hill 2". These games are my latest fascination, due to the weird, spooky air to it and the ghastly inhuman threats within the haunted seaside resort town of Silent Hill. That's why the first chapter was structured as it was, to try and get the same creepy feeling. But the wierdness has only just begun... I initially posted this in mid 2003, but pulled it to clean it up and rethink a few parts of it. All in all, I think it still holds up pretty well.
While I hadn't really planned on doing anything with this set up beyond Necropolitan, I'm having a lot of fun writing these characters. You'll shortly be introduced to the power trio of the high school basketball team, Arnold, Stinky and Sid. These three are tight friends, and as you read on I'll give hints as to what's become of a lot of the other characters as time has passed. All I ask is that you stick with the story to the very end, because some things will happen in the next three chapters that I KNOW will tick off some fans, but have faith... everything works out fine in the end.
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Arnold awoke about 2:00 AM in Phoebe's bedroom, not an all together new experience for him. It had been six months since the last time... as before, he awoke on his side, arms and body curled around the small, delicate angel whose futan he shared. As before, she fit within the curve of his body to perfection, her soft, tiny hands raised to grasp his in slumber.
Her breathing an intoxicating purr, he couldn't help but draw in his limbs slowly to enjoy the feeling of so much of her against so much of him. She stirred only slightly, and without waking, kissed his hand. So beautiful like this, she was enjoying a peace that she only derived from his presence. But this night, a new twist was added. Behind him, he heard the soft snores of Helga G. Pataki, who this night also shared Phoebe's futan.
With the patient control of a ninja, Arnold slowly untangle himself from the delicious woman beside him and rose from the bedding without rousing either partner. Spectral, he moved from the bedroom and out into the kitchen. His sleep patterns had gone all to hell since the deaths of his grandparents, the last of his known family, save for his cousin Arnie and his extended family.
Small naps and irregular periods of waking filled his days, for grief has a timeless quality that shows flagrant disregard for the sun's movements. A quick check of the fridge revealed various juices, milk and beer for Helga's anticipated visits. However tempting the drafts were a nagging voice within guided his hand to the orange juice pitcher, but in a show of machismo, he vowed to drink it all straight from the container.
By now, nothing remained of his past, the errant flames from Grandma's hippie candles had no doubt reduced the boarding house to rumor, as the relentless snow would smother all traces of the husk til the thaw. Gone... but not forgotten. He felt a twinge of regret as now he realized that he should have embraced the love freely offered by the two women in his life, rather than cloister with the dead in a fading local. Alone, he fell in on himself and dropped into deep despair over his loss, instead of serving the memory of his family with pride.
OJ in hand, he opened the blinds on the bay window and looked out into the blizzarded night. The snow raged madly in the blue-white arc of the street lights, like a billion crytaline insects, their lifespan as long as needed to reach the earth. A cold dead city, he mused, but like maggots, we wriggle and feed beneath your white skin, as with death always comes new life.
Wiping the stray bits of orange pulp from his lips, Arnold considered the new life sprung from the old. The death of Helga's father had taken her from him, yet given her back to him stronger and more alive than had the man lived. In her absence, he and Phoebe had practiced a type of necropathy with Helga through their letters; the very life drained from her by Big Bob's passing, she was all but dead when they waved goodbye at the airport.
Slowly over time, their scriptic Ouija board bore fruit as she slowly rose anew from her ashes. Likewise, he and Phoebe had become so engrossed in Helga's rebirth, they all but faded from view to the people around them; they lived in this world, but not of the world. Their reports, her responses, that became their exitance. And as the last living man and woman on Earth, they naturally fell into each others arms.
Phoebe had always been in need of a strong guiding hand in her relationships, as while brilliant with facts and hard data, she was awkward and ill at ease with the subtle subjective nature of dealing with people. Helga had always been the id of their pairing, she the ego. With Helga gone, she'd slowly looked to Arnold for that strength, and without understanding why, he grew to need her also. He was a romantic of the highest order, thoughtful, graceful, needful of love in exchange for the love he so desperately needed to give.
As Helga's letters carried a weight limit on affection, a more immediate repository became needed, in the form of one Phoebe Heyerdahl. Neither remembered the moment of realization of their feelings, nor the consummation of their love, but when done, both felt as if it had always been this way. Arnold and Phoebe, always and forever... They were insatiable, ravenous, gluttonous as they feasted on each others love, the subject of Helga always with then, but never openly acknowlegded lest they wake from this dream they shared.
Juice pitcher drained, Arnold laid back on the couch and scrutinized the ceiling as he thought. He felt... what for Helga exactly? Love? Yes, but was it equal to his feelings for Phoebe? Over the years, he'd glimpsed Helga's true feelings for him through her correspondence, and began to love the idea of loving her. But love of the unseen, this love by proxy was a tricky thing. It was oh so easy to be suave and cool when you had several days to consider your words and actions, and while they seemed a perfect match at the speed of the US Postal Service, would they be so good a pairing face to face.
It was so easy to love Phoebe, but something had told them both that they should set their feelings aside for Helga's love. They happily agreed that she and Arnold were the perfect match and spent the rest of their days desperately trying to convince themselves of it...
Arnold would give up Phoebe... for Helga.
Phoebe would give up Arnold... for Helga.
They lied to each other and lied to themselves, and worst of all, lied to Helga. Both assured her that the perfect mate, the man of her dreams awaited her in Hillwood. Arnold sighed as he stood to return to bed. Outside, the ice flies continued their manic dance in the street lights, the wind adding a sense of violent lust to this mating ritual.
Returning to the bedroom, his two companions showed no awareness of his leaving, but had instead moved to compensate for the heat loss his absence had brought. Helga had rolled over into the center of the bedding and now rested soundly in the loving embrace of Phoebe, a vaguely erotic image to be sure. Grinning at the new pairing, he stealthily resumed a place under the covers in Helga's old spot.
How fitting that she had once again come between he and Phoebe...
With the gentle prompting of the grey light leaking into the room through the blinds, Phoebe awoke at about 8:30 AM. Groggily, she sat up and cast a glance over at her bed mates, surprised to find that some manner of Chinese fire drill had occurred during the night. Helga, now in the center of the bed between she and Arnold, seemed reluctant to relinquish her grip on the little woman, and it took some amount of squirming to slip from her grasp without waking her.
Standing, she looked about the room for her pants, but decided to shower up instead. One last look over to Arnold, sleeping with his back to Helga. Last night... She'd awakened at midnight to find him wrapped around her, so good... so right, and yet by agreement, not to be. Finding herself in his arms again was like a dream. Softly, she moved to the head of the futan to gently run her fingers through his hair. A kiss to his cheek and she was off to shower.
As a sign of her Japanese heritage, she preferred her showers scolding hot, as did Arnold, incidentally. For a time she just slowly turned in the steaming spray, letting the heat rush over her as washing turned to wishing. Arnold had often shared this space with her more than a few times and she reveled in the memories of his careful attentions. Their shared showers were not mere erotic play, but rather a cherished shared time together. All his energies were actually spent in cleaning, not horseplay, her favorite moments being the thorough shampoos she received at his hands. That was their relationship in a nutshell; erotic, but not wanton. Little of their time together was spent in actual sex, but every moment was thick with a delicious, sensual undercurrent. Everything Arnold did with her seemed to have a breathless sensual quality to it, be it doing the dishes to just watching TV together.
But she was hesitant to truly enjoy his proximity now that Helga had returned. How could she stand in the way of the rightness of Arnold and Helga? She'd loved him since preschool, for as long as THEY'D been friends as a matter of fact. It hadn't occurred to her before, but their fates had always been intertwined. Helga and Phoebe's unbreakable friendship, Helga's manic, obsessive fascination with Arnold, Phoebe's tacit support of this mania over the years, and Phoebe constantly being drawn back into Arnold's orbit through Gerald or Helga. The three of them, a braided moebius strip. Forever weaving back and forth across each other. Perhaps it was time to cut the strip... Perhaps she should gracefully step aside and let their love take hold. As much as she loved Arnold, she loved Helga even more, and it was time that she got a little happiness in her life.
Showered and dressed, she gave thought to her guests. Breakfast might be in order, but given what a rough day the two of them had previously, they might stay in bed quite a bit longer. In bed... together.
She sighed and tried to convince herself it was for the best.
Helga opened her eyes, trapped in that Buddha moment in waking where she was aware of nothing. Who, where, or even what she was. She merely was...
Then, in a languid, leisurely pace, her identity began to slowly reassert itself. After a moment, she was again fully aware of everything. Looking over her shoulder at the soft shape of Arnold, she smiled to herself. Why must three people so close to each other spend so much of their energies deceiving each other? She loved him, but knew she shouldn't.
Seeing Arnold and Phoebe together brought the last three years into sharp focus. She had clung to a school girl crush, while Arnold had fallen in love with a person that existed nowhere but in his head. She could never truly be the woman in his mind's eye, this madonna in tight jeans, this flawless phantom that haunted him. His true love had been by his side all this time, though neither he nor Phoebe seemed to be ready to accept this fact.
Slipping out of bed, she collected herself and retreated to the bathroom for a cleanup. Showered, she realized that she had no toiletries and was loathe to use Phoebe's without asking. Well, maybe a bit of mouthwash would be alright. Dressed again, she wandered out to find Phoebe looking out the big bay window at the relentless blizzard. Seeing Helga, Phoebe sprang to life, "Morning! Up for some breakfast?" she grinned.
Walking up behind her little friend, Helga slowly snaked her arms around Phoebe's waist and pulled her back as together they slid back onto the arm of the couch. Resting her head on her shoulder, they both looked out at the raging storm as Helga whispered, "I think we need to talk first..."
To Be Continued
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