three days

ventilate

The domes of the Equivicol shone brightly against the noonday light, a glimmering beacon of stability snuggled into the horizon between brothels and murder tents. From somewhere below were the chants of the Paige Guard as they ran their patrols, the sound of stun sticks and children echoing through the alleyways up to his open window.
It had been three days since he had arrived in West Adria. Three days since he had last seen Tethriel carried off by the Seeker mobs. He still wondered if even now the poor boy sat wasting in one of their cells, awaiting whatever tortures the masses have clung to in the face of the Magnates subjugation. The boy had been an asset, that was never in doubt. But he was a casualty that had been foreseen and almost welcomed as the last days had come ever closer. Better to perish now than to witness the horrors of the remaking of the world.
The small room was equipped only with the necessities, both governmental and personal. A bed, a table, one chair, and of course the prerequisite camera and vid feed. A reporter droned in the background, singing the glories of the Magnate and his recent administrative visit to the Cormanian Boundary to deal with the Nomad issue. The roar of the supplicant crowd almost completely drowned out the low howl of the incoming shells in the background. Somewhere overhead an airship announced another victory in Irktuska, the quiet calamity of the Magnate’s voice followed, thanking his constituents for the opportunity to serve them in this glorious cause.
He went back to the window and sat at the table, gazing at the dome, and the sea beyond. The night before he had ordered a bottle of spirits and had drank most of it. He poured the last draught in his glass and swallowed it in one drink. He wondered what she would think if she was here, if she could share in his liquid banquet of discontent. She would probably smile and finger the trigger of her gun, thinking fondly of the days gone by when they drank to celebrate, not to grieve. He felt the hilt of the knife to his side, concealed by a worn cotton cloth that hung from his waist. It wouldn’t surprise him if she were there somewhere, walking the alleys below, stalking him, waiting for him.
Loudly, the vid screen beeped, an incoming message already displaying on the silver-blue screen.
WE HAVE THE BOOK. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME NOW. PROCEED AS INSTRUCTED. MORE TO FOLLOW.
Smiling, he set down the glass. At least Ariel was still alive, still wandering the wastes to the west. It had been two years since he had seen her face, these messages his only correspondence. No hello, no how’s it going, always the plan. She did tell in detail of her detainment in the northern tower about 4 months ago, told of Michael’s warning to him. That was the longest, still only about the length of a paragraph. Jonas was with her though, the witless fool. He wonders if Jonas still knows nothing of the plan, nothing of their true purpose. The knife whistled at his side, as if tuning in to his thoughts.
The bells of the Equivicol marked midday, the hollow sound bouncing off the arcology walls into his open window. Beyond the transparent wall another airship, one of the military cruisers, opened fire into the open sea causing a ripple of fire and smoke. From below the water a black shape emerged and the airship fired again, this time causing an explosion that eclipsed the black shape entirely, and then it was gone. The airship made an exaggerated figure eight and was joined by another before both flying off into the western sky.
Another victory for the Commonwealth. Another step on the road to the end.
He hadn’t packed that much, the sum of his belongings arranged neatly on the unused bed. A change of clothes, an automatic pistol, a black box to protect the ammunition, and a satchel overflowing with yellowing parchment. He walked to them now and gathered them up in the rust colored satchel that hung from his shoulder to his waist. In the corner of the room a rat smiled up at him before making its way under the pale green carpet to its fabulous subterranean home. There were still some creatures that thrived in this world, and that thought lingered in him as he opened the door to the fermented hallway that had welcomed him three days before. Three days from now the hallway would more than likely not be there anymore, and that thought, more than anything else, was the one that made him smile.

thirty and four

ventilate

'i assure you, sir, the offices are quite busy this season, as you may well assume. the presence may not be available for weeks, even months.' the paige's voice trembled as he spoke, the wavering sounds echoed by clumsy footsteps on ages old brittle tile. ' i have strict orders, sir, i hope you know. i - i can't let you pass without the proper paperwork.'

jason paid the boy no mind, his sights instead favoring the ornately carved golden doors at the end of the immense seeming hallway. the enormity of the gallery, as is every other in the labyrinthine passages of the complex, was an illusion laid out by some long forgotten architect, buried by centuries and holy conspiracy. in actuality, it was a mere hundred steps, maybe less. the distance, and the appearance thereof, were not important. in this world the numbers and meters of men were as uncertain as mortality, as irregular as the far-flung home of a spattered drop of blood. time had taken its rightful throne over the rebellious nature of space and under its rule all the integral constants had become warped and malleable. and then there was the deception, and inherent inaction, that the grigori had propogated, but that is another story.

the paige, nevertheless, musters the last of his loyalty and steps in front a mere ten paces away from the door. 'i am afraid, sir, that this as far as you shall go.' from his right side, jason draws something that could be a blade, a revolver or even a stun stick. to a killers eye it could be many different things, but in truth the end result is all that really matters.

there was a flash of light, a smell of lillies, then nothing. as the body sank to the floor the paige let out one last sigh, as if contented by a tall glass of water, and then was blissfully silent.

jason opened the doors.

polar bears made sense to me

breathe in

in the event that i was wronged....he deals...he does....and i have fucking photos


in the event the he was wronged.... you need to pick them better



nebulize

garbage - why do you love me

i think i fell in a bed of roses

ventilate

the red light pulsed a silent heartbeat outside the window, a neon 'u' screaming its death song among the joy of the other silently buzzing words and pictures that lined the avenue. he smiled, and continued to put his pants on, one leg at a time.

his thoughts went over the past few days, the past few years. he saw her and him and we and she and he and almost christ. almost.

a roach traced its way along the floorboards, leaving cryptograms of footprints in the ages old dust. she stirred, her breathing a clockwork of wheezes and sighs. he slowly walked to the window, peering through the bars and the mildew. he saw whores and johns, a wide array of dead poets, and the ones that called themselves muties. he saw those with the marks of st. alaric on their foreheads, wandering fools stained with the scent of commerce and filth. he saw the consulate, their iron masks hiding the sweat stained brows and their doubtful eyes. and the drums. of course he heard the drums.

he saw a light in a tower across the trees to the east. he knew he was waiting with his liquor and his wit. somewhere staring back at him across the dark expanse red eyes waited. the knife grew a hot silver when he spoke his name under his breath.

next time it will be a bed of roses, her name a thousand words of glory. next time it won't be like this.