fma hp crossover revision-- chapter seven

A/N—ok, getting back on the horse.  I forgot where I was going with this here fic, which means I’m free to come up with wackiness as much as I like. And apologies for the mangled up version I posted last night—nanowrimo wrecked my grammar.

Previously---

Ed and Al arrive at the Burrow in time for the holidays with the Weasley Family.

Ed had sought out Jon, a Muggle technician friend of his, to do the difficult chore of getting his automail adjusted, but before he could get much of anything done, Jon’s place in Europe was wrecked. The current list of those who could be responsible for the damage includes the Death Eaters, who are known to be seeking both Ed and Al. As a result, Jon is also a guest of the Weasleys.

Fred and George test out a translation spell on their ear device, which allows Harry to listen in on the private conversations that night occurring between the brothers. 

He learns that Ed had arrived sick with a high fever. Ed is stubbornly insisting to get his automail worked on in spite of his illness, but Al thinks it’s a real bad idea.

At the ministry—

The Ministry is reeling from the fiasco created by the previous regime’s epic mishandling of Voldemort, but the Dark Wizard is currently the least of the Wizarding World’s troubles.

The Ministry has no idea what to do with the message delivered by one Bridger-General Mustang through the Veil, which firmly established “first contact” between the alchemical and magical worlds. The Order of the Phoenix, in general, knows precious little of the incident in question, other than it was quite flashy and involved the burning of stone.

ooooo

Once free of the green roaring flames of the floor, she rolled smoothly to her feet. The spikes of her boots clicked upon the smooth dark tile, and she frowned at her toes for a scant moment as she wobbled. This was an annoyance, this side effect left to her from her years spent prison. The place called Azkaban left her with such unseen scars, and she hated it for the weakness it was.

 The dark lace of her black robes rustled as she teetered back to her proper balance, and she proudly straightened her spine.  She glanced at the green flames behind her, and frowned.

The fireplace was large, nearly three times her height, and made of dark stone that looked quite expensive. The stone was cut into neat squares which extended out and wrapped about the high mantle she could not see the top of. Twin elaborate sculptures, which vaguely resembled oversized peacocks, stood guard at either side of the open hearth, and she warily eyed the long feathery stone tails which draped out in low relief along the walls. The surfaces gleamed, as if properly polished to a high sheen of gloss.

The fire flared out twice, spewing forth two dark draped rolling bodies, and she watched the wizards rise to their feet. They looked her way before darting their gazes back to the fire as it again flared out twice more, and deposited two more dark draped forms. Her upper lip curled at the group of four staggering before her, and she listened to their low muttering.

“Long distance floo..”  One complained in French as he rubbed at his lower back.

“Not so bad as I thought it would be..”  Another added in reply.

An unearthly shriek filled the room, and the four fool wizards looked to each other with clear nervousness. She did not know any of their names, but then, she did not need to know, either.

“Quiet you fools.” She snapped at them in their tongue, and held her head high. “You wish to have audience with the Dark Lord?” It was a statement, and not a question. The fools knew that at once by the commanding tone she infused into her voice.

She eyed them steadily, and one shook his head. That one darted back into the floo like the coward he was. The fire flared green in his passing, and, after a few moments, those that still stood before her, nodded. She narrowed her eyes, then spun about on her spiked heal.

She strode with dark purpose towards the source of the chill noise, not bothering to look behind her to see if she was followed. The shuffling of footsteps told her all she wanted to know. The dark curls of her hair flew wildly over her back, and the stunted shuffles struggled to keep up with her strides.

She hutched her shoulders up as she approached the grand archway which served as the entrance to the adjoining room, and when she reached the corner, she quickly bowed her head. A faint tingle upon the skin of her hands told her that the wordless hovering charm her Dark Lord had cast was still very much active, and she glanced up at the awesome sight floating above.

The once favored wretch of a thing, trapped by the forceful will of her Dark Lord, was a huge beast. It was in the form of a snake, and it coiled about wildly, constantly writhing. Her Dark Lord stood dwarfed below it. A deft flick of the wand freed a jet of red that struck against that massive form, and the thing roared as if it were a dragon.

The Cruciatus curse tended to do that, especially when it was cast by such a master, and she marveled a moment at the effortless strength Voldemort possessed with his magic. The feat was all the more impressive if one happened to know, as she did, that the wand he wielded was a borrowed one. With a wand properly tuned to him, she knew her Lord could do much more impressive feats than this.

She quickly clasped her hands to her chest while his back was turned her way, and bowed so low that her knees and elbows touched the polished stone at the same time. She rested her forehead to the cool tile, and slowly slid the palms of her hands forward against the floor.

It was often said that she took sadistic pleasure in her magical ability, and gleefully breathed in the reek of fear he skill in the Dark Arts caused in lesser Wizards. It was also said that she proudly wore the dark mark, emblazoned years ago upon her left forearm by the Dark Lord himself. Both of these things were often true, but she buried them deep within herself at this time.

Bellatrix Lestrange was not a woman seen cowered in fright often, but today she crouched low, and took great care to linger her gaze on the pooling dark dampness creeping along the stone floor from the center of the room.  She wasn’t quite certain what that fluid was, but she knew the house elves would collect it for Severus Snape. Sometimes, the creatures would burn off their fingers should they be careless enough to touch it. Since she had no name for it, in her mind she came to call it “ichor”, and likened it to the closest thing to blood the snake thing had. She glanced at the floating beast: the ichor dribbled from numerous slashes that ran along the thing’s slithering body, and its eyes especially seemed to weep with the stuff.

She flicked her gaze behind her, to the few foreigners she had gathered. Most had said they wished to join the Death Eaters with eager voices, but she could see the weakness in their faces. It was clear to her that they were fools. They would never understand that there was no room for weakness here.

She could easily hear the slight crunching of the Dark Lord’s footsteps before her, and shifted her focus. The foreigners were not her concern; they were a matter that the Dark Lord himself would sort out. His steps sounded neatly out of reach of the slick, and she dared not to raise her head just yet.  She knew that his rage was far from being spent.

A blinding flash of red burned to white, and it seemed as if the dark stone of the chamber had been bleached to white. Her ears filled with the awful noise that the snake thing produced, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat. It was far better to cover the wince the shill sound forced out of her than to show it. She blinked rapidly, desperate to see, but it wasn’t working. Not after a spell fired so grandly as that.

Lord Voldemort is certainly in a mood tonight, she mused. She decided that since fate deemed her eyes unworthy to see, that she must instead use her ears.

The yowling abruptly stopped, and in the hush which filled the air after, she judged her breath to be a burden. She violently willed her air in, all to better tune her ears.  She was rewarded with a few shuffled steps, and a great whump of a sound which vibrated deep into the earth.  

Her vision cleared.  A hurried glance to her left told her what she already had guessed.  The Dark Lord had ended his hovering charm.

The slithering thing in snake form had fallen, and now lay limp on the floor. It lay near the tip of her booted foot, but she resisted the savage urge to kick it with the sharp spike of the boot’s heel.  That action would displease her Lord. This task of punishing a traitor was his alone to accomplish.

She darted her eyes away as she glimpsed the pale skin of slippered feet. She watched as they stepped calmly beside the great lump of a snake and eyes the black robe billowing slightly behind the bare ankles.

“This thing has no place on this world, and is worse that trash. “  She heard the cold high voice say somewhere above her.  It was filled disgust, and she swallowed it down.  She banished the thought that a few months ago, this thing in snake form was the Dark Lord’s most favored of treasures.

Within her chest, her lungs were on fire. Her eyes darted about the floor, and for a time, she watched her fingertips as they gradually faded to a dull shade of blue. She was sure that hearing his will held a vast more importance than her next breath, and she curled her fingers to hide her weakness from his sight.

“Ah, my most devoted servant. “

“My Lord.” She exhaled.

“I set you a simple enough of a task. What was this I hear about your continued failure? “

“It was not I which failed you, My Lord.” Bellatrix said from her place on the ground. She infused her voice full with respect and reverence that she dredged from the depths of her heart. Without looking behind her, she swept her arm wide with her fingers outstretched. “I have gathered for you, those who did.”

Lord Voldemort did not say a word, but she heard his footsteps as he strode to stand beside her.

“Rise up, Bellatrix, and face me.” She heard, and she quickly pushed herself to her feet. She looked to the nose-less pale face of her Lord, and she felt the beating of her heart quicken as she looked upon his red irises for the first time in nearly a month.  “I am a busy man. Be quick and tell me what happened.”

“You are seeking new followers, but useful ones would be best suited to our struggle.  I wished to see if these fools were worthy of joining us. They hesitated to act at the opportune time, and as a result the pair we seek slipped away in the rubble of a Muggle village.”

“A Muggle village, you say?” Voldemort said, his disgust dripping off the word “Muggle” The term referred to the non-magical people that were worth less than mud. She knew her Lord would rather see the vermin exterminated, and often encouraged his followers to kill as many as they could. She rather thought all potential Death Eaters knew this of him. “Then why bring these here, if they are so incompetent the most basic use of magic?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”  She said thickly as she looked to the throbbing lump at his pale throat, the very proof that his heart still beat within his chest. She swallowed. ” They’re for your evening’s entertainment.”  She added softly.

Voldemort lifted his chin and turned his head away from her gaze. His eyes narrowed, and she felt the corners of her lips rise.

She knew her new recruits would be ensorcelled and appropriated placed, but not before a proper demonstration of the use of the Cruciatus curse of them each.

I wasn't going to write today..

I really wasn't. I'm kinda tired of writing and I really was going to play with some vector graphics, to sort of stock up on images for my comics blog. Or even play with some animation.


Well, here we are instead of any of that. Here's the problem.


There is a specific focus I wanted for this blog of mine, and I wanted to post only fiction pieces.


Today I just had to look about me, on the web, now that the whole ordeal of nanowrimo is over and so is the piece that I managed to splice together, and you know what? I found other blogs out there, not quite like mine mind you, but some what like mine, with fiction stories and what not in between. What not like this post that I'm posting now.


This post is just about what's on my mind.


As you can read, there's not really all that much.


There seems to be a need for a sprinkling of pieces like this in the blogging verse. For some reason, people like reading them. I mean, I don't, really. I usually choose to ignore the space filler for the mental noise it is.


Then again, I don't choose to do the most popular of things, either. Hell. I garden--with fish! How boring is that, and yet, I find it a dead exciting thing to do. I even blog about that, too.
Sent via Blackhole

Nano novel.. Proguessing..

Authors note—the day after the dinner party a marks place
The sun was peaking over the horizon when Mark had to stretch. As his bones popped one by one, he thought that the net was a wonderful thing. It was filled to brim with the niftiest of ideas and loads of useful information.

Mark rubbed his eyes, and wondered how they could ever feel like they were made of sandpaper. Maybe the all knowing internet had a site devoted to such a subject stashed and hid away somewhere out there. He just did not want to look at the moment.

He thought of what he did find, and gazed tiredly at his mess of a project. All the pieces where there still, buried benigth what he now deemed unnecessary circuits and many colorful wires.

Mark didn't mind the idea of a ghost possibly lingering around his apartment at all. He felt highly enthousiastic about the whole idea, and found him self happy that he bothered to consult the internet for all possible ways to contact such a being. He ran across several ways, and wanted to try them all. But he settled on one that seemed the most reliable. That was this device could possibly do.

He mulled it .over in his mind. What he had found. The entire concept about the phrase White noise was facinating. It worked. Mostly. May be. He saw many people's posts over it. Somehow, ghosts lacking physical vocal chords and all, it was the one process that was entirely logical to Mark.

Mark took in a breath, and as he turned from the flickering monitor, he took up his screwdriver.


Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

Nano novel.. Proguessing..

Authors note- funeral day with sven
The cemetery was a large one, and where the street entered it, well kept. The grass was green and neatly trimmed. He glanced over at Mark in the passenger seat. The pudgy man gazed out the window, and with a glance Sven saw the many bundles of flowers arranged at each white head stone as they creeped past in his van. It always struck him that it was odd to have so many head stones gathered in one place. Neatly lined up just so and all. It was though the people that they marked the position of were precious herd animals or some thing, brought there for the safest keeping.
For eternity.
Sven shook his head at the notion.
What a waste this was. A waste of time, and especially, the waste of a life. He knew he was not here for himself. Not even for Janoos. What did the man care what people did now, any way. The man was dead.
No, he was here for Mark's sake. The suffering fat man was his neighbor, after all. And, well, Sven supposed, his friend as well.
He scanned the grassy area, and found a sort of tent like structure that wasn't quite a tent. He followed the rest of the paved area to a round shaped sort of clearing. He pulled up next to a brown sedan that he did not reconise, and dully pulled the lever to the park position.
"Here we are." Sven breathed the needless announcement.
"You sure this is the place?" Clare said behind him.
"nu uh."
"Who else would be having a funeral here?" Mark said with a soft yet morose sort of tone. Sven shucked in his bottom lip, and stared at the fascinating steering wheel. The let his eyes drift as far up as his thumbs.
Sven heard an exasperated sigh as Clare opened her door first of them all. She somehow managed to wrestle a sleeping Jake free of the car seat contraption before either man moved a hand toward theie respective door handles. Sven wondered at her sure movements, and marveled she could move so given that the back doors to his truck were so thin and tiny. He recalled that they were certainly difficult to open from the inside, especially when the two front door were shut.
Sven swallowed and with a glance to the not tent, opened his door and stepped down to stand on the pavement.
He just dreaded the next few hours would be filled with crappy rememberances and eulogies and such that always accompanied any funeral service, and it looked as if this one would be as dull and sad as Sven knew it would be.
Together they walked up to the not tent. A man dressed in a dark suit and tie looked their way and nodded with his lips pulled tight in a not quite smile as a sort of greeting. Sven let his gaze slide off the man as he took in the others gathered under the thinly stretched flaps.
There was an old lady who's white hair was done up an stuffed beneath a wide brimmed hat with a large white bow gracing the band. She was dressed in a matching dress that looked to be made of a rather fine sort of cloth that reached a little below her knees, and upon her feet were a pair of heeled pumps.
Beside her was a young boy with a baseball cap facing the wrong way. Sven watched his mouth move as the boy chewed bubble gum. Thankfully, the boy had enough sense of respect and did not blow any bubbles with the stuff. He was dressed in dark slacks and a white dress shirt with a rather stiff looking collar. No tie bound the lapels, and Sven supposed that the old woman had negotiated and bribed the boy with much to get the child to dress up as much as he did for the service.
There was a fellow dressed in what Sven supposed was supposed to be a black bolero jacket, and he raised a brow at the massively soft gut that spilled out of the tiny vest's scant confines. Such a garment was meant to be worn only by the most fit of men, and this pride filled fellow clearly thought he was one. Or perhaps still one, given he looked to be reaching his fourth decade of life. He found himself thankful that the long sleeved dress shirt covered what was sure to be a fish belly white of a belly. No one would ever want to see something like that at any time, and somehow it was especially unappealing to see at some one's funeral.
He wonder what the dearly departed would think of that, if the dearly departed could, that is. Sven did not believe for a moment Janoos could.
There was a large woman who stood a hair taller than the boy, and looked roughly twice as wide. What she chose to wear Sven would have said belonged on a tent at any other time. The tan canvas frock had no shape really, and Sven supposed neither did the rather plump woman it covered. Her dark hair was done up in a tight looking bun, and as her eyes and wide frog like lips looked pinched up as if the woman were bearing with some sort of great pain. Sven chose to think that who ever had done the woman's hair that day had done it up a rather too tight.
He thought perhaps it was done on purpose.

Behind them stood a large fellow that looked to be a might more familiar than the rest of the bunch gathered before the grave. Sven narrowed his eyes at the leather jacket with the spikes gracing the shoulders, but the man did wear a white dress shirt with a tie beneath that heavy thing. The long black hair gathered at the neck this time, and dark glasses masked the man's eyes, but Sven knew this had to be the man who had been at Mark's porch a few days ago.
They all stood in the shade, and had their heads bowed as though they were studying a certain place with great intensity. Sven too flicked his eyes that way, wondering just what it was that they were looking at. The man in the dark suit droned onwards in his polite tone of introduction, and Sven couldn't care less really about what the man said.
He eyed an overly green piece of fake grass that buckled an bowed in such a way that it was obviously covered something. It was likely draped over some freshly turned dirt.
Sven swallowed and when the Mark moved with Claire, so did he. He couldn't tear his eye off that spot, which he supposed was like, so much like, how the others had to feel. This was it. This is where Janoos Blankenship had left his body and was going into the ground like some weird sort of parody of a seed being planted.
Sven never really got the idea of why people did such weird things as actually bury the dead corpse.
Dead was dead.
What was really the point?
Sven tucked his finger beneath the uncomfortably tight and stiff feeling collar about his own neck and gave the thing a good tug. What ever the starch Clare had used up on getting the all wrinkles out that morning made it ever more itchy than he would have liked, but he supposed it was worth it to her to see him all dressed up like this, all to send off a friend and a neighbor that they both would miss. He had to admit the white long sleeved dress shirt he wore beneath his own black, make that dark brown, coat, as the coat he had on certainly wasn't quite as black at the black leather jacket across the way, stood out as the whitest white amongst the group.
He wasn't sure if he should be prideful over such a thing in such a place, but Claire really did go all out for this sort of thing. He was not feeling pride for himself. He was feeling pride for her. He told himself as he straightened his spine and did his best to at least appear that he was paying some attention to what was being said in such a dull droning tone.
After a few breaths of actually trying to listen, he wondered if it was possible to fall asleep on his feet.
After a few more, he told himself that it would be really bad form to actually fall asleep at a funeral.
A space filler..ooooo..a space filler
Author s note—the dinner after the funeral at Sven's place
The ceremony left something of a dull after taste to Sven's mouth. He scraped his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he gazed blearily about the brightly lit up and neatly trimmed grass.
He looked to Mark's down turned face as they mingled amongst the strangers, and he did the only thing that made sense to him at the time. He invited Mark over to have a meal with he and Claire. He knew it was one of the rights that followed every funeral he had ever heard of. Feed the living when the one we all are supposed to be honoring that day is among the dead, he thought. What an irony it was.
Mark asked that Jan's favorite food be fixed then. Claire smiled and immediately demanded to know just what it was.
Mark nodded, and said something Sven couldn't begin to pronounce.
Sven had no idea what ever the weird sounding dish was, and could not imagine how to even begin to find out how to make the thing. He was not much of a cook, after all. He could and often did burn boiling water.
He looked over at Clarie, and was relieved that she seemed to know just what the heck Mark had referred to. She agreed immediately to fix the dish while clutching Jake to her chest. Jake for his part made a bit of a fuss as he wiggled and clearly wished to feel the neatly cut grass tickling his bare feet.
The awakened toddler proved to be as good an excuse as any not to linger very long at the grave site, and Sven was happy to flee from the place as quickly as he could manage.
Only when he reached his house did it dawn on him that he had no idea what the names of any of the guests were. He stood at that grave site all morning, and not a single one had managed to stick into his brain. He pulled into his drive way and turned in his seat. He looked back at Clare.
She busied herself with the many straps of Jake's baby sitting in the car contraption, and did not return his look as she lifted the toddler free of the plastic. He opened his mouth as he took a breath, but paused as he tried to think of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say.
Hey do you know what those people's names are because I did not bother to pay attention yet again. That would likely be followed by a Yes dear. I solemnly swear to take many many copious notes the next time the neighbor drops dead beneighth my hands and has a funeral filled with all sort of relatives that I will very likely not ever see again in my life. Ever. Really I will. Promise and cross my heart and every thing.
He closed his mouth with an audible pop, and decided to take the much manly route. Perhaps he would earn back his man card this way. He decided to say not a thing.
He took care of the welcoming and the seating, while Clare took care of puttering about the kitchen. She handed off Jake and Sven did his best to hold the flailing todder with one hand, while looking sagely on as their guests seemed to grill poor Mark with question after question. He managed to get a name to stick in his brain, that of the leather clad fellow. His name was apparently Mika. Or was it Miska? The man seemed to respond to both.
"Blankenship. He used to joke that his name belonged in a video game." Mark was saying sadly, but the weak grin tugging at the fat man's lips showed all of his fondness for who ever he was speaking of. Sven narrowed his eyes with a question on the tip of his tounge.
"Yeah. That sounds just like him" Miska mika or who ever it was in the leather replied with his own wry sort of grin. The sunglasses remained in place even though they sat inside together on the couch, and the lighting in his tiny living room had to be dim in constrast to the brightness of the sun outside.
Sven shook his head and began passing Jake about to the others in the room. The fat lady wearing the tent cooed happily at his son, and his son giggled shrilliy in an almost scream that had Clare poking her head around the corner in a heartbeat.
Sven did his best not to smile at her worried filled face, but failed miserably. She did grin back once she saw that Jake was right as rain.
Claire declared the dish done and one by one they each wondered to the stove to dish it on the paper plates she had fished out of the cupboards. Sven poked at the beige looking goop with the ladle at first, and looked at the others for some sort of guidance as to how to proceed. Eventually he shrugged and glopped the mess on to the paper plate, and tried not to wonder what it was made of. He found that if he pretended that it tasted like chicken, most of the time he actually chewed it, it did.
While stuffing their faces at the feast, and the lights flickered just so, Sven couldn't help it. The thought just fluttered through his brain, with the funeral and Janoos's death being on his driveway at his hands and everything, he knew he just had to say it aloud.
"Maybe it's Janoos." Sven said, and lifted a brow in a way that he meant to be over dramatic. In the silence that filled the room, he knew that it was just awful that he had the stupid audaiciy to bring up even the idea of a ghost. Sven pulled the corners of his lips into a forced kind of smile as he brought the glass of terrible tasting wine to his mouth. Janoos's death beneath his hands wasn't quite enough to send him down to the crazy pit, he supposed, so it may be the whole funeral thing was really getting to him.
A space filler..ooooo..a space filler
Authors note—the night after the dinner party at mark's place
To say that Mark missed Janoos greatly would be an understatement. He didn't believe in ghosts, but when ever the light by his bed flickered in that too empty place, he could not help but wonder at the possibility.
He schogged his way to his empty apartment that night with deadened eyes. He barely noticed the many strewn flowers cluttering the tiny square piece of scraggly dirt patch that passed as his lawn. He knew where they came from. Likely all the peole who could not make the funeral, mostly made up of all the street type people the Jan had helped throughout the years. By morning, he estimated it would be a small mountain. May be.
He kicked the porch step free of some flowery stragglers, somewhat aiming for the erstwhile lawn in the process, and pushed open his door. It was weird to think of the place as his now.
His project pile sat in the shadows, where he stashed it in the corner of his tiny living room. He never actually thought of his work space as a living room, but he knew that was what the brochure the property management called it. The device buried under the many colors of wire had started out as a radio, and he added a few circuits he had dredged up from a few broken down computers. It was supposed to vacuum the room at one point of his tinkering, but the motor for that purpose had not worked as well as he had hoped.
He had blown many batteries with that project. There had been at least three memorable fires that scorched the tile by the kitchen stove when he had tried to get the thing to turn about on its own.
He let out a breath as he flicked on the light he had set up by the door. He dove to catch the thing befor it could tip all the way over and crash to the ground. As he rose, he darted his eyes all over. The place seemed ever more empty now that the funeral was done. He had to accept that Janoos was forever gone.
He looked over at the blinking cursor of the monitor, and lowered his brows.
Maybe.
Maybe not.

Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

Nano novel.. Proguessing..

Mark brought up his best friend that supposedly had connections to the many cameras in the area. Sven was not sure about the fellow, as he sounded quite the shady sort. The mention of the guy did make him look at his neighbor friend rather careful like. He had no idea that such people were in any way associated with the rotund fellow.

Janoos, yes. That late friend always went out of his way to help any one in need, so it was a given that the sordid lot was mixed well with in the usual crowd that went in and out of the neighbor's apartment.

But Mark?

Really?

Mark resembled more of an over stuffed teddy bear, both in form and temperament. One that had not the claws sewed on to defend itself very well.

Claire stumbled off into the bed room and left them to their drinking, say she had had more than enough for her system to handle.

After much drinking, they go off to find this friend in spite of the lateness of the hour. Sven left a drunken message for Claire written in pen on the door. He judged it legible enough before he stepped out the door. She had Jake in her care, so he figured he could go off and help his grieving neighbor. He did not dare think of Mark as anything close to a friend, due to Mark's uncertain sexuality. So he mentally settled on the neighbor as a way to refer to Mark.

They made it a good ways there before Sven managed to trip over his own two feet. Mark bent over, as if to help him up, but passed out somewhere along the way to doing so. The big man flopped on top his him, and Sven spent hours gasping for breath.

As he strove for every precious molecule of oxygen the massive weight on top of him tried its best to press out of his lungs, he could see he was near the freeway. Near the top, at the edge of the bridge, stood what looked to be a long haired man. Sven would have waved the man for help if his arms were not pinned to his sides.


Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

Nano novel progressing..

Authors note—internet news sites and the importance of paper copy. Sven's place. Sometime after Mark takes a shower when the ghost repeatedly complains about him stinking. Ghost wants justice for his murder so that he may rest in peace. Janoos was a fairy? Possibly. May be why he lingers as a ghost.
"The police ai't gonna tell us a thing they don want us to hear. About her. About what they know. Nothin."
Sven listened and said nothing as he waited for Mark to finish having his say.
" What I think we really need to do is track down the girl the same way that those reporters did." Mark said as he studied the amber colored contents of his far too tiny glass.
Sven frowned as he set the big bottle down.
"You spent all that time looking up this ghost hunting.."
"White noise ain ghost huntin mate. Strickly speaking, it's ghost listening."
"alright. Fine. Ghost listening stuff, why couldn't you just look up…"
"Mate, listen to me." Mark said with narrowed eyes. He carefully placed his empty shot glass onto the low table, and then rested his fat elbows against his thighs. "I don no if anyone ever bother to bring this to your attention or not but here it is. The Internet news sites do not report on the local news. Ever. The only ones that do anymore are those little junk papers that you have delivered here."
"I've heard them called rags at work." Clare said. "They're filled with rubbish half the time. .and..!"
Sven held up his hand towards her before she could add any more. She looked to him with widened eyes at first, and those orbs quickly narrowed in reaction to her annoyance at him.
What Mark was saying actually made a weird sort of sense. Sven could not remember the last time he had ever seen a single article written about anything local in the online newspapers . Then again, he could not quite remember the last time he had even bothered to look up any online newspaper during the past ten years.
"Why would they even bother to print local stuff like that if the real newspapers don bother?" Sven asked sagely as he broght his shot to hover at his lower lip. He took a breath and tipped the glass back. He quickly swallowed it, and the foul taste twisted his lips into a grimace.
"Look at the advertisements, mate." Mark said with a bit of a chuckle, and reached over to tap his finger on the latest said rag resting on the table.
"You mean, those liquor ads?" Sven said with one of his brows nearly reaching his hairline.
"Heh. " Sven heard Mark say intelligently. With a lopsided sort of half grin on his face, he took a slow drawn out sip of his glass.
"No way." Sven gasped, and watched the man down the amber liquid in this odd way. He realized belatedly that he could have been commenting on both his neighbor friends peculiar choice of drinking meathod as well as the fact the papers he had subscribed to were nearly entirely supported by ads of that sort. In a way, he supposed he did mean to comment on both.
"Way." Marks breathed when he had finshed his drink at last. Sven saw his nostrils flare out a bit wider than he had thought ever possible on a human face. It was as though he could see Mark's nose hairs sizzling from the fumes leaking off the fiery drink. He rather thought that only a drunk like himself would ever notice such odd details at this in another drunk.
Clare frowned an clutched her own glass with both of her hands.
"So what? " She said. "Even if that was true, you still have no idea where to start."
Her eyes, masked behind the shine of her glasses, bored into Sven. He could feel the weight of her stare, and he frowned in response.
"Actually I think I might." Sven said slowly, and belched quite loudly. He thought he heard Jake rustle in the crib, and looked up that way towards the door. He narrowed his eyes as he fought to listen for the slight sound once more, and startled at the solid clunk he heard hit the table. He darted his eyes to the sound and found he was in time to follow Clare's hand to her face as she leaned back onto the couch coushion. Her eyes were still hidden from his gaze by the glare.
"what?" Mark said across from him. Sven smirked and leaned back himself. He weaved his fingers together behind his head as he looked down at his rather rotund neighbor friend. He found it still felt a bit weird to have the man sitting on the carpet, but it was the man's free choice to do so every single time he ever visited his apartment. He listened to the silence for a while, and shrugged his shoulder in a non challant sort of gesture he was not entirely sure his drunked self could pull off effectively. He knew it was a sloppy gesture even as he executed it.
"Well don't hold us all in suspense oh wise one of the couch." Clare nearly snarled.
Sven only smiled wider.
"Well come on!" Mark said in exasperation. "just out with it already."
"let me enjoy the moment." Sven said with a proud lilt to his tone.
"WIha?"
"It just very rare when I get to out smart the two of you" Sven said in the same smug sort of tone." 'specily after a few rounds."
"oh hell"
"Shut it."
"Fine."
"I meant." Mark said in all seriousness. "Out with it. What do you figure?"
"Think now." Sven said. "What do I do for a living."
'You're a frekkin truck driver, what of it. It's not like you think.."
"No. Way." Clare snorted and folded her arms across her chest. "Theres no way you could ever get what those have. No way in hell."
Sven raised a single brow as he regarded the mother of his child.
"what are you on about?" Mark blustered on with both of his brow skewed in such a confused manner, that Sven found it hard to refrain from chuckling out loud.
"He's a truck driver. Yeah." Claire supplied from the man. "Think about it. What he hell does he encounter every day?"
"uh. The road..?" Mark said slowly.
"Yeeeap." Sven said sagely.
"And?"
"And what does he have to encounter while on the road, doing deliveries and what not? What has the freekin city installed on every street corner lately ?"
Marks brows lowered as he tried his best to think. If Sven was any sort of judge, the man looked to be really struggling with the notion, and appeared to be in the process of chewing a rather large hole in his cheek. Sven was a patient drunk, but he did not want to see his neighbor friend managing such a feat in his prescense. He had seen enough blood spilled on his rented property to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.
"here's a hint. It's the stupid thing that charge me a whopping 500 bucks a month back." Sven supplied helpfully in a loudish whisper.
"You mean those red light ticket things?" Mark ventured after a few heartbeats of silence had filled all of their ears.
"You got it." Sven said triumphantly, and grinned his widest smile that he could manage while in a drunken state. Mark narrowed his eyes as he seemed consider the possibilities.
"How in hell do we get the footage?" Mark asked while gazing into his empty shot glass. "see that footage that the newspapers had access to. Would they even still have it?"
"They have to keep all the recording for well over a year." Claire supplied. Sven looked her way, and blinked his eyes in his surprise at the information. He had not been aware of that.
"City council put it to a vote." Clare said with a small shrug that said it's not my fault you don't bother to pay attention to politics. Sven wondered exactly when the last time she had actually voted really was. He knew when the last time had voted was. It happened to be two days after his eighteen birthday was celebrated in this very apartment.
"I think I know somebody." Mark said. "Who knows somebody who owes me a favor…"

Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

Nano novel progressing...

Sven came back from work on Thursday, and saw Mark smiled a weak little smile along with his usual greeting as he came in the front door. It was Claire who told him why.
Sven grabbed the big bottle of whiskey from off the top of the refrigerator, and placed it revelently down on the low table in his living room. He then glanced to the bedroom door. It was closed tight, but it was where he could hear Jake screaming his usual protests to having to go to sleep, and the soft murmuring tones of Claire as she patiently tried once again to read a story to his son. It was her turn tonight, and he had the highest opinion of her skills with the task. The toddler certainly did not understand a word, but he figured the ritual would be good practice for what would be coming in the future years. He found himself often dreading the future years, with a toddler that could not only walk, but run, about the place freely, getting into everything. And all that.
Anyway. Fatherhood was not what he wanted to think about tonight.
Mark placed two tiny glasses on the table, and plunked down two taller glasses he had grubbed up somehow along with the two liter of soda he carried The dark eyes glanced at the amber swishing in the whiskey bottle, and Sven saw the pink of the man's tongue lick at a corner of his mouth.
Sven nodded at the man, and hefted the bottle to pour. Mark unscrewed the soda cap, and followed suit with the taller glasses. They both reached for their respective glasses at the same moment, at which point they both held said glasses aloft and paused for just a moment.
"To Jan." Mark breathed.
"Janoos." Sven said agreeably.
They reverently clinked all the glasses together, using both hands to do so, and the ringing tone soothed some part of Sven he couldn't quite name.
And with that as a toast, they both tossed the amber liquid that was the whiskey down their throats. Sven grimaced at the burning sensation as he swallowed, and quickly gulped down the soda. The sugary soft drink did not quite overwhelm the nasty flavor of the whiskey, but after a few breaths, and a firm shake of his head, that awfulness soon passed his abused taste buds.
They were on to the third drink of the same toast by the time Jake had quietened down to little more than hurt sounding snuffles, and were pouring the fourth when Sven noticed Claire standing in the doorway of the room. He looked right at her and met her eyes, even though they were hidden by the shine on her glasses. She did not say a word, he supposed she chose to remain silent, as she turned back around and softly closed the door behind her.
When Sven awoke the next morning, he was still on the couch. Slouching into the flowery cushions, he scrubbed his face with both of his hands, and looked down at his feet at the passed out Mark. There was a quilt of a blanket draped over the man that he certainly had not placed over him, and Sven felt a little twinge of jealousy over that kind of a gesture he knew had to have been Claire's doing. He could not help thinking that it was he who should have gotten the blanket, but then firmly reminded himself that Mark was their guest.
Their guest that is, until that afternoon. Hangover or not, Sven would be at work when it would take place. He regretted that he could not be here to help the man out any, as he well knew that he had missed far too much work over this whole mess. He could not skip out for yet another day and remain gainfully employed. He was a family man, and they had to come first in all things. Even for something as momumental as this.
The yellow police tape was finally gone.
Mark was moving back into his old apartment.
A space filler.. ooooo.. a space filler
Sven slumped his shoulders as he trudged up the drive. He gave a cursory glance to the porch of Mark's place. It was strange to think of the next door apartment that way. Mark's place. It had a kind of weight to it, did it not?
The door was close on the porch over there, and there was a. Sven narrowed his eyes at the figure huddled on the enclosure. It was bulky and wore a dark leather jacket. Also a ratty and hole infested pair of blue jeans covered a gangly pair of legs. He saw chains hanging off the shoulders, and strangly thick mane of black hair that happened to be grown long enough to reach the mid back. And on top of that were the heavy looking pair of boots that enveloped the overlarge feet.
As Sven was approaching his front door, he could not look that way for very long with out tripping over a a stray rock, but he supposed who ever was on that porch had Mark's blessing. He was not all that surprised that it was most definitely male, considering what he highly suspected Mark actually was in terms of sexual orientation. And the leather was indeed a fetish of that particular group.
He lowered his brows. He found he was a little concerned that Mark had continued on so quickly, and with Janoos' old habits no less.
He grasped the knob of his door and gave it a twist, and froze and jerked back a step when the door flew open and from his grasp. He gazed at the dark pair of eyes within his own living room with some surprise.
Mark, for his part, swallowed, and even bit his lower lip as he looked away as quickly as a man ever could while still keeping a firm hold of his man card. Sven felt his brows nearly reach his hairline as he stood still on his own front stoop. He felt frozen in place, and watched the interplay of sorrow warring with deep grief flickering across the big man's chubby face.
Mark was supposed to be in his own apartment right?
What ever was the man doing in HIS place?
As if in answer to his silent question, Sven heard the slight rustle of paper,and looked to the source. Crumpled in Mark's large but pudgy hand, was an plain white envelope.
"You.. uh wanted to know when the service would be yeah?" Mark said carefully. Sven pretended he did not hear the quivering of emotion that threatened to spill over the man's tenious tone.
"Yeah."
"um, Here." Marks said as he handed the crumpled envelope over. Sven looked it over. The envelope was like he had thought, plain. There was no sending address, nor any sort of return address printed on the face of it. He wondered how it had arrived, and glanced over at Mark.
The man's eyes were rather too glassy for him to comfortably view, and Sven busied himself with reaching into the envelope rather than look too long at the clearly suffering Mark. It took some doing, with the paper being as badly crumpled up as it was, but he managed soon enough to free its contents.
The yellow colored pieced of paper was folded into threes and he made quick work of opening the sheet by rubbing it roughly against his pant leg. With his thumb and forefinger gripping a corner, he peered down at some might fancy looking scroll work that lined the edges of one side. His eyes lingered on that for longer than he would have liked, for Mark took in a heavy sounding breath.
"Will you come then?"
Sven glanced at the lettering, barely comprehending a single word he read, and swallowed.
He cursed inwardly at the awfulness of it all. The notice of Janoos' funeral came in the mail the very day that Mark moved back into his apartment. The date was set for the weekend. Sometime during the weekend.
Sven nodded before he dared to look over at the man.
He didn't look back at the man in leather standing at the porch next door. Instead, he chose to swing his own door shut against the world.

Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

Nano novel, progressing...

The dragon went beserk because she could sense the presense, but couldn't detect where the thing was. She punched out the human male in her rage at her inability, and grabbed the nearest sharp implement to complete the job. The knife proved far too wimpy for her, and soon snapped off when it struck a bone.
The ancient enemy was near and she had no idea where. The thought was frunstration incarnate and she longed to rip and tear into the vile things that had taken from her what was by all rights hers alone to have. This very rare planet. The blue marble of precious water and breathable air and high mountains of solid heavy minerals that made up what was laughably called mere rocks. And gold.Real gold was here. Sure it was buried deep within the rocks, meandering along river like veins. Gold was enough of a reason to seek this gem of a planet out.
Gold was essential to harmonize with the great Song. Every planet hummed with its chorus and her fellow dragons often found themselves fascinated by every single note of it, as it rang throughout the cosmos.
Oh the concerts she would enjoy should she manage to get that gold to sing back to her. She would take ahold of her audiences and never ever let them go. It was as a goal a true dragon should ever aspire to.
As the man staggered away, she realized that she really should be scarce from this place, and grabbed a cell phone to do just that. The cell phone she dialed, however, only provided the dull dial tone, and not the free trip home she had expected.
She fled out the door she had come in, and marched along the street for quite a ways before a passerby tried to tackle her. The lesser being didn't last that long against her blows, and after she relieved the foul creature of its skull, she found herself satisfied with her improvised weapon. She chuckled that she had armed herself with a garden shovel of all things, but as she was trapped for the time being within a human body, she would not make a fuss over such good useful thing.
She didn't much care that she was dripping blood all over the place as she continued on her way down what looked to be a rather primitive the street.
She mused to herself that these monkeys had such poor standards, and as she looked down at the pathetically plain white cloth, ok, once white as it was drenched in that iron based blood that strayed wonderfully from the bodies of two monkeys now, which covered the top of her stolen body, one that she certainly did not ever intend to return of course, she rather thought the lot had tragically poor taste in clothing as well.
A space filler..ooooo..a space filler
The month following Jan's death hit Mark hard. It was as if it were his heart had been ripped clean of his chest. The first week he didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, and most certainly, didn't want to even be. He knew vaguely that camping out over at his neighbor's, occupying a space on the floor by the couch most nights, wasn't a completely healthly thing for him to do.
He just couldn't bring himself to do much of anything else. Jan was gone. Just gone.
And the bitch he knew had taken him from the world was nowhere to be found. The fukken police had no idea where to even look for such a complete nutcase. Mark would have happily pointed out a few listings in the internet where such crazies tended to gather, but the police soon declared himself a complete nutter in response. Shoved aside, he had no place to vent his frustrations.
Mark regretted ever going to the store.
So he slept most days on his neighbor's carpet. For some reason it felt the right place to be. He knew that if he was in his right mind, what ever that meant, really he had no idea, that he really should be completely embarrassed at his behavior. He tried to make up for it by carefully replacing every bottle of whiskey he emptied each day. Clares annoyed looks she directied at her husband made him think twice of doing so quite so often.
If not for Jan's death, he would not have ever been aware that Sven had a problem with his drinking was well.
There was no helping it, really. So, they drank together.
Mark didn't mind the idea of a ghost possibly lingering around his apartment at all. He felt highly enthousiastic about the whole idea, and quickly consulted the internet for all possible ways to contact such a being. He ran across several ways, and tried them all. But he settled on one that seemed the most reliable. The was this entire concept about the phrase White noise. Somehow, ghosts lacking physical vocal chords and all, it was the one process that was entirely logical to Mark,
Each time Sven stopped by to check up on him, he would gleefully show the man his radio, and ask him to listen in on the previous night's recordings. Sven would smile a polite sort of smile that seemed a bit strained at the edges, and by the end of an hour or so, the man would simply chuckle and leave with a an amused shake of his head.
Ghosts are guardians without physical form. Or perhaps are a memory. He liked to think the former. He liked the idea that the ghost in his apartment was actually Jan.
How he missed the man.
The ghost didn't seem all that unfriendly, but wasn't particularly friendly either, as whoever it was it didsn't communicate much with the living,as in himself. The thing generally tolerated the people living in his house. And that was the real reason Mark thought his ghost had be Janoos. Janoos just adored people so.
Janoos had been featured occasionally in the dreams of both Mark and Sven. The all knowledgable internet explained that the noise in their heads was much quieter when they sleep.
Mark supposed he could become obsessed with the white noise phenomenon because of this aching need he had to speak with his dear departed friend. He missed Janoos the most.
His dreams featured Janoos as he remember him best. The man repeatedly told him to shower, becasuse even the ghost can tell the man stinks.
Mark refused.
When that proves ineffective, the shower sprung a leak. Mark liked to think Janoos himself had decied to shower because Mark had not.
Mark happened to stay the night at Sven's .He took to sleeping well away from the noise of such things, and he would explain that he didn't know exactly why. The shower dribbling along on and off in his own apartment did not sound quite as creapy as the same happening in Sven's.

Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....

nano novel...progressing...

The finger looked rather red when the man removed it from his mouth to consider it with all the concentration he could muster in his drunken state. Sven saw a thin line of dribbling red form on nearly two of the sensitive pads, which confirmed his suspicions. Mark had managed to cut himself.

Sven let one corner of his mouth pull upwards, and darted his eyes behind them. The crowd was gathered at the sidewalk, and there were no less than six officers busying themselves by attempting to herd them back with outstretched arms.

Sven jusdged that to be enough of a distraction, and, while not exactily boldly slipping past the doors like he imagined a burglar would, he diid get inside. Each step he took crunched loudly, and he lducked his head low as he creeped his way along. He didn’t know why he bothered, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

It was supposed to be a library, and at the time, it felt like he was intruding in a place he should not really be in.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air at the crashing sound behind him, and quickly lifted his arms to cover his face. Tiny shards of glass scraped against his bare arms, and he hissed at the sting they left behind. He lowered them tentatively in the silence that followed, and scowled at Marks beeming proud face.

“Door makes a better door now. “ The man said, and stepped the rest of the way through the now glassless door. Sven eyed the brick the man tossed aside, and as it thunked dully against the tile, he watched as the man assumed an air of someone who had just accomplished something grand and noble. Mark took a moment to glance about like a overlarge, and in Sven’s opinion, highly deranged toddler, then whistled loudly with his lips pursed out as he turned in a slow circle.

“Newpapers?” Sven prompted.

“Oh. Yea. They kept them by the wall over there.” Mark said, and gestured vaguely over toward the far couner. Sven peered at the area, and although it was heavily draped in shadows, he lifted a single brow.  A heaping pile composed of broken tables and disembowled books nearly blocked his view of the dim lighting over there, but it looked really bleak to him.

“uh huh. Sure.” Sven drawled.

Mark stood still and looked at him with a piercing sort of gaze. Sven looked back, matching gaze for gaze for several minutes, then took in a breath.

“What ?”

“well get started.” Mark demaded, and folded his pudgy arms across his chest.

“Startd with what?”

“Finding the newspaper.” Mark said with an exasperated sort of tone.

“Nuh uh. You do that. I wanted to stay home, member”

“Bite me.” Mark grumbled, and as the man staggered past, Sven saw that the man stuck out his lower lip in an immature pout. The big man’s form was soon lost in the shadows, but Sven could easily pick out the stomping of his heavy feet.

Sven heard rather than saw the rumbling crash of a lot of things tumbling to the tiled floor.

“you ok there mark?”

“Shut it man.” Was the muffled reply. “Not a word.”

Sven smirked, and settled himself down for a rather long wait.

A space filler.. ooooo.. a space filler

Hours passed, and Sven leaned his head back against the rather comfortable chair he had found stashed behind and massive desk. He supposed he dosed off some, and blearily blinked his eyes as he swept his gaze about the mess that cluttered the libray’s entrance. Or was it hall? Sven didn’t really know what to call it, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care all that much.  It was just a name any way, not matter how he looked at it.

The ringing crashes that echoed from that corner that Mark had insisted the newspapers were told him that Mark was hard at work in his search.

Served the man right. The newspaper was back at the apartment, and mark was either too stubborn, or too lazy to head back. Or too drunk to realize that the solution to his problem was far more simple that he wanted it to be.

It was not as if hours had passed since Mark and Sven arrived. Mark, thus far, was entirely fruitless from searching the library. The place was a complete mess due to the protestors doing what protestors do to government buildings when they got upset over being told what to do. Sven supposed it would be a small miracle should Mark locate a single newspaper at all, much less the one he needed.

Ah well. Can’t be helped.

Sven did not startle when he heard the soft chuckle somewhat near his elbow. He let his eyes slide to the source of the lively sound, and swallowed.

The skin of that arm was far to pale to belong to someone alive. Sven’s eyes lingered over the great blood stains on the fabric that covered that chest. Oh he knew that chest far to well to ever manage to forget it. He squeezed his eyes shut before he could see any more, but his heart hammered his chest so hard that his breath never seemed to be enough for his greedy greedy lungs.

The mirthful chuckling stopped, and silence filled his ears.

Panting, Sven cracked open his eyes. It took several heartbeat to pass before he gathered just enough courage to look beside him once more. There was no bloody body standing there, in fact, for a good long while, he found himself staring blankly at a quite ordinary, though thoroughly smashed up, wooden bookcase.

Was that what he thought it was, what it was. Sven wondered. He then mentally smacked himself for such a terrible turn of phrase. It could not have been what he thought it was. There was no way. He had to have been asleep, and that thing, that bloody thing, was just something his whiskey fuel imagination had conjoured up. He must just have that messed up of an imagination now. What with Janoos dying right under his hands and all just a few short days ago. How long had it been, really? He could not really figure at the moment.

“Nightmare fuel..” Sven muttered to himself, carefully gazing into the shadows of the smashed up room. “That’s all it is. Nightmare fuel.”

A defening crash followed by a string of cursing snapped his fearful attention back to Mark corner of the mess.

“Mark?”

“I’m fine, mate.” Mark yelled out, voice echoing against the walls. “just pissed.”

Sven heard a series of stomping sounding steps, and glanced again back to where he a seen the blood drenched clothes that draped over to too white body.

If that was any kind of ghost encounter..Sven wondered. More haunting hints from the ghost…then it may be that Janoos .Sven shook his head slowly from side to side before he could much entertain that crazy notion, and scrubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes. Sven realized that he wants something, but can not for the life of him figure for whatever it was. Janoos was dead. There could not be a thing in all the world the dead man could care all that much about when the blood that once pumped in his veins spilt all over the concrete.

Once one was dead. They are dead. And that was it.

There was not any thing else beyond that, No heaven in the sky. No fluffy clouds or winged angels nor none of that stuff. Hell, not even the fires of hell to burn you ever really exisited. If Sven knew any thing at all, he knew that for a certain fact.

“Nightmare fuel” Sven said with much more conviction in his voice than he really felt. “That’s all it  is. Nightmare fuel.”.

A space filler.. ooooo.. a space filler

Mark settled onto the couch, much more sober than he was that morning. He then let out a great gasp of air and leaned back, looking for all that bothered to watch as though he were imitating a deflating balloon.

“Sorry mate.” Sven said as he shut the door behind him.

“It’s all right. “Mark said, and Sven saw one corner of his mouth twitch down in a poor semblance of a grimace. “Not your fault them protestors did all that. “

“I didn’t see what happed.” Claire said from her seat on the other couch. “So what happened?” She added, first glancing up at Sven, then boring her eyes Mark’s way.

“Not much you missed, hon.” Sven said, and turned to shuffle into the tiny kitchen. He made sure to ruffle the head hairs of Jake as he went by his son, somehow sitting both still and quiet for once on the high chair by the dinner table. Sven did not pay the strange behavior, for a toddler, much mind, for it was what he had come to call the Way of Jake.

Jake just did things like that occasionally. There was not a rhyme nor reason to it, and it was far better for  a body to accept it than to fuss over such a petty question as “why”. There was not a  thing wrong with his son. No. Those eyes shined with both mischief and intelligence, as though the baby were listening in on every word that was spoken around him.

“Where did you go then? I think you should at the least tell me that much.”

“No where important much. Just the Library.”

“What?” Claire chuckled., and leaned onto her knees as she shook her head. “You two. Get all smashed and can barely walk in a straight line, and where you choose to go in such a damed hurry is ..the LIBRARY?”

Sven smirked.

“Sounds funny. I know.” Sven said. “Grown men.”

“Drunk grown men” Claire interrupted.

“Yeah.. it does sound a bit silly, but I had to know, ok?” Mark said with a bit of hurt in his tone. Claire swallowed back her giggles when she saw the pain flash in the man’s eyes.“There was this protest going on down there yeah? With lot and lots of people?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well. Looked like to me a few decided to smash in the library.” Mark said in a flat sort of tone. “They threw every thing all about. Shattered the doors. Smashed the shelves. All that.”

“What? Why ever for”

“Don know.”

“They were a mob.” Sven said.

“A mob?” Claire nodded, and frowned as she tasted the word. She darted her eyes to Sven, and he held her gaze for as long as he dared. ”Damn that’s..you two too a huge risk, you know.”

“Yeah. Well. We’re good now.” Sven said.

 “We went to find newspapers.” Mark supplied. “Only I could na find the section they put them in the mess.”

“So what now?” Claire asked.

“Don know” Mark replied. Sven shrugged and turned his attention back to the kitchen. He eyed the amber liquid in the large bottle sitting in it’s place at the top of the refrigerator.

 “You staying home?”

Sven took a moment, he told himself it was to properly consider Claire’s question, but he found it mighty difficult when he tore his eyes away from the bottle to open the refrigerator door. He hoped the action was enough of an answer for her, because as he rooted about the cool and lighted box for something to eat, he soon had his mouth stuff with bread.

nano novel...progressing...

The finger looked rather red when the man removed it from his mouth to consider it with all the concentration he could muster in his drunken state. Sven saw a thin line of dribbling red form on nearly two of the sensitive pads, which confirmed his suspicions. Mark had managed to cut himself.

Sven let one corner of his mouth pull upwards, and darted his eyes behind them. The crowd was gathered at the sidewalk, and there were no less than six officers busying themselves by attempting to herd them back with outstretched arms.

Sven jusdged that to be enough of a distraction, and, while not exactily boldly slipping past the doors like he imagined a burglar would, he diid get inside. Each step he took crunched loudly, and he lducked his head low as he creeped his way along. He didn’t know why he bothered, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

It was supposed to be a library, and at the time, it felt like he was intruding in a place he should not really be in.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air at the crashing sound behind him, and quickly lifted his arms to cover his face. Tiny shards of glass scraped against his bare arms, and he hissed at the sting they left behind. He lowered them tentatively in the silence that followed, and scowled at Marks beeming proud face.

“Door makes a better door now. “ The man said, and stepped the rest of the way through the now glassless door. Sven eyed the brick the man tossed aside, and as it thunked dully against the tile, he watched as the man assumed an air of someone who had just accomplished something grand and noble. Mark took a moment to glance about like a overlarge, and in Sven’s opinion, highly deranged toddler, then whistled loudly with his lips pursed out as he turned in a slow circle.

“Newpapers?” Sven prompted.

“Oh. Yea. They kept them by the wall over there.” Mark said, and gestured vaguely over toward the far couner. Sven peered at the area, and although it was heavily draped in shadows, he lifted a single brow.  A heaping pile composed of broken tables and disembowled books nearly blocked his view of the dim lighting over there, but it looked really bleak to him.

“uh huh. Sure.” Sven drawled.

Mark stood still and looked at him with a piercing sort of gaze. Sven looked back, matching gaze for gaze for several minutes, then took in a breath.

“What ?”

“well get started.” Mark demaded, and folded his pudgy arms across his chest.

“Startd with what?”

“Finding the newspaper.” Mark said with an exasperated sort of tone.

“Nuh uh. You do that. I wanted to stay home, member”

“Bite me.” Mark grumbled, and as the man staggered past, Sven saw that the man stuck out his lower lip in an immature pout. The big man’s form was soon lost in the shadows, but Sven could easily pick out the stomping of his heavy feet.

Sven heard rather than saw the rumbling crash of a lot of things tumbling to the tiled floor.

“you ok there mark?”

“Shut it man.” Was the muffled reply. “Not a word.”

Sven smirked, and settled himself down for a rather long wait.

A space filler.. ooooo.. a space filler

Hours passed, and Sven leaned his head back against the rather comfortable chair he had found stashed behind and massive desk. He supposed he dosed off some, and blearily blinked his eyes as he swept his gaze about the mess that cluttered the libray’s entrance. Or was it hall? Sven didn’t really know what to call it, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care all that much.  It was just a name any way, not matter how he looked at it.

The ringing crashes that echoed from that corner that Mark had insisted the newspapers were told him that Mark was hard at work in his search.

Served the man right. The newspaper was back at the apartment, and mark was either too stubborn, or too lazy to head back. Or too drunk to realize that the solution to his problem was far more simple that he wanted it to be.

It was not as if hours had passed since Mark and Sven arrived. Mark, thus far, was entirely fruitless from searching the library. The place was a complete mess due to the protestors doing what protestors do to government buildings when they got upset over being told what to do. Sven supposed it would be a small miracle should Mark locate a single newspaper at all, much less the one he needed.

Ah well. Can’t be helped.

Sven did not startle when he heard the soft chuckle somewhat near his elbow. He let his eyes slide to the source of the lively sound, and swallowed.

The skin of that arm was far to pale to belong to someone alive. Sven’s eyes lingered over the great blood stains on the fabric that covered that chest. Oh he knew that chest far to well to ever manage to forget it. He squeezed his eyes shut before he could see any more, but his heart hammered his chest so hard that his breath never seemed to be enough for his greedy greedy lungs.

The mirthful chuckling stopped, and silence filled his ears.

Panting, Sven cracked open his eyes. It took several heartbeat to pass before he gathered just enough courage to look beside him once more. There was no bloody body standing there, in fact, for a good long while, he found himself staring blankly at a quite ordinary, though thoroughly smashed up, wooden bookcase.

Was that what he thought it was, what it was. Sven wondered. He then mentally smacked himself for such a terrible turn of phrase. It could not have been what he thought it was. There was no way. He had to have been asleep, and that thing, that bloody thing, was just something his whiskey fuel imagination had conjoured up. He must just have that messed up of an imagination now. What with Janoos dying right under his hands and all just a few short days ago. How long had it been, really? He could not really figure at the moment.

“Nightmare fuel..” Sven muttered to himself, carefully gazing into the shadows of the smashed up room. “That’s all it is. Nightmare fuel.”

A defening crash followed by a string of cursing snapped his fearful attention back to Mark corner of the mess.

“Mark?”

“I’m fine, mate.” Mark yelled out, voice echoing against the walls. “just pissed.”

Sven heard a series of stomping sounding steps, and glanced again back to where he a seen the blood drenched clothes that draped over to too white body.

If that was any kind of ghost encounter..Sven wondered. More haunting hints from the ghost…then it may be that Janoos .Sven shook his head slowly from side to side before he could much entertain that crazy notion, and scrubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes. Sven realized that he wants something, but can not for the life of him figure for whatever it was. Janoos was dead. There could not be a thing in all the world the dead man could care all that much about when the blood that once pumped in his veins spilt all over the concrete.

Once one was dead. They are dead. And that was it.

There was not any thing else beyond that, No heaven in the sky. No fluffy clouds or winged angels nor none of that stuff. Hell, not even the fires of hell to burn you ever really exisited. If Sven knew any thing at all, he knew that for a certain fact.

“Nightmare fuel” Sven said with much more conviction in his voice than he really felt. “That’s all it  is. Nightmare fuel.”.

A space filler.. ooooo.. a space filler

Mark settled onto the couch, much more sober than he was that morning. He then let out a great gasp of air and leaned back, looking for all that bothered to watch as though he were imitating a deflating balloon.

“Sorry mate.” Sven said as he shut the door behind him.

“It’s all right. “Mark said, and Sven saw one corner of his mouth twitch down in a poor semblance of a grimace. “Not your fault them protestors did all that. “

“I didn’t see what happed.” Claire said from her seat on the other couch. “So what happened?” She added, first glancing up at Sven, then boring her eyes Mark’s way.

“Not much you missed, hon.” Sven said, and turned to shuffle into the tiny kitchen. He made sure to ruffle the head hairs of Jake as he went by his son, somehow sitting both still and quiet for once on the high chair by the dinner table. Sven did not pay the strange behavior, for a toddler, much mind, for it was what he had come to call the Way of Jake.

Jake just did things like that occasionally. There was not a rhyme nor reason to it, and it was far better for  a body to accept it than to fuss over such a petty question as “why”. There was not a  thing wrong with his son. No. Those eyes shined with both mischief and intelligence, as though the baby were listening in on every word that was spoken around him.

“Where did you go then? I think you should at the least tell me that much.”

“No where important much. Just the Library.”

“What?” Claire chuckled., and leaned onto her knees as she shook her head. “You two. Get all smashed and can barely walk in a straight line, and where you choose to go in such a damed hurry is ..the LIBRARY?”

Sven smirked.

“Sounds funny. I know.” Sven said. “Grown men.”

“Drunk grown men” Claire interrupted.

“Yeah.. it does sound a bit silly, but I had to know, ok?” Mark said with a bit of hurt in his tone. Claire swallowed back her giggles when she saw the pain flash in the man’s eyes.“There was this protest going on down there yeah? With lot and lots of people?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well. Looked like to me a few decided to smash in the library.” Mark said in a flat sort of tone. “They threw every thing all about. Shattered the doors. Smashed the shelves. All that.”

“What? Why ever for”

“Don know.”

“They were a mob.” Sven said.

“A mob?” Claire nodded, and frowned as she tasted the word. She darted her eyes to Sven, and he held her gaze for as long as he dared. ”Damn that’s..you two too a huge risk, you know.”

“Yeah. Well. We’re good now.” Sven said.

 “We went to find newspapers.” Mark supplied. “Only I could na find the section they put them in the mess.”

“So what now?” Claire asked.

“Don know” Mark replied. Sven shrugged and turned his attention back to the kitchen. He eyed the amber liquid in the large bottle sitting in it’s place at the top of the refrigerator.

 “You staying home?”

Sven took a moment, he told himself it was to properly consider Claire’s question, but he found it mighty difficult when he tore his eyes away from the bottle to open the refrigerator door. He hoped the action was enough of an answer for her, because as he rooted about the cool and lighted box for something to eat, he soon had his mouth stuff with bread.