In Search of Lost Time (originally posted 04/2011-05/2012)

[Capistrano]

When from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unfaltering, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.
(Marcel Proust, Swann's Way)

The sky was yellow, choked with pollution pouring out of several tall black smokestacks in the distance, but Jay paid the poisoned air no mind. The gas mask he wore both obscured his face and cleaned the toxins from the atmosphere, leaving him to breathe clean oxygen that smelled faintly of rubber and disinfectant. Years spent wearing the device as a disguise had left him accustomed to the odor, to the mask itself inhaling and exhaling, to viewing the world through plastic lenses. Right now, he was looking through those lenses in search of one man, though all he could see at the moment were the rippling waves of heat rolling across the baked, abandoned soil.

“Vathiar! Show yourself!” Jay shouted, as best he could through the muffling mask. His foe’s reply shook the very foundations of the earth, a booming, reverberating shout that came from the heavens itself.

“WHY SHOULD I, MAGESLAYER? YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN TASKED WITH, WHO YOU ARE TRIFLING WITH! A PILE OF THE CORPSES OF ALL THE MAGESLAYERS I HAVE KILLED WOULD REACH TO GOD HIMSELF! YOU ARE A PATHETIC INSECT, AND I SHALL FLATTEN YOU IN DUE TIME.”

“Why not now, Vathiar? Is it ‘cuz I’ve succeeded where those others failed? ‘Cuz I hurt you in RhyDin, hunted you through your dreams, locked you inside your own mind? ‘Cuz you can’t hurt me with any of your spells?” Immediately after Jay’s last comment, a bolt of lightning crashed out of the clouds and struck Jay square in the head. The only sign that the bolt had struck its target true was the smoke pouring off of Jay’s body and the tang of ozone in the air. He stood there for a second, blinking, then laughed. “You gotta do better than that. C’mere and fight me, man to man.” Jay’s grip on his buckler tightened, and he waggled his wooden baseball bat. “I’ve got my own pile of corpses to complete,” he sneered. It was half-bluff, half-truth. Some of the mages he had encountered on the trail to Vathiar had not resisted. Some had. Those who had resisted fared poorly. Another lightning strike lashed out from the sky, but this time Jay held up his bat like a lightning rod. The electricity crackled and sparked around the bat in clear violation of the rules of conductivity, before the wood sucked in the energy and spat it back towards the clouds. Jay watched this blast of energy arc upwards until it reached its target. Though invisible, Jay could still hear the wizard cry out when his redirected attack struck him.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

“It ain’t gonna work, Vathiar. The only way you’re gonna beat me is hand-to-hand. “

“…SO BE IT!” The skies rang out with a thunder-clap, and slowly, Jay’s ears filled with the sound of buzzing. A handful of carrion flies suddenly appeared before Jay, where nothing but dust and dirt had been before. They flew in agitated rings and circles, growing gradually from a small group into a human-shaped horde. Then, with a ripple and burst of putrid air, Vathiar appeared.

Age had stolen much from the mage. Much of his hair was gone, and the few stringy strands still clinging stubbornly to his skull had been bleached of all color. He wore thick lensed glasses, and his eyes were rheumy and red-rimmed. His shoulders were stooped, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that he once stood an inch or two taller than his current hunched-over form. The most obvious sign of his age was his skin: a sickly yellow that eerily seemed to match the poisoned sky, heavily wrinkled and leathery in texture. At random intervals, what looked like black lightning flickered and crawled across his skin and moth-eaten robes. In his right hand was a pouch, in his left a staff with a smoky gray crystal topping it.

“I’m only doing this, boy, because I tire of this tedious game, and your meddlesome behavior. All we wanted was to be free, and we very nearly were, save for your efforts. I underestimated you, and yours. A mistake I will not make twice!” Vathiar punctuated his exclamation by suddenly leveling his staff at Jay. A ball of flame erupted from the crystal and left no time for Jay to dodge or lift his shield in defense. Yet after the orange wave had washed over him, he was unsinged, a trail of smoke behind him the only sign the spell had ever been cast. Jay began walking slowly towards Vathiar, who fired off every spell he could think of. Vathiar summoned razor winds to cut Jay’s flesh to ribbons, but the blades merely bounced off him like his skin was made of iron. Vathiar summoned a blizzard, a tornado, a hurricane, poisonous fog, even a meteor shower, but neither cold nor wind nor driving rain nor toxic clouds nor rocks pulled from the heavens themselves could stop Jay. Finally, he was nearly two body lengths from the mage, who desperately tried to put distance between himself and his assailant by slashing at the ground with his staff. Slowly, a giant gaping pit began to form between Jay and Vathiar, but the blue-haired boy simply broke into a sprint and leapt across the gap. Behind him, the earth crashed and tumbled into oblivion, leaving them at the edge of a newly formed cliff. Desperate, Vathiar swung his staff at Jay’s head, but the blow was easily blocked by the buckler in his hand. Jay’s counter-attack was swift and vicious, a blow aimed at the hand holding the pouch. He saw Vathiar’s fingers break, contorting themselves at impossible angles as the man screamed, dropped his pouch, and gripped his wrist. The pouch emptied its contents into the dirt, glittering diamond dust that was quickly blown away by a gust of wind. Vathiar swore at Jay, but the “mageslayer” just stood there, watching him, expressions hidden behind his mask.

“It’s over, Vathiar. You can’t win this fight. Give up, come back with me to RhyDin, and pay for your crimes.”

“I will die first, and so will you!” The mage spat at Jay, which was just enough of a distraction. The split-second Jay spent glancing down at his sweatshirt, where the foul black-and-yellow globule of spit had struck him, was just enough time for Vathiar to act. By the time Jay saw him swinging the crystal end of his staff towards the ground, it was too late. The glass broke with a deafening boom, and their bodies were enveloped in white light. The last thing Jay saw before the white light gave way to bottomless black was Vathiar’s leering face, sneering his last words. “I’ll see you in hell, mageslayer.”

((Originally posted April 1, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Two feet in the air, above the Delric’s Dawgs hot dog stand in the Marketplace, the fabric of RhyDin’s reality was ripped open, long enough to spit one bruised and battered man in a ripped up hoody, sweatpants, and gas mask. Jay’s head bounced off the grill, melting a chunk of plastic on the surface besides the bratwursts and chopped up onions and peppers cooking there, and one knee slammed against the lidded trays on the side of the cart, before rolled off and into Delric himself. The short dwarf, stunned by Jay’s unexpected summoning, could not get out of the way, and was knocked off the foot stool he stood on when working, back into a cooler and extra propane tanks. The weight of the two men shoved the cooler back a few inches, and the extra tanks clanged and clattered against the stones, leaving Delric groaning. “Och, blasted RhyDin!” With a grunt, Delric pushed himself into a standing position, to get a closer look at the person who’d fallen from the sky.

Jay’s mask had been knocked sideways and charred from hitting the hot grill, and the hood of his sweatshirt had fallen down after the impact, revealing dyed blue hair. Near his left hip, a hole had been burnt through his black sweatpants where they had brushed against the edge of the grill, revealing a glimpse of plain black boxer briefs. On his right hip, the polyester had melted to his skin. His breathing was ragged and slow, and his eyes were shut.

“Oh, for stone’s sake, Nexus! How many blasted times are you going to drop people on my stand? Wasn’t once this month already enough for you?” With his grumbling now out of the way, Delric knelt to shake Jay’s form. “Wake up, sky-faller. You’re gonna help me clean up this mess.” The shake did nothing to move or stir Jay from unconsciousness. When Delric’s second shove failed to provoke any reaction from Jay, the dwarf reached down to slap his face. It was then he saw the blood trickling from a gash on the side of his head, and a burn across his already scarred cheek. With a loud dwarvish swear, he pulled his hand back, stood up, and broke into a run towards the eastern end of the Marketplace, shouting all the while.

“I need a healer over here!”

((Originally posted April 4, 2011))

[Capistrano]

“Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future.”
(Steve Miller Band, “Fly Like an Eagle”)

“Good to see you up.” The healer walked through the doorway and leaned against the frame, looking at Jay, who was still lying in bed. His room was quite plain – no paintings or photographs or pictures of any sort on the white painted walls, no nick-knacks or clock on the dresser, no books on the nightstand, no papers or pens on the desk. Even the sheets and blankets were colorless, a thick white down comforter over sheets of the same color, and the pillows plain as well. If it weren’t for the pungent odor of herbs wafting through the room, it might have passed for a room in a hospital. The jumble of scents fighting for the attention of Jay’s nose, and the healer’s attire – a simple green tunic and brown knee-high breeches, with no medical tools on his person – made it quite clear this was no hospital.

“Yeah. I’ve been sleeping a while, right?”

“Two days, give or take a few hours.” As soon as the healer had finished speaking, Jay started doing the math on his fingers.

“So it’s, uh, July 23.” At Jay’s response, the other man shot him a confused look, eyebrows arched.

“Not-not quite.”

“What do you mean, ‘not quite?’ I left here June 21, and was out of town for a month, and I’ve been sleeping two days. July 23.”

“Well, you must have been way ‘out of town’ –" The healer frowned slightly, casting doubt on Jay’s claims, before continuing, "– because it’s April 3.”

“***.” Jay shot a dirty look over towards the man, before his features softened. “Sorry. Not your fault. Wait…what year?”

“What-what do you mean?”

“What…year… is…it today?”

“Uhm…4708?”

“***! I’ve missed 2698 years? Ah…***.” Jay felt his eyes beginning to water, and he stared down at his knees desperately. He heard rather than saw the man fidget, shoes scraping against the floor, and he shooed him off with a wave of his hand. “Please…I need to be alone.”

“Yes, right, well, if you need anything, just yell. I’ll be over in the other room.”

“Yeah. Great. Thanks.” Jay didn’t even look up to watch the man leave, though as soon as he knew that he was gone, he started swearing under his breath. It was either that, or weep bitterly.

((Originally posted April 10, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Bright sun streamed past the partially closed blinds, casting beams of light across Jay’s face and body as he stood by the window, peering through the slats. From there, he almost couldn’t smell the medicinal herbs that seemed to permeate every inch of his room. From there, he swore he could almost smell the sun, fresh and clean and alive. Fresh cut grass and barbequed meat wafted inside in waves, tantalizing him. On instinct, Jay reached for his pants pocket, only to remember that the breeches he was wearing were pocketless, and he didn’t have any cigarettes or a lighter. He rubbed at his nose. He wanted a smoke badly.

Jay heard footsteps behind him, and turned his body slightly towards the doorway, though he didn’t face it. From the corner of his eye, he saw the healer stop and lean against the frame.

“How are you feeling?” The man asked Jay.

“Tired. Sore.” Jay lifted up a hand to glance at his right palm and wrist. A gauze bandage peeked out from beneath the cuff of his tunic, and he itched the skin beneath it. “Got any smokes?”

“Cigarettes?” Jay saw the healer’s eyes widen, lips turn into a frown.

“Yeah, cigarettes, dude.”

“No. Cigarettes are unhealthy. They’ll kill you.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, with a laugh. “That’s the idea, right?”

“Are-are you suicidal?” The man’s frown disappeared, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Hmm? Uh, no, not really. Not anymore than anyone else, I guess.” Jay shrugged a shoulder, then turned back to face the window. “I guess I should be, though?”

“I… – do I need to go get a priest, or a psychologist? Do you need help?”

“Dude…no. I’m cool.” Jay paused, tapped his cheek a couple of times with his index and middle fingers. He then turned away from the window and fully faced the healer. “Uh…I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Bellamin. But you can call me Bell.” Scrutiny and suspicion still marked Bell’s features.

“Good to meet you, Bell.” Jay paused again, scratching his head. “Did I tell you my name?”

“No, and Delric didn’t know you-“

“Delric?” Jay interrupted.

“The dwarf whose food cart you fell out of the sky onto.”

“Oh. Uh…sorry?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it with me. If you want to apologize to him, he should be out in the Marketplace now.”

“Yeah?” In response, Bell stepped out of the doorway, and gestured towards the front of his apartment and the door.

“Yes. You should be well enough to walk on your own now, though I’d recommend not staying out too long and resting here for a few more days, just for observation. Having all the magic burned out of you in one blast is a pretty traumatic injury, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be- wait. What?” The full weight of the words slammed into Jay like a brick wall, and he stopped dead in the doorway, slack-jawed and staring at Bell like he had two heads.

“Yeah. Whatever magic you used to have is gone – when I Look at you, all I can see are the embers of it. And each day, they glow less and less. I suspect they will be entirely gone within a week.”

“Dude…you really gotta learn not to drop this *** on people out of nowhere. What’s next, I have a kid I don’t know about and my great-great-great-great-great grandson is the Governor now?”

((Originally posted April 13, 2011))

[Capistrano]

“…People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”
(Albert Einstein)

The RhyDin of 4708 seemed to differ little from the RhyDin of 2010, but that didn’t surprise Jay. He had lived in RhyDin long enough to pick up on the city’s rhythms, its pulse, and the way things worked on a day-to-day basis. Change came at a glacial pace, and the modern had always mixed with the ancient in a way that was simultaneously anachronistic and respectful of the old ways. Asphalt and concrete and pavement existed in parts of the city, but the cobblestoned streets that weaved their way through much of RhyDin wouldn’t be torn out by jackhammers any time soon. There were cars and motorcycles and planes, but that hadn’t eliminated horse-drawn carriages, steam-powered airships, or man-powered bicycles. In many ways, it was a lot like Earth, only amplified and with magic. He clung to the familiar like a blanket as he walked to the Marketplace and Delric’s Dawgs.

It was mid-afternoon, about an hour and a half past the usual lunch hour, so the line in front of Delric’s cart was short: a man in a charcoal three-piece suit, currently exchanging coins for two hot dogs wrapped in butcher’s paper, and a dwarf with a Mohawk that added almost enough height for him to come up to the businessman’s shoulder. The business man dropped a pair of coppers in the tip jar located next to the napkin dispenser, and then the dwarf in line stepped onto a stool placed in front of the cart for shorter customers. Jay fell in line behind him, listening in on their conversation.

“Ach, *** you Delric,” the mohawked dwarf said, though his smile and bright tone of voice made it clear he was just kidding with the hot dog man.

“Och, the same to you, Thoris. Trying to take advantage of my generosity.”

“Generosity, my ass! Yer just a cheapskate. Won’t even give a free meal to your own flesh and blood.”

“Cousin,” Delric corrected him, laughing. “But linked by blood, yes. But I cannot be giving free food to all who share blood with me. Do you want me in the poorhouse?”

Thoris belly-laughed, then dug through his pockets for coins. “Hell no, cousin. Hell no. Gimme a chili cheese dog, extra onions.”

Delric lifted one of his thick, bushy eyebrows. “Got a big date?” he deadpanned.

“You sodding know it. Victalynn and I are catching the Gottes Verschrottung concert tonight.” Thoris preemptively took a napkin from the dispenser, while Delric opened up the storage cabinet inside his cart and retrieved a new bag of hot dog buns. After tearing it open, he pulled one out, opened up the steam tray, placed the hot dog in the bun, then ladled chili on top. He topped it off with one spoonful of shredded cheddar and two spoonfuls of chopped onions, then wrapped the chili cheese dog in butcher’s paper and handed it over to Thoris. The mohawked dwarf paid him, and then dropped a silver in the jar.

“Yeah, you go ahead and enjoy that,” Delric said, rolling his eyes slightly. “Me, I’ll stick to music that isn’t made with jack hammers and stones.”

“You just got no *** taste in music, cousin. But…” Thoris unwrapped the paper and took a big bite of the hot dog. Despite the fact his mouth was full, he talked. “Mhu make…an awesome…d…dog. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“You too, Thoris.” Delric waved as Thoris turned around, nearly bumping into Jay.

“Och! Stone below! Were you there that whole *** time?” Thoris straightened up, muscles bunching beneath a tight leather jacket.

“Uh…yeah?” Jay didn’t back down, but he also didn’t flex his muscles or scowl at Thoris. In response, the dwarf relaxed his aggressive pose. Then, he leaned forward a bit and eyed Jay curiously.

“I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so. I…just got into town.”

“You look like someone my cousin used to talk about.”

“Lemme guess,” Jay said, laughing. “Someone with blue hair, right?”

“Yeah!” Thoris snapped his fingers and grinned. “That’s right!”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s not me. I literally just popped in here, like, a week ago or so.”

“Oh…okay. Cool. And, uh, sorry about...that.” Thoris frowned, sheepishly. Jay just waved him off and waved him past.

“No, dude, it’s cool. Take care.”

“Stone’s strength to you.” Thoris turned back and clenched his hand into a tight fist, then continued on his way.

((Originally posted May 11, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Bell had sent Jay to the Stoneworking District in Southgate to purchase a new stone mortar and pestle set for muddling herbs for poultices. Not surprisingly, most of the homes and buildings in the area were also made of stone, most of them short and small and made of pinkish granite or off-white limestone. Here, the cobblestones were meticulously cared for, with not a single slab out of place. The Stoneworking District felt the conflict between high-tech and the old ways keener than many parts of the city. Quite a few of the buildings that had once housed businesses had “For Rent” signs up in the windows, and only a handful of people walked through the neighborhood even though it was a Saturday afternoon.

Jay’s visit to the Apothecary Supply Store passed without incident. He had went inside, scanned the shelves quickly, found the precise type of mortar and pestle Bell wanted, and took them to the register to pay within the span of a few minutes. The whole process felt unreal, ghostly, like he had floated into and out of the store with no real effect. A few minutes later, when he was daydreaming about the experience, paper shopping bag in hand, he couldn’t even remember the store’s layout…

“Oof!” Jay grunted, as he ran into the back of someone clad in leather armor. Jay began apologizing even before the person turned around. “Sorry! I wasn’t paying attention and- I’m sorry!”

The person he had bumped into looked like a cross between a human and a dragon – the same body shape, bipedal walking, arms and hands with five fingers, but with blue scales that caught the light and shimmered like stained glass. Even with the more subtle characteristics that differentiated gender between dragons and their related ilk, Jay immediately knew this person was a woman.

This was Ravalynn Goldheart, owner of Goldheart Ironworks, his first sponsor in the Duels. She looked crossly at him first, snorting, and then recognition dawned in her eyes. “…Jay?”

“…how’s this possible?” Jay blinked furiously as his vision began to blur. He took a step back, as if separating himself from the situation. One of his booted feet pawed at the cobblestones, the sole scraping against the street.

“How’s what possible?” Ravalynn’s head tilted curiously, and the forked tip of her tongue slipped just outside of her mouth. She spoke with a sibilant accent that emphasized s’s, like what a snake might sound like if it could speak.

“You-you’re alive!” Footsteps hesitant at first, he suddenly rushed forward and embraced Ravalynn in a clumsy hug. Not expecting the show of affection, and holding onto shopping bags of her own, she could do little more but gape at the blue-haired boy resting his head on her shoulder. To her, his skin was cool, a summer breeze on hot sands. To him, her scales were warm, almost too warm, like touching one’s sunburned skin.

“Well, yes…why wouldn’t I be?” Her nostrils flared, and she blinked.

“It’s – how long do your people live?”

“Excuse me?” She stiffened, and Jay pulled himself away from the hug just as awkwardly as he had first hugged her.

“Uh…dragonborn, draconic, I mean. What’s your lifespan?”

“Much the same as yours, Jay. 70 or 80 years, depending on lots of things.” Her tongue flicked out of her mouth and back in.

“Then…how are you here, now? I went 2000-plus years into the future!”

“Are you sure you did? You‘re sure you’re not sick or something?” She reached a scaly hand for his forehead to feel it, but given the difference in body temperature between the two, she couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be as cool as he felt. She snorted, blowing out some white smoke from her nostrils. “I don’t know what calendar you follow, but I know the standard calendar year that they use for all the government business says it’s 2011.”

It was a good thing the mortar and pestle Jay bought was made of stone, for when Ravalynn had finished speaking, he lost his grip on his bag and dropped it onto the street.

((Originally posted June 3, 2011))

[Capistrano]

After Jay’s shock at the discovery he wasn’t 2000-plus years in the future had subsided, Ravalynn took him to one of her favorite restaurants, located a few blocks away from the Stoneworking District.

“They call it a Mongolian bar-bee-que,” she said, slightly mispronouncing the unfamiliar word. “They have all the meats and cheeses and vegetables and seasonings available for anyone to pick up and put on their plate, and then they cook it in front of you. But they also were nice enough to let me just get meat, and just eat it raw.” Jay had done his best at that moment not to show his queasiness at the idea of eating raw chicken or steak.

The building was located at one of the corners of an intersection. There was patio space on the sidewalk, an awning that hung over the entryway and the full-pane windows facing the main road, and smaller awnings over the smaller windows facing the side street. Above the restaurant was a second story of pale rectangular granite, with evenly spaced windows – either a series of apartments, or storage space for the restaurant, or an unfilled office. Jay couldn’t tell for sure.

They entered the restaurant and were seated at one of the tables located next to a side street window. Jay took a moment in between being seated and the waiter coming to get their drink orders to look out the window. Somehow, the world outside felt more different than it had when he thought he was in the distant future. The fact it was mere months, instead of two millennia, that had passed, only heightened the feeling that he didn’t belong. Not even a year gone, he thought, and I don’t really know anybody besides a woman I only met two or three times. It might as well have been two thousand years.

“So what have you been up to?” Ravalynn asked, bringing Jay out of his daydream.

“Oh…uh, when?”

“Whenever. Since you got back. Since the last time you were here. Since the last time I saw you?”

“Since I got back, I’ve been running errands and stuff for the guy who healed me when I got back. You know a guy named Bell?” Ravalynn shook her head. “Okay. Yeah, he healed me because I didn’t come back in the best shape.”

“What happened?” The waiter set down their drink orders – a glass of water for Ravalynn, a cola for Jay – and told them they could go to the buffet whenever they were ready. They remained seated, and continued talking.

“You know, the usual Nexus stuff – it puts you down in the worst possible place it can, lots of times. In the air above a hot dog stand, for one.” Ravalynn laughed lightly at that, and Jay joined in her laughter soon after, before trying to move the conversation in a different direction. “How’s your family doing?”

“Oh, Zan’s doing well. Grace drives him crazy now and then, but that’s not too surprising. She wants to be a warrior just like her daddy, and Zan wants her to be anything but that.”

“Yeah, not an easy line of work, I bet.” Jay looked off to the side for a moment, and then drank some of his soda. It was much sweeter than he had remembered, but that was probably because it had been so long since he had drank any – weeks, by his internal calendar, months, by the world’s.

“Oh?” She had caught the look, and was curious as to what it meant. Her hands rested under her chin, her elbows folded on the table, and she looked Jay in the eye. Jay did his best to hold the eye contact, but he squirmed in his seat to deal with the discomfort.

“Fighting for a living," he answered in a half-mumble. "Like a cop or a soldier or something, y'know.” After answering, he looked down at the table and the clean white paper placemat in front of him. Fortunately, his response left Ravalynn uncomfortable as well. She looked towards the window too, and Jay seized the opportunity. He stood up from the table, smiling faintly and rubbing his stomach. “I’m feeling kinda hungry. Mind if I go up there and we continue this conversation after some food?”

“Sure,” Ravanlynn said, standing as well. “Sure.” With that, the blue-haired boy and the blue-scaled woman went up to the buffet and began filling their bowls with lamb and ribeye steak.

((Originally posted June 11, 2011))

[Capistrano]

“So what are you going to do now?” Ravalynn asked, finishing off her third bowl of raw meat.

“I’m pretty full, so I think I’m just gonna take it easy and not have anymore.”

Ravalynn laughed, a sound that was half-hiss, half-hiccup. “No, diwhafup’ir!” Her expression became more serious. “With your life, I meant. From the sound of things, you have a lot of catching up to do.”

Jay’s laughter was nervous, almost like a tic, and he washed it away with a quick swig of soda. “Yeah, something like that.” I’ve asked myself the same damn question, like, at least once a week if not more since I was 18, he thought to himself with a shake of his head and crooked smile. Some things don’t change, I guess. He seemed ready to add more, but instead just faked a smile. “Yeah.”

“You’re not dueling? We could always go back to the old arrange-“

“No!” Jay watched Ravalynn shrink in her seat, and he instantly looked guilty. In a quieter voice, he continued. “No, thanks, I mean…I’m not ready for that I don’t think. Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right. There’s no need to explain, or do something you don’t want to do.” She scratched her chin, head tipped slightly to study him. “Other than your odd jobs for this Bell, you have not been doing anything else?”

“No,” Jay replied, shaking his head for good measure. “There’s a lot to catch up on, even if it’s just a few months and not millennia or whatever.”

“I see.” Still scratching her chin, she flashed a slightly mischievous smile Jay’s way. “We might have a position open for you.”

“I, uh, don’t know anything about blacksmiths or metalwork or whatever.”

“Can you run a cash register? Do you understand how Rhydin currency works?”

Now Jay was scratching his chin, wondering what she was getting at. “I’ve run a cash register before, here and back home, and I worked at a store here, so I know at least a little about the money.”

Well, then…” She stretched her hand across the table. “You’re hired. Provisionally, of course. Unless you don’t want the job?” Her hand hovered awkwardly over empty bowls of meat and rice.

“Uh…no! No, I mean…yeah, I think I can handle that.” Only then did he seem to fully notice the hand. “I’m…not sure why you’re being so nice, but… I appreciate it.” He grasped her hand and shook, smiling. “I’d love to work for Goldheart Ironworks.”

She grinned warmly as they shook, before letting go. “We’re glad to have you. And I’m being nice because…I just always got this feeling, even when you first came and asked me to sponsor you, that you really, really needed a break. And I don’t think it’s any different now. Am I right?”

“…Yeah.” You really have no idea…

((Originally posted October 19, 2011))

[Capistrano]

The voice first came back as mumbling, dull and unintelligible in the back of Jay’s head, and easily dismissed with a few minutes of meditation, a cigarette outside, or a couple of beers at the bar. It wasn’t the first time the beast slipped through, and he thought little of it, until the voice got stronger. A few days later, it had moved on to murmuring, words and phrases that cut through his mind more often than he wanted them to.

Meat…moon…They need to die…Let me out.

The old solutions were no longer available to Jay. No job in a health care facility, so no tranquilizers to smuggle out. No connection to his goddess, so Her hand could no longer protect him, and meditation became less and less effective. And after his battle with the mage, his magic had been burned out, including the magic tattoos they had given him to seal in the wolf. Now, the only thing between him and his worst nightmare was alcohol. Beer gave way to malt liquor gave way to whiskey and vodka, drowning out the beast when he needed it most. He knew, however, that it was only going to work for so long. He had to find a way to nip this in the bud, before it short-circuited the new life he was building for himself working at Goldheart Ironworks.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the sort of enemy you could fight hand-to-hand, or with a baseball bat, as Jay so often preferred. It wasn’t even an enemy he could see. He would have to try a new tactic. As ineffective as it had been at times, he decided that meditation was his only hope. He would try to delve deeper than he had ever done before. It was more than just calming the mind, and different than communing with Swapneshwari. He was going to dig through his psyche, find the wolf, and tame it.

He sat on the floor of his room, his feet pressed together at the soles, and his hands clasped in front of him. As he began murmuring in Hindi, his eyes fluttered shut.

***

It was a bar. It was…the pool hall? No, the dive bar the underage skate punks went when they wanted to drink, even if it was overpriced pitchers of Bud Light. No, it was both, and others. Dark, dingy, with neon signs hanging in windows criss-crossed with wrought-iron bars, ashtrays at each table and every few feet on the bar, and one resting on a pool table with the embers of a cigar slowly burning out. Jay found himself seated at a bar, next to a man clad in a leather jacket with long and greasy brown hair, jeans with holes worn out in the knees, and equally worn work boots. When the man spotted Jay looking at him, he glared at first, before grinning widely and turning his head so that Jay could see his left cheek. From near his ear down to his chin, there were four angry pink lines marring his features. Claw marks, Jay thought to himself, before recoiling and nearly falling off his stool. The man smiled, even more wolfishly.

“Like my handiwork?”

It took Jay a moment to regain his senses, and another moment to swing a hard left at the man. He whiffed on the punch, as the man leaned out of the way, then counter-attacked with a chop to the throat. Jay clutched at his Adam’s apple, lost his balance, and tumbled off the stool, falling with a clatter and crash onto the floor of the bar. It smelled like peanut shells and stale beer, and his cheek rested on something wet. Beer? He touched a hand to his face, and then glanced at his fingers. No, blood. Jay jumped to his feet quickly, attempting to throw another punch. Instead of dodging this blow, the man just grabbed Jay’s fist, squeezed his knuckles until he thought they would burst, then twisted his arm violently and shoved him against the bar back first. Jay glanced at the bartender upside down, but the man didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. Jay looked left, then right, but the other patrons didn’t seem to notice.

“Cut that *** out, and sit. You wanted me here, I’m here. Don’t be a *** idiot and try to fight me. You’re gonna lose.”

Kneeling, Jay picked up the knocked-over stool and set it back on his legs, before gingerly taking a seat again.

“There we go,” the man said, almost cooing, though the rough edges of his voice made it impossible to imagine him ever speaking softly and kindly to anyone. “Much better.”

“What do you want?”

“Excuse me?” The man broke into howling laughter, and slapped the bar a couple of times. “Kid, you called me here, and you’re asking me what I want? Holy hell, you’re not that bright are you? Or you didn’t think this through?”

“Fine,” Jay huffed, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He pulled a cigarette out, lit it, and exhaled. He thought of exhaling in his antagonist’s face, but decided not to. “I want to know what you want.”

“Oh, that?” The man laughed again. “Jesus, all you had to do was ask. Or stop drinking. Or getting drugged up. Or…those goddamn tattoos.” He pointed at Jay’s arms, now clean of ink. “If you were just willing to pay attention, you’d have found out. It’s simple. I’m hungry. I need to kill. To spread. But you-“ He jabbed a finger into Jay’s chest, almost pushing him back off the stool. “You fight it. More than maybe anyone I’ve ever been in. The drinks, the drugs, the tattoos, the- chanting mantra ***. Most people just give in. So…we’re at odds.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s about *** right, buddy,” Jay said, finally giving in to the urge to blow smoke in the man’s face. He didn’t wince, didn’t cough, didn’t even wave it away. “You want me to kill, and I ain’t gonna do that.”

“Oh, ***!” The man slammed his fist against the bar, shaking drinks across its length. “You’ve killed lots of ***. I know. I’m up-“ Instead of finishing the sentence, he pointed at Jay’s forehead, then pressed his finger against it and rubbed, as if smudging something into his skin.

“Evil things, though. Night mares, succubuses, incubuses, hags-“

“Mages?” The man interrupted to ask.

“Just the one. I just captured the rest.”

“Was he evil?”

“Well, yes.” The man seized on the split-second of hesitation.

“To you, and to your employers, he was.”

“He used blood magic, and foul necromancy!”

“According to your employers. Did you bother to investigate?” Jay sat silent. “Did you? Did you?”

“…No.”

“No,” the man repeated, in a mocking tone. “So you have no moral high ground to stand on! I, on the other hand, am nothing if not honest.”

“Fine. Whatever. Look, I’m not letting you out.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.” In response to that, Jay mimed pointing a gun at his head and pulling the trigger. The man just laughed. “I know you too well, Jay. You don’t have the guts, or you’d have done it already. Remember?” He tapped his forehead, then Jay’s.

“I’ve been at this for a while now, Wolf. You don’t think I can keep it up?”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be here. So here’s my offer: I lend you my power, no strings attached, do whatever you want with it, for 29 days a month.”

“And give you one day?” Jay scoffed. “No deal.”

“Better one day out of control than all of them. And better I lend you my power on those 29 days, and let you have some say on the 30th. I know you. You can handle power, like none of the others can. I know you miss the powers you had. I can more than make up for that, and such a small price to pay.”

“No deal.”

“You’re sure?” The Wolf gestured towards the bartender, who wordlessly swung by with a bottle of beer. Biting the edges of the bottlecap, the man pulled it off with his teeth, grinning with the cap in his mouth before spitting it back onto the bar.

“Yes.”

“Well, I gave you a chance to have it on your terms.” The Wolf took that moment to look Jay in the eye and curl his lip back into a snarl. “Sooner or later, you will break. And then, you will reap none of the benefits.”

Before Jay could respond, the bar faded into white, and the vision ended.

((Originally posted December 3, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Jay had been analyzing his vision over and over again in the days and weeks that had passed since. Life was otherwise a blur and a bore: learning what he needed to know for work, slowly acquiring the creature comforts to make his apartment more homely and less a hovel, trying to keep in shape without the duels and the dreamwalking he used to do. One morning, while in the shower, he glanced down at his stomach and grimaced. He was more paunchy then he could ever remember being. Push-ups and sit-ups on occasion wasn’t enough. He needed to do more.

He needed a lot of things, quite honestly. A solution to his Wolf problem would be nice for starters. More motivation to exercise would also be appreciated. Some time off from work couldn’t hurt. There hadn’t been much time to think beyond his job duties, and many days ended with him so exhausted from carrying boxes of stone and iron around that he fell asleep as soon as he returned home. But he couldn’t ask for time off now; he’d been lucky just to get this job, and he needed to settle in, prove his worth, before he asked favors of Ravalynn, who had already done so much for him.

He was left with his weekends, which were spent studying lycanthropy at the public library, meditating to keep at peace, and drinking beer at whatever hole-in-the-wall bar his meanderings throughout the city took him to. A couple of beers to take the edge off, maybe one more for the road, and he would walk back to his apartment with only his thoughts and a slowly burning cigarette for company. He knew there was even more that needed to be done. But he had so little free time and so many things to do, to see, to check up on. How in the world could he ever get everything done?

((Originally Posted December 7, 2011))

[Capistrano]

When it came to nightmares, hags, and other beasts that went bump in the night and haunted the dreams of humans, the RhyDin Orphanage was a prime target. Children were naturally more susceptible to bad dreams, especially children whose parents had passed away, or who had abandoned them to the mercies of the state (or what passed for it in the intermittently lawless realm of RhyDin). They were also more likely to believe that there was a monster hiding in their closet, or under their bed, and this belief, and the fear that ensued from it, made them stronger yet. As a Dreamwalker, Jay had fought many battles in and around the orphanage, and within the dreams of the children sleeping there. How much of a difference had he really made, though?

Jay felt like there was no real way to know. He couldn’t just stroll into the orphanage and inquire about the well-being of the children, particularly when he never bothered to get anything more than a first name from the children he had saved. Such a request would undoubtedly be treated with suspicion and scorn. Sneaking around to get the answers he wanted wasn’t a good idea either. If he got caught breaking into a room full of children, suspicion and scorn would be the least of his worries. Children shrieking, the house mom striking him with a rolling pin, city guards pounding the cobblestones to rescue the little ones before the assailant kidnapped the kids or worse. No, that wasn’t a solution either. And of course, he could no longer travel through dreams to meet them there and ask. The only thing that likely existed were adoption records and release forms, for those kids fortunate enough to find a new family and those who were too old to be wards of the state, respectively. It would be cold data, names and addresses and personal effects and nothing about the emotions of these children, whether they felt happy and safe and free.

So with that in mind, Jay went to a candy shop in the Marketplace. Garl’s Candy was a tiny store tucked away on one of the Marketplace’s side streets, closer to the houses and apartments in the area than the main strip of businesses, or the central plaza itself. Both the exterior and interior were decorated in dark woods, and felt Bavarian in design. The store was narrow in width, barely fitting four shelves, the cashier, and several massive wood barrels filled with wrapped gum and penny candies, but those shelves stretched back for what felt like a city block. And oh, what treats there were! There were chocolates of every size, shape, color, and flavor imaginable. There were gummy fruits, gummy bears, gummy worms, gummy dinosaurs, and gummy dragons. There were jawbreakers and malted milk balls and candy flavored with fruits from across the multiverse, from apples to naur’yavea to sweetstones. It was stuffed to the brim, such that it was almost impossible to travel down the aisles to browse its wares.

The bell attached to the door chimed when Jay entered, and the diminutive gnome who had to stand on a box to see over the counter greeted him cheerily. Garl wore a plain white apron over a brown shirt and slacks, and wore a set of small hooped gold earrings. His hair was light blonde, and his deep blue eyes seemed to radiate happiness along with the rest of his facial features.

“Good day! Welcome to Garl’s Candy! Can I help you find anything today?”

“Uh, good day,” Jay half-mumbled, confused by Garl’s enthusiasm. “I’m looking for candy canes, actually. Like, a lot of them.”

“How many is a lot? A dozen? Enough to put on a Christmas tree?” Garl asked the questions rapidfire, as if he may have eaten too many sweets himself.

Jay scratched his head. “I dunno. Like, a hundred or so? I’m, uh…I want to give them as a little Christmas gift to the orphanage. I’d give more, but I think candy’s about all I can afford.”

“Oh, they’ll love it!” Garl said, clapping his hands for good measure. “I’m not sure if we have that many in stock right now, but we can certainly get that many made before the big day.”

“And delivered?”

“Certainly.” Garl winked. “We’ll even have them dress as Santa and some of his elves.”

“Well…good. Good.” This time, Jay said the word with a smile. “So yeah, I’ll pay for that now, and you can just let me know when everything’s done and shipped out?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, please don’t tell them who it came from?" Jay interjected, before Garl could respond further. "It’s, uh, not important. I mean, I want them to know the candy’s safe to eat, y’know, but I’m not doing this to get attention or anything like that.”

Garl winked again, a slower, more deliberate wink, and spoke more deliberately than before. “I understand. It’s the spirit of the season, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

"Good. I can certainly do that."

Buying the candy canes for the orphanage tapped out Jay’s bar funds for the rest of the year. It was worth every copper.

((Originally posted December 12, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Broke into the old apartment
Tore the phone out of the wall
Only memories, fading memories
Blending into dull tableaux

I want them back

(Barenaked Ladies, “The Old Apartment”)

Spring 2011, R.S.C.

Jay had expected Candy’s old apartment building to be gone. Demolished, nothing but splinters and shingles. Or condemned, at the very least, with big yellow paper in bright red letters dooming the building. Maybe it would have vanished, disappearing into thin air like so many of RhyDin’s people did all too often. Like Candy had, for all he knew. They lost touch quickly after the break-up, what with him tilting at the dream invasion, winding up in a hospital, and watching what little he had built up for himself in RhyDin crumble into nothing through equal parts fate and bad decision making. He had sacrificed so much: his body, his freedom, his dignity, maybe even his soul. And bit by bit, the world had nibbled away at what little it had left him until he had been left destitute, homeless, then imprisoned and indentured to fight in duels and against mages. They had taken everything he owned, even his purpose in RhyDin. Sometimes, though, he thought that losing Candy – or pushing her away – was the largest sacrifice he had made.

The building was still there, though. Still intact and still looking like it was inhabited. It seemed to continue Jay’s string of good luck since he had returned. His magic had been burned out, true, but his “employers” hadn’t bothered looking for him yet. They probably thought he’d disappeared or died as well. At any rate, even if they suspected he was still alive, he was lucky that RhyDin was an easy city to hide in. Work hard, keep your head down, don’t get into trouble with the guard or the slavers or the gangs, and people ignored you. Kind of like what his friends described New York City as, though the freaks in RhyDin would put those in the Big Apple to shame. Slowly, he was regaining some semblance of a life, even if it wasn't the one he had always pictured for himself.

As Jay walked up closer to the building, the slim hope that had been rising in his chest suddenly bottomed out, as he saw a short signpost sitting in the yard in front of the building naming off the real estate offices, lawyers, accountants, and miscellaneous other businesses that had replaced the apartments there. Jay’s stomach sunk like a rollercoaster, and he almost fell butt-first onto the curb instead of sitting. He sat there, staring straight ahead at the other apartment building still standing across the street, mocking him, and didn’t blink. Finally, after a few minutes had passed, he reached into his pants pocket and retrieved his lighter and pack of cigarettes. His hands shook slightly with the effort, but the spring breeze and uneasy hands couldn’t put out the flame at the end of his cigarette. He breathed in deeply, and exhaled some smoke and a sigh.

He should have said something. To her, or the ghost of her. Maybe just to himself. Instead, Jay smoked that cigarette in silence, not daring to look back over his shoulder at the converted building, not daring to confront the fact that Candy was well and truly gone, and that he had pushed her away in the first place. When he finished his smoke, he got up slowly, turned around, and took one last look at the building.

Finally, he found his voice. In a quiet, even tone, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

((Originally posted December 17, 2011))

[Capistrano]

“I didn't know her family or friends at all
With no one to call, summer turned to fall, I gave up.”
(The Dismemberment Plan, “The Face of the Earth”)

December 11, 2011 R.S.C.

Jay had changed, and hadn’t changed, since he had returned to RhyDin. Appearance-wise, he no longer had his tattoos, and he had shaved all his messy blue hair off and let it grow back into its normal brown shade. Yet the litany of scars stuck with him, traveling nearly head to toe. The gash scars on his shins, the stitching scars on his right wrist and the back of his head, the thin pink line under his chin if he lifted his head up, and most noticeably, the claw marks cutting across his left cheek. They would not go away, so long as he was just scraping by on his earnings at Goldheart Ironworks. Maybe he didn’t want them to go away.

Jay wanted to believe he was different mentally, after all these years in RhyDin, after all of the crap he had been forced to face and deal with. That he had emerged from fighting that dream invasion, living on the streets, going to debtors’ prison, and working off his debts for anti-magic advocates a better person. A person who was stronger, smarter, braver, tougher, more equipped to face what life might throw at him. Of course, it was a lie. Stopping by the duels earlier that week had proven that to him.

He had seen Candy, and hadn’t done the mature thing. Still paranoid (so much for bravery) about who might be watching him, he had gone to the duels wearing a hood that covered most of his face. And there she had been. Apparently, she was back in town, or had never left, and was now calling duels. He should have just told her he was back, but as soon as he saw her and recognized her, he retreated into that hood, giving Taneth his Catholic name instead of his real name, and avoiding Candy as best as he could. Then Taneth started getting inquisitive, wondering why he was looking at Candy, talking her up and generally bringing way more attention to an awkward situation than he wanted. Jay knew that his cover had been blown, that Candy knew he was back, and that he hadn’t done a damn thing but avoid her. Things couldn’t have gone much worse.

***

Jay woke up the day after the full moon with a massive headache that was equal parts migraine, hangover, and some other kind of throbbing head pain. When he finally found the strength to push himself out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and look in the mirror, he saw (mostly with his right eye) that he had a massive shiner over his left eye and a bruise that left it partially swollen. The night before flash backed. Christ, I really did try to knock myself out. For all the *** good it did me. He turned away from the mirror, groaning, and stumbled through his morning shower and shave. After taking a couple of Tylenol and pouring himself a tall glass of water, he slipped beneath the sheets and tried to go back to sleep.

A half hour later, the headache had subsided some, but he still couldn’t sleep. Grumbling, Jay slipped out of bed for the second time that day, changed out of his day-old clothes into a fresher pair of jeans, underwear, and a black t-shirt, and grabbed the hooded sweatshirt he had hung on the front door knob. After putting that on, he put on his coat, got his keys and smokes, and headed out the door. Maybe fresh air would clear things up.

As he walked the street, he wanted to laugh at the people who were also out and about who saw him and immediately pulled away from him. Their smiles faded and their faces clenched. They walked faster, stood up straighter, or crossed the street in quick, nervous bursts. It reminded Jay of his punk days in California. The only difference was in RhyDin, it took a busted-up face to get that reaction, not blue hair, an eyebrow ring, or arms full of tattoos. It made him smile when it a young couple reacted that way, or an old man walking his dog. Jay frowned, though, when a mother holding hands with her two children seemed to drag them across the street to get away from him. For all she knows, I had no good reason to get a black eye. A dark mood settled on Jay, and he could feel the migraine/hangover/head injury combo threatening him.

By the time Jay had made it back to Candy’s old apartment, he was rubbing his temples, fervently praying that his headache wouldn’t get any worse. He still had to walk back home, after all, and finish all the errands he couldn’t do yesterday while he was preparing for the full moon. Yet despite all that, here he was, eight months later, returning to the scene of the crime. Three seasons had passed, spring breezes giving way to summer heat giving way to crisp autumn air, and now, every footstep crunched snow and ice beneath his shoes. He made sure the curb was clear of ice and snow before he sat down, in nearly the same spot, and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter.

After lighting a smoke and inhaling, Jay found himself speaking, leaning back just enough so that he could look up at the sky and address the words to the dim sun clad in gray clouds. “I’m still sorry, y’know. I mean, sorry as in sorry for what happened, and I guess sorry because I’m a crappy person.” He shook his head and laughed quietly. “I mean, I should be saying this to your face, and not to…whatever. The sun, the sky, the building you lived at forever ago. It’s *** of me. It’s cowardly. To hide, to avoid all that awkward stuff. I should just be a man and deal with it, but…yeah. I’ve gotten good at dodging my problems. I was doing it back home, and I’ve been doing it pretty much ever since I got here instead of just *** nutting up and dealing with it. It’s gotten me nothing but trouble and bull-***. Maybe…hopefully I can get my *** together and do all the stuff I want to do but always seem to find excuses not to do.” Now, he mumbled. “Or maybe I’ll just keep doing the same old *** over and over again. Man, I don’t know.” Tossing his cigarette into a snow bank with a low hiss, he stood up and turned to go back down the road that eventually would take him home. He muttered to himself as he walked away. “I’m still sorry, you know. Means something, right?...*** me, I gotta headache...”

((Originally posted December 21, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Someday, I’m telling you
They’ll make a memory machine
To wax our hearts to a blinding sheen
To wash away the grief
(The Dismemberment Plan, “Memory Machine”)

December 26, 2011 R.S.C.

All Jay could do, as he walked out of RhyDin Records clutching a small plastic bag with a couple of CDs inside, was laugh. They didn’t even recognize me, he thought, and I worked there for more than just a week or a day before quitting out of the blue. True, there had only been one person there Jay had even recognized – the owner – and it had been one of the busier days of the year. Still, Jay had thought maybe he would get a wave, or a minute of the man’s time, just to see how things were or to ask Jay what the hell had happened. Nothing. Not even a spark of recognition flashed in the owner’s eyes when he saw Jay, just boredom at dealing with another customer. Of course, Jay had cut his hair and lost the tattoos, but he still had the same eyes, the same face, and the same facial scar. Still, nothing. Jay didn’t bother to say anything to him.

Perhaps the man had smoked too much pot, drank too much, or done some other drug here that messed with memory. Maybe he’d taken too many blows to the head at some point in his life. It was easier to brainstorm elaborate reasons that someone he had known for at least a little while had completely forgotten him, like Jay never even existed at all, than to face a more likely truth: Jay had simply been forgotten. He had been unimportant to the owner, unmemorable, unworthy of space in the man’s memory, and as time passed, Jay faded out of sight and out of mind.

How many people have I forgotten? Names, phone numbers, addresses, faces? How many have I forgotten just here in RhyDin? He couldn’t even begin to estimate a number. Life here was even more transient than it had been back in California, when he was couch-surfing, when he had to hide his vigilante moonlighting from even his casual acquaintances. How many people in California had Jay broken bread with, smoked weed with, drank cheap beer and watched skateboarding videos with? Here in RhyDin, he couldn’t talk to any of them, but he doubted he would still be talking to them even if he was still there, still able to see them. Some of the faces he could barely remember, let alone names. RhyDin was even worse. Maybe not as packed as some cities Jay had visited, but packed enough, and with people constantly zapping in and out of the realm, with and without notice. No one seemed to treat their stay in RhyDin as one that might last forever, or until the day they died at the very least. Who knows how many people Jay had seen walking on the street one day who promptly turned the corner and vanished into thin air, never to be seen by RhyDinian eyes again? How many people do we get to meet in life, and how many do we stay friends with, and how long does it take us to forget the ones we want to forget? And why are there some people we just can’t forget?

Jay walked faster, wanting to get home to his apartment as soon as possible, so he could chase the unwanted thoughts away with clashing guitars and crashing drums, but he was still a ways away, and he was still thinking. That record store owner probably had the right idea. Always live in the moment and don’t worry about forgetting someone, because they might vanish one day and never return, or return and not remember you. It would have been nice to be so carefree with one’s life. But even Jay, as slipshod as his memory could be sometimes, had memories in his head that danced like skeletons, refusing to fall out of the closet and crumble into dust. He could drink and smoke and fight and meditate all he wanted, but there were certain things he was always going to remember, as hard as he tried sometimes to forget. Places, events, feelings. Even people. Especially people.

((Originally posted December 26, 2011))

[Capistrano]

Pop open a bottle of bubbly, yeah
Here's to another goddamn new year
(The Dismemberment Plan, “The Ice of Boston”)

December 31, 2011 R.S.C./January 1, 2012 R.S.C.

Jay’s apartment didn’t have a balcony, so he had to hoof it to the top floor of his apartment complex, jimmy the lock for the rooftop door open, and stick a brick in the doorway before going up to look out on his city. His building wasn’t tall, only five stories, so his view of the skyline and the horizon was blocked by taller buildings and the hills of Battlefield Park. Still, there was enough of a window for him to see what he had come up here to see. He put down the cheap bottle of champagne he’d purchased at the local bodega and retrieved his cigarettes and lighter from his back pocket. He very nearly purchased a cigar from the shop, but decided at the very last minute he couldn’t afford the luxury. Plain ‘ol cigarettes would have to do tonight.

Jay didn’t have a watch or a clock up on the roof, so he was dependent on the muffled laughter of other party-goers in his building and in other homes and apartments in the neighborhood for cues on the countdown. He sat near the edge of the roof, the winds stronger and more biting than on ground level, but he paid them no mind. He lit a cigarette and watched the sky, waiting. Finally, after what was probably a few minutes, the muted and scattered conversations of his neighbors became one, as what sounded like rhythmic counting in many different languages took over all dialogue in the city. The pressure seemed to build up in the very walls and windows of RhyDin, before it finally dissipated in loud cries. “Lotoc Z'ar Eorikc!” hissed one group in draconic. “Cadia Baern Os!” trilled another group of elves. “Happy New Year!” came the familiar cry in Common. A split-second later, the conversations and cheers were drowned out by the boom of fireworks launched near where the sea met the river. With his cigarette clenched between his teeth, Jay picked up the bottle, peeled off the foil, and turned the bottle while keeping a firm hand on the cork. Moments later, the cork popped off and fell onto the rooftop gravel, and champagne frothed out onto his coat and jeans. He spat the nearly finished cigarette over the edge of the roof, before taking a long swig straight from the bottle, spilling some on his chin and chest. He wiped his face clean with the back of his hand, set the bottle back down, and retrieved another cigarette to smoke. Every minute or so, he switched the cigarette over to his right hand and grabbed the bottle for a drink, eyes still trained on the fireworks display.

When the bottle was about half-empty, and the final salvo of fireworks had been launched, leaving only the aftershocks of the blasts ringing in everyone’s ears, Jay stood up, champagne still in hand. He held the bottle out at arm’s length, and then lifted it up in a toast. “I think…I think this’s gonna be a better year.” He laughed a little, looking down and shaking his head. “It better be.” With that, he put the bottle back to his lips and drank deeply.

((Originally posted January 2, 2012))