Encounterlogs
Isaiahs Odd Encounter Sr Novel 240926
In the worn-down landscape of Dandelion Parkway, Isaiah, once struggling, now stands amid her reclaimed territory, a savior to the homeless and downtrodden. With her roots deeply intertwined within this community, she fiercely guards it against those who threaten peace. Her loyalty to those she considers family runs deep, forged from years of hardship and support from figures like Desmond King. On this particular night, amidst the cold concrete and dimly lit streets, she investigates the mysterious harassments linked to an entity known simply as Meinos. The air is thick with camaraderie and the distress of recent brawls; the community has been shaken. Isaiah, leveraging her influence, seeks answers, questioning her eclectic cadre for any lead on Meinos or the unsettling force unsettling her streets.
The narrative shifts as Isaiah, Bear, and Baxter stumble upon an enigmatic doorway leading to a vast underground kingdom, a surreal expanse far removed from the decrepit trailers they're familiar with. This secret place, teeming with life and the vestiges of stolen goods, serves as a stark contrast to the bleakness of the parkway above. However, the discovery prompts a quick decision; the unstable portal poses a significant danger to this underground society. In a decisive move, Isaiah chooses to sever the link to this hidden world, pulling the plug on the generator powering the unstable doorway, thereby preventing potential disaster. The action leaves the group pondering the implications of their find, the existence of a vast unseen community beneath their feet, and the unsettling thought of what other mysteries lay hidden in the shadows of Dandelion Parkway.
(Bear's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Wed Sep 25 2024]
On Dandelion Parkway
Cracked and pothole-ridden asphalt roads make up this part of town,
bordered on either side by poorly maintained cracked sidewalks. The
aluminum streetlights are painted a deep, chipped green and appear regularly
along the side, illuminating the street in spots of warm electric light when
it's dark. Where the street is widest small median islands appear with old
twisted trees planted in them. The buildings that line the street seem old
and poorly taken care of.
It is night, about 75F(23C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
"Meinos? What the fuck is a Meinos? Is that a person?" Isaiah asks, pretty red brows furrowing as she glances over the late-coming humanitarian aid to her collection of homeless homies. "Tommy, is that a person or a place?" she asks the one-eyed guy, lifting the pill a little further away from him for emphasis and to maintain his compliance, not that her diminutive height does more than her presence and her notoriety amongst this crowd. She's been to this level. She's busted down the doors at the Antlers for a hot shower because she couldn't afford the twenty-five bucks for a room. She's fallen asleep under street lamps so if someone harasses her, she can fucking see. She's scrapped together cash just to spend it all on bullshit. She's begged, she's borrowed, she's stolen. She clawed her way up with the support of Desmond King when her father beat her into a coma and disappeared all those years ago. So when she hears that her crowd, her turf, has been harassed, she doesn't take it lightly.
Bad enough she almost grew complacent enough with the good life to almost sweep their despair under a rug when the flood came. She had forgotten her roots. She remembers them now.
"Any of you heard of a fucking Meinos or something?" she calls out to the diners and dishers alike, looking over Bear, Baxter, and Ash as much as she looks over Walter and Phil, who contracted HIV-AIDs from the constant swapping and sharing of heroin needles. Her Boston accent comes out strong here, too. This is where she's from. Her territory. "Baxie, make sure you're selling that, not just passing it out for fucking Halloween," she warns Baxter as an aside.
There's a pause as certain amongst the crowd hesitates - and then, there's nudging. There's more camaraderie here, too. They've all recently got in fights. Gathered together. Ash gets some people coming up with... more serious injuries then bruises. Dislocated joints, a few broken limbs, things that could do with some bandaging but some of it just needs someone really strong to WRENCH things into place. A few people don't 'get it', asking Ash to look at their rashes or give opinions on various unsightly diseases, but it's not like he has the tools for prosthetics.
Bear's large size does most of the work, really, and most of them... most of them don't want to engage with the man. Besides. The alluring promise of free food and drink, to break once's fast. The chatter starts to flow more freely, now, though some of it is nonsensical with the drugs. But it should be pretty easy after someone' efforts to ask them anything he'd like.
"Uh, yea, a - one of us, you know? They're new. New-ish. They're from.. underground, you know. They were going to the Community Center. A lot of us are learning how to fish. Anyway some huge guy - like HUGE huge, bigger then your boy there..." A finger point at Bear. "Grabbed them and started trying to... yell at them, sell our shit. Uh. They had a guy there that was..." He wrinkles his nose up. Memory fails him. "Told us we would get beaten up by the police!" Walter calls out. "Yeah! What a bunch of shitters, AND they were holding Meinos. So we sort of..." There's some shuffling in the crowd. It's almost sheepish? "We jumped them, go them out, and bailed. They kept talking shit about Novel too." Another voice adds, "Who's the one who was teaching the fishing. And-" Someone nudges a speaker who wanted to continue quiet again, shushing them.
There's a pause as certain amongst the crowd hesitates - and then, there's nudging. There's more camaraderie here, too. They've all recently got in fights. Gathered together. Ash gets some people coming up with... more serious injuries then bruises. Dislocated joints, a few broken limbs, things that could do with some bandaging but some of it just needs someone really strong to WRENCH things into place. A few people don't 'get it', asking Ash to look at their rashes or give opinions on various unsightly diseases, but it's not like he has the tools for prosthetics.
Bear's large size does most of the work, really, and most of them... most of them don't want to engage with the man. Besides. The alluring promise of free food and drink, to break once's fast. The chatter starts to flow more freely, now, though some of it is nonsensical with the drugs. But it should be pretty easy after Baxter's efforts to ask them anything he'd like.
"Uh, yea, a - one of us, you know? They're new. New-ish. They're from.. underground, you know. They were going to the Community Center. A lot of us are learning how to fish. Anyway some huge guy - like HUGE huge, bigger then your boy there..." A finger point at Bear. "Grabbed them and started trying to... yell at them, sell our shit. Uh. They had a guy there that was..." He wrinkles his nose up. Memory fails him. "Told us we would get beaten up by the police!" Walter calls out. "Yeah! What a bunch of shitters, AND they were holding Meinos. So we sort of..." There's some shuffling in the crowd. It's almost sheepish? "We jumped them, go them out, and bailed. They kept talking shit about Novel too." Another voice adds, "Who's the one who was teaching the fishing. And-" Someone nudges a speaker who wanted to continue quiet again, shushing them.
Bear gives a simple shake of his head, "Fraid' not, Boss. Not my circle." With the crowd quieted, he moves to handing out the essentials from his box. He offers a genuine smile to a few of the people who thank him for assistance, and switches to a hard stare when people approach. "Only seen one fellow taller than me, here. Massive guy, seven foot. Called himself a handyman. Just had a run-in with him earlier, but for somethin' unrelated." He tilts his head, "Might be another abnormally large fucker, though."
Baxter keeps up his good-vibes focused delivery method, keeping his little group going smoothly by trying to get them stuck in camaraderie, despite the fact that he has never actually come close to this level, himself. He tries to keep them too busy with gabbing and laughing to think about gnabbing extras. That's the goal, anyway. And even when or if he gets his taste of troublemakers, he handles it in his easy-breezy way, his features, his tone, his movements all friendly and flighty. One bigger guy tries to slip by with an extra go at the sides, and he reaches over to circle his wrist with a hand, smiling up at him, "Hey now, hey!" he offers up, cheery as anything, "Make sure we get everybody fed before we come back for more, man, this isn't the second go 'round yet." he gives the benefit of the doubt, even as the bigger man's hand is casually pushed back toward him, the skin where the chatterbox had grabbed already starting to purple a bit. He sighs softly as it becomes clear this is now part-interrogation, and he starts in on that, instead. Gifted with the gab, at least selectively, he wheedles in little hooks to his endless conversation with his line, "Never seen a Meinos, where'd I go to find one?" he wonders of one, as if it was mostly a joke, looking for some cryptid, "What's'e like? Is'e a he?" he muses, tilting his head, he's not -curious-, he's just -blabbing-, that's what he does, no need to be suspicious of the man in the suit.
Ash shakes their head, before drawling, "I know the group, though. One of these Fifteen hunnud texts has a list, because everyone was stressed after. I can tell you about them, in *Order* if you like... but - yo, sit down! I ain't done with you yet!" They yank a lass back down, and say to Baxter, "Gimme a wing, give this chica something to chew on. There, now will you sit? Put that in your mouth and-" They snap the bone in, earning a scream, before tapping her on the back, saying, "Good thing we got shit for pain, yeah? Go talk to Queen Jayarr over there, she gotchu."
Ash tells the crowd, voice raised, "Look, do we look like we're here to snitch? Everybody knows that Novel started this... but lemme tell y'all, he's got that group that started manhandling Meinos and starting shit after him, last I heard, so you might want to watch his back...." They trail off a bit, glancing at Isaiah. Perhaps they are wondering if they need to prepare for war? Regardless, their point is that it's okay to talk - they're not the enemy. And Ash apparently has half the sitch already so why not share the rest?
"You get a name on that big fuck?" Isaiah asks Bear, seeming satisfied with Tommy's answer enough that the pill is stuffed right between his lips, slipped in that gap where there are no teeth on top or bottom- then his cheek is patted a few times in friendly fashion, and the femme is snagging him a juice box- /two/ juice boxes for him as he's called a: "Good Boy."
Ash's words catch her attention for now, specifically one given emphasis above the others. "Fucking /Order/ did this? Are you serious?" she asks, not being too vague about the society, but also not blabbing secrets to the world. She's treating it like it's a rival street gang. Nothing too fishy- sewing the seeds of distaste and disdain. Down with the Order, and anyone who associates with those thugs. "I'm sick of those morons," she chides, and to her credit, she does look genuinely disgusted as she starts to weave through those gathered, whispering words of despair, risking inciting another riot, but keeping it just on the border of such a thing. She doesn't want a /fight/. She just wants the Order to suffer in some way beyond how they already have.
"Aren't they supposed to be peace, love, and rock 'n' roll hippies? But they're beating up the homeless for just trying to survive after a tragedy? Sounds hypocritical to me," she claims, circling through both male and female dorms to let her siren's call drip from her lips. "You say you want world peace, but then you break Juanita's arm just for stealing a hood ornament. How lazy is that? Most of these people will suck your dick if you give them five bucks. Give them ten and they'll give you a hundred-dollar television..." She eventually pulls back around, pausing in the entrance where she had once stood. "That gang needs to be eradicated. We can't let them hurt King Novel," she warns, continuing the image she paints of her Kingdom of Devilwood: She, the Queen, and Novel the King, and Bear and Baxter her two not-so-noble knights.
Yep, there's definitely people trying to get in line twice before some people have had firsts, and Baxter catches them before they get a chance. Sly. Probably because it's something Baxter himself would try and there's a hiss and a wince as the big - rotund, mostly - as he finds himself painfully stumbling back, rubbing his wrist. Baxter easily plumbs some smaller girl for information, greedily tearing into the BBQ meat they find themselves so rarely. They scarf it like they're afraid someone will try taking it away from them. Between bites and swallowing with one functional arm, the birdlike girl answers Baxter, "Meinos. They. They're - they're okay, but they're underground now with the rest. People are starting to move back home." She confides.
And then the wing goes into her mouth, the snap, they scream, and then things go back to it. There's some discontent murmuring - but the bribes fall suit. On the right foot, as it were. There's some mumbling. Tommy falls back, taking the juice boxes, scuttling off and vanishing. One of the people - a hunchbaked man with a permanent squint. He helped carried up one of the even more infirm up for treatment to Ash "I mean, it's nearly - there's no proof of any shit. Nothing can be traced back." He confides with an easy grin to Ash. "But it's almost over, anyway. Time's up, you know?"
Bear doesn't know shit about any Orders, he barely knows a fraction of what his employer gets up to. Most of what's being discussed is above his paygrade. He apologizes, "He gave it, but is was some fancy name, and knives were out in the moment. I don't remember." He nods along with her words, but for the most part, he keeps his focus on distribution, making sure the logistics go smoothly, and that the few addicts trying to sneak more while the Boss is making grand proclamations don't get much further than touching the box. He takes one of their hands, and squeezes, hard. Not enough to break anything. Just to warm.
Bear warns, even. He's not just holding hands.
Baxter has a perhaps notable little flaw in his skeezy armor, if the powers that be are paying any attention to it. His magic tricks never seem to crop up when the truly younger kids come around, and their dollops of sides tend to be just a smidgen larger. Nothing riot-inducing, but definitely a little extra. His chattering with them is far more innocent, his language far cleaner. Then they scamper off to do their things and he's back to crassness and cussing and passing out snow like it's candy. He does remember to retrieve payment, in information or money, first a little more often after Isaiah's warning. He also doesn't seem to register much about the Order or any of all that, he's a bit hyperfocused on the cover story here, and genuinely trying to run this food thing smooth, the other stuff he's slipping in when his flighty little mind remembers it.
Ash nodds to the man, thanking him for the help, saying, "I don't care about that, really. None of us do. Yeah, sure, I *just bought* that Playstation now that I got the big bucks... but what's the point of having the big bucks if I ain't doing shit like this?" They shrug, not even bothering to ask who stole it, or anything. "That flood fucked things up - I think it's only natural that people do what they have to to get by. And it's not endangering me or mind, just easing our back problems by making our wallet lighter." The give him a friendly smirk - then kick someone behind them with their bare feet. "No, that wasn't a fucking *invitation*, fuck you. Oh, broke your finger? Too fucking bad."
They don't seem to give a fuck if that seems hypocritical - like the man says, it's nearly over now, so what excuse does that guy has to rob them *now*, while they're helping? So, they focus on their medical work, popping things, splinting others, wrapping wounds, the whole nine yards. And as they do, it seems that Isaiah's words have invoked an anger in them, which they respond to with... song? Quiet, almost under their breath, but people can hear it as it spreads.
"If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down... If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on... You're not the only one refusing to back down! You're not the only one, so get up... "Let's start a riot, a riot! Let's start a riot! If you feel so filthy, soo dirty, so fucked up... if you feel so walked on, so painful, so pissed off? You're not the only one refusing to go down. You're not the only one, so get up... If you feel so angry, just get up... Let's start a riot... fuck the Order!""
Ash sings "If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down... If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on... You're not the only one refusing to back down! You're not the only one, so get up... Let's start a riot, a riot! Let's start a riot! If you feel so filthy, soo dirty, so fucked up... if you feel so walked on, so painful, so pissed off? You're not the only one refusing to go down. You're not the only one, so get up... If you feel so angry, just get up... Let's start a riot... fuck the Order!" (fix)
It's late. People are tired. So's the SR. People start to disperse, more content than they were, boxes not nearly empty - but there's more disaffected. People are guiding in the younger folks, the ones more vulnerable. It won't be long before everything's gone, the fresh food and the non, the useful backpacks and the like. The kids are always the second wave. The third will be the older folks who finally manage to pry themselves up. And there's definitely a stirring of the homeless population against an organization that should protect them - but doesn't.
"What's almost over? What do you mean time's up?" Isaiah asks the hunched-over old man, her brow furrowing, but he's gone into the crowd, and she doesn't pursue him. It /is/ late, and people need sleep- especially the kids, so she doles out a few extra to-go bowls of mac 'n' cheese to the young ones, and they, too, seem to be denied the 'candy' that she's selling the less fortunate. Only food and boxes of juice for them. As things start to teeter off, she motions for Bear and Baxter to follow behind her, flicking off the light switches by the doors one by one as Ash sings them a bedtime story. "I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars," she hums under her breath, a song of her own she has been inspired to sing: one that warns of a dystopian future where the poor and under-privileged revolt against the tyrannical upper class and slaughter ensues, and entire country toppled by hubris and political dogma. She's done what she came here to do: reassert herself as the go-to, sure, but also sewing seeds of distrust towards the Order without breaking the Understanding. The ball is in Harriet's court now, it seems. Will she do her job for once and get her people doing theirs, or keep getting upstaged by the disowned child of a former Hand President?
Only time will tell.
Ash gives the last of the juice *bottles* to someone who is clearly dehydrated. But, they've done what they've meant to, as well - treat the disease, not the symptom, and establish themself as someone who supports them... which is surely not going to be turned to anything nefarious... right?
Bear brushes his pants off from kneeling on these floors to distribute good. A low groan of displeasure escapes him as his lower back aches. He arches back, hands on his hips, trying to pop it. From his perspective, jobs mostly done. Just have to get home. The particulars of the politics of the situation could not be less interesting, the man fully in the now. A sort of idiot zen.
Baxter gets up and gets ready to follow on after Isaiah, arcing his hands above his head in a big ol' stretch, trying to sound more tired than just ready to get the fuck out of there. It's been -how- long without a honey on his arm? This helping the downtrodden shit is for the birds.
Baxter gets up and gets ready to follow on after Isaiah, arcing his hands above his head in a big ol' stretch, trying to sound more tired than just ready to get the fuck out of there. It's been -how- long without a honey on his arm? This helping the downtrodden shit is for the birds. He glances over at Isaiah as he wanders on out, "Oh, hey, one of our uh, esteemed colleagues was talkin to me earlier," he gestures back behind him, "Said somethin' about a door?" he offers to Isaiah, "Some uh, some cross-street, with uh, some old, abandoned building? Looks like shit?" he shrugs, "I mean, I just got here, so fuck if I know, but maybe that helps ya out." ("fix")
"... Yeah, I think I know what you mean.. I know of a ratty old building by a crossroads that looks like shit," Isaiah mutters under her breath, ready to get going now as she wiggles her way to Baxter's side, hugging herself to his right arm with a flutter of lashes up at him. "You're so helpful, Baxie," she praises him... For once. He'd better soak it up- who knows when it'll happen again. Bear gets a grin as his old ass struggles up from the floor, too, and she beckons him closer to her with a jerk of her head to the side.
Bear fall in as he's motioned for.
A set of cross streets. A pathway, darkened, slipping through a chain link fence. Traveling through it - Eventually they arrive. The place, the place - it's buried in the trailer park. Quite close, really, in a bunch of twisty passages of broken homes and places, all unlike, yet made to specifications that lead them to be remarkably similar. There's a smell. A smell of travel, a smell of must, voices up ahead that quickly disperse when they hear the crowd thumping up. It's... a den?
A break. A wider space. There's doors all over the place, scattered around the ground, some hanging, some broken, a construction of junk and metal and garbage all piled together to create a strange place that Bear has to duck his head to get into, a singular trailer sitting in the middle, the door closed. Strange lights flickering within. A generator wheezes quietly, fueled, but the machine on it's last legs.. A cable running through it to the trailer as the motor quietly whines. The squeaking of rats and other vermin. There's a trail right to the shut door on the trailer. The passing of many paces...
And discarded goods. Empty boxes. Things recently purchased. Things recently stolen. Signs and symbols. But the goods themselves are not there.
Bear grumbles quite loudly, cramped as he is, "You fuckers brought -me- to go urban explorin'?" He curses under his breath. Its not all bad, though. Isaiah is leading, and that skirt isn't doing much from his lowered angle." Its enough to distract him."
Baxter snickers at Bear's plight, "What'cha get for being born so big." the still definitely not-short member of the Royal Guard informs the bigger man. Then he squints at Bear, following Bear's line of sight, "Damn, you're right, it's kinda cramped in here." he suddenly decides for himself, ducking on down. Safety first.
Isaiah grunts as she passes through the nastiness of this place, kicking aside empty boxes of goods until she's at the door to the trailer. She stares at it for a long time, letting her fingers dance along the knob before twisting and then slowly pulling it open. "... Novel..?" she asks softly, her voice a sweet coo as she tries to peek her head inside. "Faggot, queer ass, fairy-ass bitch? My cutie patootie..?" she hums pleasantly, hoping that it isn't something worse than her favorite tweaker inside the old trailer.
Ash moves next to Isaiah, a hand behind her back and on her other shoulder - not suddenly, they didn't sneak up on her, after all. But they're tense all of a sudden, as if expecting a need to pull her back.
When Isaiah opens the door, it's not the darkened inside of a trailer. The doorframe HUMS with electric power, crackling up and down as it opens, but there's protest, and wheezing, and the door itself shakes. A strange blurring. Before her... the eyes adjust slowly. Hundreds of lights. Thousands of little lights. And then - torches. They're torches, and strung lines, and they can hear the murmur, the rustle, the -echo- of a huge underground space filled with darkness and squeaking and moving forms. Scruffy things in clothes, homeless - and also shouting. Tents and bazaars, extending up to massive winding pillars of dirt and stone, a kingdom of vertical movement and breadth and depth. Ancient contrivance and construction mingles with modern technology, polished off by the noise and movement of hundreds if not thousands of rats and people up and down.
This explains where all the goods went, at least, the generator kicking to a higher gear in louder WHIIIR as the door stays open. There's no way to fit everything in this physical space, but with this...
That's certainly not the inside of a trailer.
Then the door blurrs. Crackling. Shaking. The rustle of dark forests. A familiar smell. Those with Pathing will recognize the itching feeling, and those familiar with the Goblin Market might realize this door isn't entirely stable.
Bear goes blank-faced, "Well, fuck. There really is a homeless kingdom."
Baxter manages to sober some as they arrive at the door. The muck and the debris don't bother him, but then everyone gets all -tense-, and that does the trick. His hand slides down to the grip of his revolver as he watches, and waits, and as he gets his peek at what's behind door number one, he backpedals a bit, "Fuckin'...that ain't right." he objects, "Those are supposed to be in the corner of weird little antique stores and they're not supposed to be all fuckin' -weird- like that," he complains. He squints at Bear, oh, fuck, right, it's -also- full of rats and homeless people. He backpedals a little more.
Ash hisses to Isaiah, but loud enough for the others to hear, urgency in their voice. "In or out. *Now*, babe." They are tensed to follow her - and when she chooses to back up, they go with her. Still, they eye the doorway, worried. "That door ain't right... I don't think they have a professional. It's either gonna collapse them all, or the door will shut tight."
"Out," Isaiah decides, slamming that door shut and backpedaling towards the generator, snagging Baxter and Bear with her as it starts to thrum with far too much power, that doorway. "Back up, back up, back up, back up, back up, back up," she repeats over and over, following the cord of the stressed-out generator until she finds its power source; hopefully before that trailer blows itself to smithereens- then she does something that only a person who doesn't give a shit about the lesser masses would do. She pulls the plug, leaving all of those people, and especially those goods, to their fate with a cold expression on her face; and a silent prayer that this was the smart thing to do whispered under her breath while she's still in the motions.
There's no violence. It was a Door, not a Place. The lights immediately die, the glowing blue from the trailer's windows end. The plug dangles in someone' hand. There's almost a gentle noise - and now they are all left alone in a quiet garbage den, filled with crap and the faint smell of old, old blood. There's nothing here anymore.
...But what was that place? Where was it, really? How did this portal get opened to it?
Well. Perhaps some other time.
There's no violence. It was a Door, not a Place. The lights immediately die, the glowing blue from the trailer's windows end. The plug dangles in Isaiah's hand. There's almost a gentle noise - and now they are all left alone in a quiet garbage den, filled with crap and the faint smell of old, old blood. There's nothing here anymore.
...But what was that place? Where was it, really? How did this portal get opened to it?
Well. Perhaps some other time.
(Your target is attacked by a dream stalker who subjects them to their greatest fantasies in the dream world in order to keep their body passive while it's energies are fed upon. They need to, possibly with the help of allies entering their dreams, resist the temptation long enough for other allies to find them or for them to wake up.
)
The previous night had seen a malevolent spirit attacking the trailer on Rose Lane. It had not been driven off. It had been bound. Bound and trapped in the living room. It's apparition was a horrifying thing. Gray grave cloth covered the ghost of the girl and her eyes were sunken things which looked as if nails had been driven down into them. Yet it wasn't as if William could sleep in the bedroom. His sister was in the bedroom as was another woman that had stayed the night. That left William on the couch. That left William in the same room as the ghost which had come for him yesterday, envious. The cool of the night had grown colder and colder. The exhaustion from the long week, much of it spent in the hospital, had been heavy.
The dream, when It took him, could have been a relief. Gone were those cold nail-driven eyes. Gone the creaking from the trees moving in the wind just outside the trailer walls. In its place was something perfect. A fantasy.
It had been a long time ago when he had been at the zoo. Ages ago, back when his sister was young. Back when his parents were figures he could trust. Back so long ago when the sight of a lion was enough to make a young boy giddy. A simpler time. A peaceful time.
London Zoo, nestled within the vast greenery of Regents Park, exudes an air of both grandeur and intimacy. The entrance is flanked by tall, wrought-iron gates, their black bars shining under the pale English sun. Beyond the gates, wide pathways wind through meticulously curated enclosures, some tucked into shaded groves, others basking in open stretches of sunlight. The chatter of visitors mixes with the occasional animal call, creating a vibrant yet controlled atmosphere.
William was a child. His sister was normal and brown haired and instead of being ten years his senior she was only five years. Mother was holding father's hand rather than bickering with him. "We're going to see the lions. Like in the movie," the sister said. "With Simba. Hakuna matata. It means no worries. For the rest of your days." Back in the trailer there was much to worry about. A dark thing was feasting upon William. Pacifying him. Yet in the dream it was idyllic. "Its a problem free," the sister sang. "Philosophy."
The narrative shifts as Isaiah, Bear, and Baxter stumble upon an enigmatic doorway leading to a vast underground kingdom, a surreal expanse far removed from the decrepit trailers they're familiar with. This secret place, teeming with life and the vestiges of stolen goods, serves as a stark contrast to the bleakness of the parkway above. However, the discovery prompts a quick decision; the unstable portal poses a significant danger to this underground society. In a decisive move, Isaiah chooses to sever the link to this hidden world, pulling the plug on the generator powering the unstable doorway, thereby preventing potential disaster. The action leaves the group pondering the implications of their find, the existence of a vast unseen community beneath their feet, and the unsettling thought of what other mysteries lay hidden in the shadows of Dandelion Parkway.
(Bear's odd encounter(SRNovel):SRNovel)
[Wed Sep 25 2024]
On Dandelion Parkway
Cracked and pothole-ridden asphalt roads make up this part of town,
bordered on either side by poorly maintained cracked sidewalks. The
aluminum streetlights are painted a deep, chipped green and appear regularly
along the side, illuminating the street in spots of warm electric light when
it's dark. Where the street is widest small median islands appear with old
twisted trees planted in them. The buildings that line the street seem old
and poorly taken care of.
It is night, about 75F(23C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
"Meinos? What the fuck is a Meinos? Is that a person?" Isaiah asks, pretty red brows furrowing as she glances over the late-coming humanitarian aid to her collection of homeless homies. "Tommy, is that a person or a place?" she asks the one-eyed guy, lifting the pill a little further away from him for emphasis and to maintain his compliance, not that her diminutive height does more than her presence and her notoriety amongst this crowd. She's been to this level. She's busted down the doors at the Antlers for a hot shower because she couldn't afford the twenty-five bucks for a room. She's fallen asleep under street lamps so if someone harasses her, she can fucking see. She's scrapped together cash just to spend it all on bullshit. She's begged, she's borrowed, she's stolen. She clawed her way up with the support of Desmond King when her father beat her into a coma and disappeared all those years ago. So when she hears that her crowd, her turf, has been harassed, she doesn't take it lightly.
Bad enough she almost grew complacent enough with the good life to almost sweep their despair under a rug when the flood came. She had forgotten her roots. She remembers them now.
"Any of you heard of a fucking Meinos or something?" she calls out to the diners and dishers alike, looking over Bear, Baxter, and Ash as much as she looks over Walter and Phil, who contracted HIV-AIDs from the constant swapping and sharing of heroin needles. Her Boston accent comes out strong here, too. This is where she's from. Her territory. "Baxie, make sure you're selling that, not just passing it out for fucking Halloween," she warns Baxter as an aside.
There's a pause as certain amongst the crowd hesitates - and then, there's nudging. There's more camaraderie here, too. They've all recently got in fights. Gathered together. Ash gets some people coming up with... more serious injuries then bruises. Dislocated joints, a few broken limbs, things that could do with some bandaging but some of it just needs someone really strong to WRENCH things into place. A few people don't 'get it', asking Ash to look at their rashes or give opinions on various unsightly diseases, but it's not like he has the tools for prosthetics.
Bear's large size does most of the work, really, and most of them... most of them don't want to engage with the man. Besides. The alluring promise of free food and drink, to break once's fast. The chatter starts to flow more freely, now, though some of it is nonsensical with the drugs. But it should be pretty easy after someone' efforts to ask them anything he'd like.
"Uh, yea, a - one of us, you know? They're new. New-ish. They're from.. underground, you know. They were going to the Community Center. A lot of us are learning how to fish. Anyway some huge guy - like HUGE huge, bigger then your boy there..." A finger point at Bear. "Grabbed them and started trying to... yell at them, sell our shit. Uh. They had a guy there that was..." He wrinkles his nose up. Memory fails him. "Told us we would get beaten up by the police!" Walter calls out. "Yeah! What a bunch of shitters, AND they were holding Meinos. So we sort of..." There's some shuffling in the crowd. It's almost sheepish? "We jumped them, go them out, and bailed. They kept talking shit about Novel too." Another voice adds, "Who's the one who was teaching the fishing. And-" Someone nudges a speaker who wanted to continue quiet again, shushing them.
There's a pause as certain amongst the crowd hesitates - and then, there's nudging. There's more camaraderie here, too. They've all recently got in fights. Gathered together. Ash gets some people coming up with... more serious injuries then bruises. Dislocated joints, a few broken limbs, things that could do with some bandaging but some of it just needs someone really strong to WRENCH things into place. A few people don't 'get it', asking Ash to look at their rashes or give opinions on various unsightly diseases, but it's not like he has the tools for prosthetics.
Bear's large size does most of the work, really, and most of them... most of them don't want to engage with the man. Besides. The alluring promise of free food and drink, to break once's fast. The chatter starts to flow more freely, now, though some of it is nonsensical with the drugs. But it should be pretty easy after Baxter's efforts to ask them anything he'd like.
"Uh, yea, a - one of us, you know? They're new. New-ish. They're from.. underground, you know. They were going to the Community Center. A lot of us are learning how to fish. Anyway some huge guy - like HUGE huge, bigger then your boy there..." A finger point at Bear. "Grabbed them and started trying to... yell at them, sell our shit. Uh. They had a guy there that was..." He wrinkles his nose up. Memory fails him. "Told us we would get beaten up by the police!" Walter calls out. "Yeah! What a bunch of shitters, AND they were holding Meinos. So we sort of..." There's some shuffling in the crowd. It's almost sheepish? "We jumped them, go them out, and bailed. They kept talking shit about Novel too." Another voice adds, "Who's the one who was teaching the fishing. And-" Someone nudges a speaker who wanted to continue quiet again, shushing them.
Bear gives a simple shake of his head, "Fraid' not, Boss. Not my circle." With the crowd quieted, he moves to handing out the essentials from his box. He offers a genuine smile to a few of the people who thank him for assistance, and switches to a hard stare when people approach. "Only seen one fellow taller than me, here. Massive guy, seven foot. Called himself a handyman. Just had a run-in with him earlier, but for somethin' unrelated." He tilts his head, "Might be another abnormally large fucker, though."
Baxter keeps up his good-vibes focused delivery method, keeping his little group going smoothly by trying to get them stuck in camaraderie, despite the fact that he has never actually come close to this level, himself. He tries to keep them too busy with gabbing and laughing to think about gnabbing extras. That's the goal, anyway. And even when or if he gets his taste of troublemakers, he handles it in his easy-breezy way, his features, his tone, his movements all friendly and flighty. One bigger guy tries to slip by with an extra go at the sides, and he reaches over to circle his wrist with a hand, smiling up at him, "Hey now, hey!" he offers up, cheery as anything, "Make sure we get everybody fed before we come back for more, man, this isn't the second go 'round yet." he gives the benefit of the doubt, even as the bigger man's hand is casually pushed back toward him, the skin where the chatterbox had grabbed already starting to purple a bit. He sighs softly as it becomes clear this is now part-interrogation, and he starts in on that, instead. Gifted with the gab, at least selectively, he wheedles in little hooks to his endless conversation with his line, "Never seen a Meinos, where'd I go to find one?" he wonders of one, as if it was mostly a joke, looking for some cryptid, "What's'e like? Is'e a he?" he muses, tilting his head, he's not -curious-, he's just -blabbing-, that's what he does, no need to be suspicious of the man in the suit.
Ash shakes their head, before drawling, "I know the group, though. One of these Fifteen hunnud texts has a list, because everyone was stressed after. I can tell you about them, in *Order* if you like... but - yo, sit down! I ain't done with you yet!" They yank a lass back down, and say to Baxter, "Gimme a wing, give this chica something to chew on. There, now will you sit? Put that in your mouth and-" They snap the bone in, earning a scream, before tapping her on the back, saying, "Good thing we got shit for pain, yeah? Go talk to Queen Jayarr over there, she gotchu."
Ash tells the crowd, voice raised, "Look, do we look like we're here to snitch? Everybody knows that Novel started this... but lemme tell y'all, he's got that group that started manhandling Meinos and starting shit after him, last I heard, so you might want to watch his back...." They trail off a bit, glancing at Isaiah. Perhaps they are wondering if they need to prepare for war? Regardless, their point is that it's okay to talk - they're not the enemy. And Ash apparently has half the sitch already so why not share the rest?
"You get a name on that big fuck?" Isaiah asks Bear, seeming satisfied with Tommy's answer enough that the pill is stuffed right between his lips, slipped in that gap where there are no teeth on top or bottom- then his cheek is patted a few times in friendly fashion, and the femme is snagging him a juice box- /two/ juice boxes for him as he's called a: "Good Boy."
Ash's words catch her attention for now, specifically one given emphasis above the others. "Fucking /Order/ did this? Are you serious?" she asks, not being too vague about the society, but also not blabbing secrets to the world. She's treating it like it's a rival street gang. Nothing too fishy- sewing the seeds of distaste and disdain. Down with the Order, and anyone who associates with those thugs. "I'm sick of those morons," she chides, and to her credit, she does look genuinely disgusted as she starts to weave through those gathered, whispering words of despair, risking inciting another riot, but keeping it just on the border of such a thing. She doesn't want a /fight/. She just wants the Order to suffer in some way beyond how they already have.
"Aren't they supposed to be peace, love, and rock 'n' roll hippies? But they're beating up the homeless for just trying to survive after a tragedy? Sounds hypocritical to me," she claims, circling through both male and female dorms to let her siren's call drip from her lips. "You say you want world peace, but then you break Juanita's arm just for stealing a hood ornament. How lazy is that? Most of these people will suck your dick if you give them five bucks. Give them ten and they'll give you a hundred-dollar television..." She eventually pulls back around, pausing in the entrance where she had once stood. "That gang needs to be eradicated. We can't let them hurt King Novel," she warns, continuing the image she paints of her Kingdom of Devilwood: She, the Queen, and Novel the King, and Bear and Baxter her two not-so-noble knights.
Yep, there's definitely people trying to get in line twice before some people have had firsts, and Baxter catches them before they get a chance. Sly. Probably because it's something Baxter himself would try and there's a hiss and a wince as the big - rotund, mostly - as he finds himself painfully stumbling back, rubbing his wrist. Baxter easily plumbs some smaller girl for information, greedily tearing into the BBQ meat they find themselves so rarely. They scarf it like they're afraid someone will try taking it away from them. Between bites and swallowing with one functional arm, the birdlike girl answers Baxter, "Meinos. They. They're - they're okay, but they're underground now with the rest. People are starting to move back home." She confides.
And then the wing goes into her mouth, the snap, they scream, and then things go back to it. There's some discontent murmuring - but the bribes fall suit. On the right foot, as it were. There's some mumbling. Tommy falls back, taking the juice boxes, scuttling off and vanishing. One of the people - a hunchbaked man with a permanent squint. He helped carried up one of the even more infirm up for treatment to Ash "I mean, it's nearly - there's no proof of any shit. Nothing can be traced back." He confides with an easy grin to Ash. "But it's almost over, anyway. Time's up, you know?"
Bear doesn't know shit about any Orders, he barely knows a fraction of what his employer gets up to. Most of what's being discussed is above his paygrade. He apologizes, "He gave it, but is was some fancy name, and knives were out in the moment. I don't remember." He nods along with her words, but for the most part, he keeps his focus on distribution, making sure the logistics go smoothly, and that the few addicts trying to sneak more while the Boss is making grand proclamations don't get much further than touching the box. He takes one of their hands, and squeezes, hard. Not enough to break anything. Just to warm.
Bear warns, even. He's not just holding hands.
Baxter has a perhaps notable little flaw in his skeezy armor, if the powers that be are paying any attention to it. His magic tricks never seem to crop up when the truly younger kids come around, and their dollops of sides tend to be just a smidgen larger. Nothing riot-inducing, but definitely a little extra. His chattering with them is far more innocent, his language far cleaner. Then they scamper off to do their things and he's back to crassness and cussing and passing out snow like it's candy. He does remember to retrieve payment, in information or money, first a little more often after Isaiah's warning. He also doesn't seem to register much about the Order or any of all that, he's a bit hyperfocused on the cover story here, and genuinely trying to run this food thing smooth, the other stuff he's slipping in when his flighty little mind remembers it.
Ash nodds to the man, thanking him for the help, saying, "I don't care about that, really. None of us do. Yeah, sure, I *just bought* that Playstation now that I got the big bucks... but what's the point of having the big bucks if I ain't doing shit like this?" They shrug, not even bothering to ask who stole it, or anything. "That flood fucked things up - I think it's only natural that people do what they have to to get by. And it's not endangering me or mind, just easing our back problems by making our wallet lighter." The give him a friendly smirk - then kick someone behind them with their bare feet. "No, that wasn't a fucking *invitation*, fuck you. Oh, broke your finger? Too fucking bad."
They don't seem to give a fuck if that seems hypocritical - like the man says, it's nearly over now, so what excuse does that guy has to rob them *now*, while they're helping? So, they focus on their medical work, popping things, splinting others, wrapping wounds, the whole nine yards. And as they do, it seems that Isaiah's words have invoked an anger in them, which they respond to with... song? Quiet, almost under their breath, but people can hear it as it spreads.
"If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down... If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on... You're not the only one refusing to back down! You're not the only one, so get up... "Let's start a riot, a riot! Let's start a riot! If you feel so filthy, soo dirty, so fucked up... if you feel so walked on, so painful, so pissed off? You're not the only one refusing to go down. You're not the only one, so get up... If you feel so angry, just get up... Let's start a riot... fuck the Order!""
Ash sings "If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down... If you feel so angry, so ripped off, so stepped on... You're not the only one refusing to back down! You're not the only one, so get up... Let's start a riot, a riot! Let's start a riot! If you feel so filthy, soo dirty, so fucked up... if you feel so walked on, so painful, so pissed off? You're not the only one refusing to go down. You're not the only one, so get up... If you feel so angry, just get up... Let's start a riot... fuck the Order!" (fix)
It's late. People are tired. So's the SR. People start to disperse, more content than they were, boxes not nearly empty - but there's more disaffected. People are guiding in the younger folks, the ones more vulnerable. It won't be long before everything's gone, the fresh food and the non, the useful backpacks and the like. The kids are always the second wave. The third will be the older folks who finally manage to pry themselves up. And there's definitely a stirring of the homeless population against an organization that should protect them - but doesn't.
"What's almost over? What do you mean time's up?" Isaiah asks the hunched-over old man, her brow furrowing, but he's gone into the crowd, and she doesn't pursue him. It /is/ late, and people need sleep- especially the kids, so she doles out a few extra to-go bowls of mac 'n' cheese to the young ones, and they, too, seem to be denied the 'candy' that she's selling the less fortunate. Only food and boxes of juice for them. As things start to teeter off, she motions for Bear and Baxter to follow behind her, flicking off the light switches by the doors one by one as Ash sings them a bedtime story. "I can ride my bike with no handlebars, no handlebars, no handlebars," she hums under her breath, a song of her own she has been inspired to sing: one that warns of a dystopian future where the poor and under-privileged revolt against the tyrannical upper class and slaughter ensues, and entire country toppled by hubris and political dogma. She's done what she came here to do: reassert herself as the go-to, sure, but also sewing seeds of distrust towards the Order without breaking the Understanding. The ball is in Harriet's court now, it seems. Will she do her job for once and get her people doing theirs, or keep getting upstaged by the disowned child of a former Hand President?
Only time will tell.
Ash gives the last of the juice *bottles* to someone who is clearly dehydrated. But, they've done what they've meant to, as well - treat the disease, not the symptom, and establish themself as someone who supports them... which is surely not going to be turned to anything nefarious... right?
Bear brushes his pants off from kneeling on these floors to distribute good. A low groan of displeasure escapes him as his lower back aches. He arches back, hands on his hips, trying to pop it. From his perspective, jobs mostly done. Just have to get home. The particulars of the politics of the situation could not be less interesting, the man fully in the now. A sort of idiot zen.
Baxter gets up and gets ready to follow on after Isaiah, arcing his hands above his head in a big ol' stretch, trying to sound more tired than just ready to get the fuck out of there. It's been -how- long without a honey on his arm? This helping the downtrodden shit is for the birds.
Baxter gets up and gets ready to follow on after Isaiah, arcing his hands above his head in a big ol' stretch, trying to sound more tired than just ready to get the fuck out of there. It's been -how- long without a honey on his arm? This helping the downtrodden shit is for the birds. He glances over at Isaiah as he wanders on out, "Oh, hey, one of our uh, esteemed colleagues was talkin to me earlier," he gestures back behind him, "Said somethin' about a door?" he offers to Isaiah, "Some uh, some cross-street, with uh, some old, abandoned building? Looks like shit?" he shrugs, "I mean, I just got here, so fuck if I know, but maybe that helps ya out." ("fix")
"... Yeah, I think I know what you mean.. I know of a ratty old building by a crossroads that looks like shit," Isaiah mutters under her breath, ready to get going now as she wiggles her way to Baxter's side, hugging herself to his right arm with a flutter of lashes up at him. "You're so helpful, Baxie," she praises him... For once. He'd better soak it up- who knows when it'll happen again. Bear gets a grin as his old ass struggles up from the floor, too, and she beckons him closer to her with a jerk of her head to the side.
Bear fall in as he's motioned for.
A set of cross streets. A pathway, darkened, slipping through a chain link fence. Traveling through it - Eventually they arrive. The place, the place - it's buried in the trailer park. Quite close, really, in a bunch of twisty passages of broken homes and places, all unlike, yet made to specifications that lead them to be remarkably similar. There's a smell. A smell of travel, a smell of must, voices up ahead that quickly disperse when they hear the crowd thumping up. It's... a den?
A break. A wider space. There's doors all over the place, scattered around the ground, some hanging, some broken, a construction of junk and metal and garbage all piled together to create a strange place that Bear has to duck his head to get into, a singular trailer sitting in the middle, the door closed. Strange lights flickering within. A generator wheezes quietly, fueled, but the machine on it's last legs.. A cable running through it to the trailer as the motor quietly whines. The squeaking of rats and other vermin. There's a trail right to the shut door on the trailer. The passing of many paces...
And discarded goods. Empty boxes. Things recently purchased. Things recently stolen. Signs and symbols. But the goods themselves are not there.
Bear grumbles quite loudly, cramped as he is, "You fuckers brought -me- to go urban explorin'?" He curses under his breath. Its not all bad, though. Isaiah is leading, and that skirt isn't doing much from his lowered angle." Its enough to distract him."
Baxter snickers at Bear's plight, "What'cha get for being born so big." the still definitely not-short member of the Royal Guard informs the bigger man. Then he squints at Bear, following Bear's line of sight, "Damn, you're right, it's kinda cramped in here." he suddenly decides for himself, ducking on down. Safety first.
Isaiah grunts as she passes through the nastiness of this place, kicking aside empty boxes of goods until she's at the door to the trailer. She stares at it for a long time, letting her fingers dance along the knob before twisting and then slowly pulling it open. "... Novel..?" she asks softly, her voice a sweet coo as she tries to peek her head inside. "Faggot, queer ass, fairy-ass bitch? My cutie patootie..?" she hums pleasantly, hoping that it isn't something worse than her favorite tweaker inside the old trailer.
Ash moves next to Isaiah, a hand behind her back and on her other shoulder - not suddenly, they didn't sneak up on her, after all. But they're tense all of a sudden, as if expecting a need to pull her back.
When Isaiah opens the door, it's not the darkened inside of a trailer. The doorframe HUMS with electric power, crackling up and down as it opens, but there's protest, and wheezing, and the door itself shakes. A strange blurring. Before her... the eyes adjust slowly. Hundreds of lights. Thousands of little lights. And then - torches. They're torches, and strung lines, and they can hear the murmur, the rustle, the -echo- of a huge underground space filled with darkness and squeaking and moving forms. Scruffy things in clothes, homeless - and also shouting. Tents and bazaars, extending up to massive winding pillars of dirt and stone, a kingdom of vertical movement and breadth and depth. Ancient contrivance and construction mingles with modern technology, polished off by the noise and movement of hundreds if not thousands of rats and people up and down.
This explains where all the goods went, at least, the generator kicking to a higher gear in louder WHIIIR as the door stays open. There's no way to fit everything in this physical space, but with this...
That's certainly not the inside of a trailer.
Then the door blurrs. Crackling. Shaking. The rustle of dark forests. A familiar smell. Those with Pathing will recognize the itching feeling, and those familiar with the Goblin Market might realize this door isn't entirely stable.
Bear goes blank-faced, "Well, fuck. There really is a homeless kingdom."
Baxter manages to sober some as they arrive at the door. The muck and the debris don't bother him, but then everyone gets all -tense-, and that does the trick. His hand slides down to the grip of his revolver as he watches, and waits, and as he gets his peek at what's behind door number one, he backpedals a bit, "Fuckin'...that ain't right." he objects, "Those are supposed to be in the corner of weird little antique stores and they're not supposed to be all fuckin' -weird- like that," he complains. He squints at Bear, oh, fuck, right, it's -also- full of rats and homeless people. He backpedals a little more.
Ash hisses to Isaiah, but loud enough for the others to hear, urgency in their voice. "In or out. *Now*, babe." They are tensed to follow her - and when she chooses to back up, they go with her. Still, they eye the doorway, worried. "That door ain't right... I don't think they have a professional. It's either gonna collapse them all, or the door will shut tight."
"Out," Isaiah decides, slamming that door shut and backpedaling towards the generator, snagging Baxter and Bear with her as it starts to thrum with far too much power, that doorway. "Back up, back up, back up, back up, back up, back up," she repeats over and over, following the cord of the stressed-out generator until she finds its power source; hopefully before that trailer blows itself to smithereens- then she does something that only a person who doesn't give a shit about the lesser masses would do. She pulls the plug, leaving all of those people, and especially those goods, to their fate with a cold expression on her face; and a silent prayer that this was the smart thing to do whispered under her breath while she's still in the motions.
There's no violence. It was a Door, not a Place. The lights immediately die, the glowing blue from the trailer's windows end. The plug dangles in someone' hand. There's almost a gentle noise - and now they are all left alone in a quiet garbage den, filled with crap and the faint smell of old, old blood. There's nothing here anymore.
...But what was that place? Where was it, really? How did this portal get opened to it?
Well. Perhaps some other time.
There's no violence. It was a Door, not a Place. The lights immediately die, the glowing blue from the trailer's windows end. The plug dangles in Isaiah's hand. There's almost a gentle noise - and now they are all left alone in a quiet garbage den, filled with crap and the faint smell of old, old blood. There's nothing here anymore.
...But what was that place? Where was it, really? How did this portal get opened to it?
Well. Perhaps some other time.
(Your target is attacked by a dream stalker who subjects them to their greatest fantasies in the dream world in order to keep their body passive while it's energies are fed upon. They need to, possibly with the help of allies entering their dreams, resist the temptation long enough for other allies to find them or for them to wake up.
)
The previous night had seen a malevolent spirit attacking the trailer on Rose Lane. It had not been driven off. It had been bound. Bound and trapped in the living room. It's apparition was a horrifying thing. Gray grave cloth covered the ghost of the girl and her eyes were sunken things which looked as if nails had been driven down into them. Yet it wasn't as if William could sleep in the bedroom. His sister was in the bedroom as was another woman that had stayed the night. That left William on the couch. That left William in the same room as the ghost which had come for him yesterday, envious. The cool of the night had grown colder and colder. The exhaustion from the long week, much of it spent in the hospital, had been heavy.
The dream, when It took him, could have been a relief. Gone were those cold nail-driven eyes. Gone the creaking from the trees moving in the wind just outside the trailer walls. In its place was something perfect. A fantasy.
It had been a long time ago when he had been at the zoo. Ages ago, back when his sister was young. Back when his parents were figures he could trust. Back so long ago when the sight of a lion was enough to make a young boy giddy. A simpler time. A peaceful time.
London Zoo, nestled within the vast greenery of Regents Park, exudes an air of both grandeur and intimacy. The entrance is flanked by tall, wrought-iron gates, their black bars shining under the pale English sun. Beyond the gates, wide pathways wind through meticulously curated enclosures, some tucked into shaded groves, others basking in open stretches of sunlight. The chatter of visitors mixes with the occasional animal call, creating a vibrant yet controlled atmosphere.
William was a child. His sister was normal and brown haired and instead of being ten years his senior she was only five years. Mother was holding father's hand rather than bickering with him. "We're going to see the lions. Like in the movie," the sister said. "With Simba. Hakuna matata. It means no worries. For the rest of your days." Back in the trailer there was much to worry about. A dark thing was feasting upon William. Pacifying him. Yet in the dream it was idyllic. "Its a problem free," the sister sang. "Philosophy."