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Ami was so focused on her argument with Vanessa that she didn't even notice the fog creeping along the grass, leaving tiny droplets of dew and mist clinging to the grass. In a way, she felt like the dew. Clinging to something just because if she didn't, she'd fall.

Figures rushed around her, but Ami made no indication of moving. She was used to busy city streets. Busy people, busy sidewalks. You got used to it living in New York. Of course, she had no accent because she'd grown up in Oregon, but New York was her calling. The people, the fashion, the art. It was home. No that's not quite right.

The small white figure spoke, and the grass she'd been clinging to disappeared. Her mind rushed back to that day in fall, back in the crisp autumn afternoon, back home. Like the dew drop, she fell into the memory.

---

The page of a book turned aimlessly as Ami poured over her newest find. The book was Paris in Love, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. It seemed like the dream life; a lady who sold all her belongings to move to Paris and take a job as a Professor of Shakepseare. So far Ami identified with the main character entirely. She loved museums and Paris, long walks with no aim. The only real difference was that in this novel, there was a husband and children.

Her head looked up from the book for the first time in about an hour. She'd probably need to start making dinner for the two of them soon. Just what was Adam doing in his studio? Well, it wasn't a studio by any means. They owned a very small apartment, which was no place for a photographer's work. He needed a darkroom, and space to lay out his art. This morning he'd called about needing to set up for a gallery all day, one that he was both nervous and excited about. She'd laughed and said, "Just be home by dinner."

He wasn't though. That was alright- they both understood the artistic muse. Sometimes things came over you and you didn't have time to worry about petty things like food.

Of course their muse was a tad more pointed sometimes, as they had college studies to keep up with as well. They were both past general studies, Adam a year ahead of her. Ami was majoring in journalism, Adam photography. It was a good mixture, and a balanced semblance. Maybe just a phone call was in order. Just to make sure he was okay.

She wandered into the half-kitchen half-living room section of their apartment, grabbing her iphone off the counter. Contacts > Adam Serrano. He hated his last name, but secretly Ami was eager to take it. Not that she'd ever tell him. You don't just ask your boyfriend, "So we are we getting married?" In fact, if she was being quite frank with herself, she wouldn't have minded just living together without marriage in the future. It wouldn't be that bad. As long as he was with her, she didn't mind.

There was a moment or two or ringing, and then over the phone, "Hey, I'm ALMOST done I promise."

"That's great, I was just calling to see what you wanted for dinner."

"Uhhh, I dunno. Listen Ams, can you do me a favor?" He seemed a bit distracted, and rather apprehensive.

"You know it depends on the favor, but probably. What do you need?" she said, and despite herself she began curling a piece of hair around her finger. Only Adam got her like this.

"Can you come down to the studio? And uh ... knowing you, you'll want to wear something nice."

"Can I ask what for?" she said, an amused tone in her question.

"Nope. Just do it please? Trust me a little?"

How could she say no to that? "I need to get ready. Give me about twenty minutes and I'll be there. Can you wait that long?"

"Of course, I have some finishing touches on this photo to do ... and ..." His voice trailed off, and Ami laughed.

"I'll be there." With that, she hung up the phone and headed into her room.

Twenty minutes later, she was parked outside of the red brick building that opened into Adam's studio. He shared the building with other artist's, but Ami had visited so many times she knew exactly where to go. She was only a little dressed up, but Adam had said to wear something nice and she would hopelessly oblige anything he asked her.

When she walked in the studio, he was in his normal work outfit and Ami had begun to wonder why she had to dress up. Well it was true he cared far less about appearances that she did. Nevermind that. In the room were four large squares covered in a black cloth. In Adam's hand was a small switch, and he was staring at the canvas' worriedly.

Ami's shoes tapped lightly on the concrete, and Adam turned around realizing she was there. He immediately smiled and walked over to her, his curly hair bobbing in time with his steps. She wasn't one for public displays of affection, but everyone had left the studio it seemed. He kissed her cheek lightly in greeting and said, "Hey! I just needed help with some new gallery pieces. Would you look at them and tell me what you think?"

Ami said, "Uhh sure." It wasn't that unusual for her to critique his art, though most of the time they did it in the comfort of their home. Maybe there was a particular mechanic to this one? It would explain the switch.

Adam got a giddy look on his face and pointed to a small X he'd marked on the floor and said, "Stand there."

Ami couldn't help but laugh. She did as he said though, staring at the black boxes. He stood behind her somewhere, and the first curtain dropped. It was small, a picture of him standing in front of a statue in a local park that they considered "their" statue. It was of a Beverly Cleary character, and they'd both found it ridiculously amusing. He was holding a sign that said "Will."

It was a bit confusing to be honest. Ami tilted her head, slightly confused. "I ... don't quite get the intent," she said, her hand on her chin, "The lines are perfect, and the contrast between your sign and the busy background is cool, but ..." She thought for a moment and said, "I don't really get the message. Will like determination? Will like a person? It's a little vague. I think you could use that vagueness though." She nodded and said, "Okay, next one."

A noise sounded and the second curtain dropped. This picture was much larger than the last, and this time, he was in a library, in front of the 1800s section. Ami recognized the wood of the shelves as the neighborhood library. He was holding yet another sign, sitting in front of the shelf, and looking down at it with a secretive smile on his face. The sign read, "You."

Ami nodded and said, "Oh I like this one a lot more. The way the vertical lines of the books fall perpendicular to the horizontal lines of the shelf and sign." She made gestures with her hands as she explained what she was thinking. You was an interesting word choice as well. Ami assumed this was meant to be some kind of inspirational piece. You, Will (determination). They were encouraging words. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something was bothering Ami, but she couldn't place it. She gestured with her hand to drop the next curtain.

This one was even bigger than the last, and the moment it dropped Ami's eyes went wide. In the picture, Adam was standing in front of a white and blue fountain, one she'd never seen before. He was holding a sign that said, "Marry."

It all clicked together. Ami wasn't stupid- she could put three words together and connect what the fourth would be. Her hand went up to cover her mouth, which was a very distinct, wide smile, and her eyes began tearing up. This was so like Adam. Take the simplicity of an action and undercut it with the drama of spontaneity. Ami turned to face Adam, but he had disappeared from where he was. She looked around, but the swarthy, curly-haired hipster was nowhere to be found. At some point he'd left entirely, leaving that last curtain hanging over the forth picture.

Smiling, Ami moved off her 'x' and pulled the fabric off the photograph, revealing Adam standing in their apartment with a sign that said "Me?" with an arrow pointing to himself. All at once Adam came back through the door in a becoming grey and black suit, and got down on one knee in front of her. He was nervous, and awkward, and entirely overprepared, but Ami loved all those things about him. "So what'll it be Ams?" he said, opening the box in his hand, revealing a simple, classic-style ring. "Will you marry me?"

It was all too much for her. The tears- happy tears- were streaming down her face, and she tried wiping them away but they kept coming. "Of course I will!" she said, pulling him up and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "I love you!" she said through her tears, laughing in the joyful surprise of it all.


---


< It's not real. >

What's not real? Who are you?

< Awww Ami, you forgot about me so fast? >

J ... Junpei. It's Jumpy right?

< Right the first time. So are you going home? This is your home? >

I don't know.

< Well either way I'm coming with you, so you might as well remember what's going on. So what'll it be Ams? > Junpei's voice started to mix with Adam's at the end, a strange sort of concoction for her mind to decipher. That's right. Deus Ex was her new home now. Adam had thrown her out. He hadn't believed her, and they were never married. Right. Deux Ex.

I'm going home Jumpy.

"Are you crossing as well?"

Medea smiled at the young figure, absently. They were the same after all. She held out a hand to them. "Come with me child, all paths lead to the s-"

*

"I beg you, please." She held on to his robes, his armour, desperate, knees buried on the floor. "Just one more day."

He said nothing.

She sobbed, desperate, quavering, several servants fidgeting, lowering their eyes as they passed by. The sobbing grew louder. "I am sorry, I am sorry. You are right, you were always right, I know now where I stand. Please don't banish me yet, give me a day, just a day, a day, please, please, I beg you."

Still he said nothing, neither moving nor replying as she continued to cry and plea and grovel; to cling to his one sandal, merely a remnant of the proud woman she once was. It was an odd paradigm to see. "Medea..." He finally began, trailing off; unsure.

A set of footsteps joined the two, lighter and more graceful, her robes elegant, lavish, overflowing. They paused for a second, unfolding their way past Medea to the man standing, delicate arms draping around him. "It is just one more day Jason. One more day and we can be together again." The newcomer whispered the last words, a poison.

"One more day then, only until sunrise." Jason took his new bride's hand, turning around, away from the woman who had given him everything she had. "You will leave this city upon sunrise."

Medea buried her forehead against the marble floor the entire time, the wait long and painful as she watched the two leave from the corner of her eye. She continued to remain crouched even as the slaves awkwardly attempted to move her away, even as the light faded into the beginnings of the evening, until at last two royal soldiers forced her back to her rooms, watching her. Guarding her.

She sat in her single prison all evening, eyes staring outwards, unfocused. One of the guards brought her sustenance: she was not hungry. They insisted, she disobeyed, they fought until finally the King himself was brought forwards, in order to placate.

And there, in her prison in front of the King, she knelt once again and apologized. She apologized, she yielded, to even compare her lowly self amongst royalty, to once again forget her place. She apologized, and looked the King once, just once in the eye as he walked away, satisfied with her answer, with her docility once again.

It was a deep evening, gentle and quiet as the first of the screaming began, loud and agonized, as if the palace itself was in agony. Medea's gift to them in apology, golden robes from the Sun God Apollo, laced in the thickest poison, irresistible even to a princess. She was an enchantress after all as she was priestess, she was resourceful, powerful -

- and vindictive. The poison burnt through all flesh and skin, it burned for hours and hours unquenchable. Their screams lasted all night.

And when it was dawn, just as the bare outlines of the sun, her immortal grandfather touching the skies for the first time, she made her retreat on her own carriage, the last thing she saw as she flew away the outraged cries from the man she had vowed a lifetime to.

Kings, queens, princesses, royalty. It would do them well to know their place amongst immortals.

He reached out to try and shake Amrita, tell her that the silence was beginning to worry him, that even a hello would put him at ease, something, anything – and then all went gray and white around him as well, like an infection that spread from touching the ghoul. The mist muffled sound about him until it felt like it was pressing on his eardrums.

That was it. That was the last straw. Mort fell to his knees with a dry sob and pounded the ground, disturbed that even the sound of his voice sounded far away. He couldn’t even tell it was the ground, how much everything had blended into one another. This was the end, he decided. Halloween was doomed. The Hunters with their Jackdamn technology had finally won, and everything they had done had been for nothing.

Despair threatened to overwhelm him and what was worse was that he was incapable of making tears. He shook with the sobs, teeth clenching each other hard enough that he was sure one would crack under the pressure. Alone again. Alone like his times before Amityville, where the only definition of friend he had were lists of usernames on HIM.

Worse, the span of time where he barely recollected anything. The beginning of time.

The fog suddenly disappeared, replaced by swaths of darkness. Silence of the interred. Asleep, dreamless and cocooned by the dirt on all sides. Something wriggled above him – probably a worm or other sort of insect. There were no high processes, no thoughts – just eternal sleep, cradled by the earth itself. Things had made their home in him and he had simply learned to let them be. All things were rightfully in place.

More wriggling. It disturbed his bed, but he did not move - could not move; another simple fact of existence. He hadn’t needed to move before, but now he somewhat wished he could. Perhaps the wetness from Above had dislodged his bed again. Nothing terrible, though he longed for the dark. It would pile again with things soon enough, though, so he was not in any rush. The dead had no sense of time after all, only what happened in the present.

Against his wishes the dark began to lighten, the wriggling continued. Light filtered through the layers of dirt to his face, but as still as a statue he remained in spite of the discomfort. More and more his bed was peeled away until all of the light from Above covered him.

Sound to the left of him. Deep, constant like water when it meandered past his hole. Now not only did the light accost him, but buzzing began to fill his head like a thousand insects had suddenly grouped. It spread down from his skull until his arms vibrated, his torso hummed, and his legs thrummed with the sound.

And then, suddenly, color. Two eyes opened but only one could see. The sky was dusky orange as a big bright circle began to descend; his bed was a dusty brown and green, covered in strange glowing white things in several encircling lines beneath him; and the thing, the owner of the water-voice, was taller, vastly taller than himself, coated in black with skin as pale as grubs and eyes hidden in dark holes so large it looked like a skeleton. It moved something and more sounds came, but he did not understand – this was not the silent language of insects. It poke some more without result, and it huffed a growl and turned its head to something else out of view.

Footsteps. A second voice, high pitched. A shorter thing came into his vision and conversed with the pale-thing. This one was top-heavy, covered in blue and white that rustled in the wind, with skin colored like sand and things from the top of the head that curled and bounced. He continued to stare at them vacantly, wondering when he could return to his bed and sleep in the warm earth.

The buzzing began to go away but was replaced by something else: whispers that continued to hiss one word over and over, but he could not comprehend. The top-heavy one eventually turned and walked to him, its mouth parting in a smile that caused stir in his chest. And she too began to utter the same word as the whispers until at last it began to make sense.

Home. Home.

That was what his bed was. But he was beginning to understand that the dirt was no longer his home, as the top-heavy one stretched a warm arm around him and plucked him from the ground, cradling his small body as easily as if he was a babe. And he didn’t mind. The arms enfolded him like the dirt-bed, and though the light was bothersome the smile . . . the smile made up for it. The warmth covered his body until he felt sleepy once more.

Home, it said. Home, she said.

And he nodded sleepily as their surroundings began to lose their color. More forms appeared from the gray, in and out like ghosts, murmurs coating the air. They reached a fork in time to visit with a small jewel-wearing figure who asked if they were crossing too. She nodded, and he nodded with her – there was no disagreeing with the giver of warmth. She began to follow the smaller figure, but he did not care; sleep was beginning to take him as it was.

As the last vestiges of consciousness left him, Mort could hear his new mother crooning and kissing his cheek. Here, there was no fear or despair – only a renewed sense of life and hope.

(( 950 words ))

Vanessa

The red-head glanced back to Ami when she realized that the other girl hadn't spoken up in some time, and was about to ask if something had happened when a wave of miasmic fog rolled around them. On guard, Vanessa spun around just in time to see the misty phoenix fall apart, watching the loose, weak bonds of the phoenix untether, split, and engulf them all in it's white-wash of fog.

She couldn't see her hands in front of her face. More importantly, she couldn't see Volt, in all his glowing electrical bulk, in her hands. Everything was wrong, so wrong. What was this? The red-head loathed being unable to comprehend, being unable to control and correct.

She's never experienced anything like this fog before. She'd never witnessed the truth of the Insanity.

Some logic and reason still functioning in her mind, she grappled for her throat, searching desperately for Volt's awareness and presence there.

She found nothing.

And then the white-ink began to blot before her, taking shape and gaining form as it moved, becoming people. Despite it all, her eyebrow raised, wondering exactly who and what these beings were. Someone spoke, breathing life into the pale crossroads. Instantly Vanessa was reminded of some vague storybook lands, though she couldn't grasp the correct stories or the details from within this fog.

"Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?"

Vanessa's eyes flew up to the figure, tracing the lines of them in her mind, trying to recall who this person was. They had to be important. Somehow though, this whole place had caused the Hunter to feel empty, drained so to speak. She didn't even react malevolently when the figure gently began to lead her away.

---

"Vanessa! Vanessa!" The red-head, much younger than the Hunter her team-mates would know at Deus Ex, looked up, a smile forming on her face. It was a true smile, unhidden behind a mask of neutrality. There was no need for it here. No need for it now.

No need for it with her.

"Vivian." Just a statement of a name, said with a content, pleased ring, set the little girl off. She gave a happy squeal and ran forward, arms out in front of her. Vanessa swept the younger girl up into her arms, fittingly in a princess carry for the little 'princess'. The little red-head, a halo of curls flying up from the momentum of the lift, gave a giggling squeal, snuggling into Vanessa's arms after trying to poof down the layers of her dress-up princess dress. A plastic crown was jauntily tipped on one side her of head, twinkling with artificial gems. Vanessa freed one hand for a moment and corrected it, brushing through the curls once while she was at it. "There."

"Do you like my dress? Don't I look like a princess?" Vivi's voice, high-pitched and young, drifted up to Vanessa. Imploringly, Vanessa pretended to give the younger, girlish version of herself a critical-eyed look over, 'hmming' to herself all the while. After a few moments, she looked Vivian straight in the eye, the little girl's widening to huge proportions as she waited for Vanessa's answer. Finally it came.

"You make for the perfect princess." It was said in the most serious, but content, voice Vanessa could muster. The little girl gave a happy giggling noise again, acting as if she'd just gotten the approval the person she loved most in the world outside of her parents.

And in all actuality, she had.

With a real smile on her face, Vanessa sat down, little Vivi still in her arms. She stroked the miniature version of herself's hair, running her fingers through the wavy curls as they sprung back into place. After some time, Vivi seemed to be dosing off, snuggled against her older sister's chest like the child she was. Softly, the little girl called up, "Vanessa, do you think I'll be a real princess someday? Like, with a big castle and a knight in shining armor?" After a moment, she paused. Then, another question floated up to her. "Do you want to be a princess too, Vanessa?"

"Perhaps. Any 'hero' would have to go through me first to get to you, though." The second question took her offguard, but she answer honestly and immediately. "I think I'd rather be a knight instead."

A little, sleepy giggle floated up to Vanessa. "You'd make a good knight, Vanessa. I bet you could be someone's knight in shining armor someday." The little girl then gave a wide yawn and settled down into the crook of Vanessa's arms and lap, and drifted off to sleep. Vanessa simply sat, absolute adoration in her eyes when she looked down at the little princess-garbed girl snoozing in her arms. Her thoughts were content, calm, happy even, swirling around the ideas of princesses and castles.

Vanessa gave a little nod, leaning back in her seat so she could enjoy the day, one last thought dancing through her mind. "Perhaps I could be a knight someday."

---

An older, more jaded Vanessa followed the figure forward, dazed in her own memories as sounds called out to her, shushing any fears or worries.

She could go home to Vivi.

She could go home.

She could be that knight in shining armor for someone, one last time.

A faint smile blossomed on her face, and she grasped the figure's offer, unresisting as she was pulled forward. She welcomed it, even. This was right. Everything was alright. Everything was okay.

"Let's go home."

((Vanessa Word Count: 925))


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Moure

(Filling this in soon, I have go eat now.;;; )

It wasn’t too long ago that the slimer was at a crossroads of his own. His soul had passed through the world of his last life, and was snagged. It was caught by the world of Halloween, and was released to grow in its waters. The slimer remembered nothing of it. But he felt that it was probably similar to what was happening.

El Greco didn’t even try to fight the phoenix. He fought the hunters, but not too long. He was tired and hurt. But he was tired of fighting in general. The slimer was a ghost. He was the result of death, and death often times results from fights, and he didn’t want any part of it again. He doesn’t know how he died, but being a ghost was a second chance of sorts, he just wanted to live.

He felt that the only difference between him, and these other souls, the memories of the Horsemen who had died was that he didn’t look back. He wasn’t looking for home. He was out and about looking for adventure, to celebrate life.

Being a ghost is quite a symbol, floating just a few inches off the ground. He was not rooted to any place. He was a wanderer. His home was not found in places per se, but in others, and in art. The slimer’s home was in the strokes of paintings, the molds of clay, and the slabs of marble.

The academy was home to him, not the place, but its students. The feelings he had developed for them, and for some in particular is what roots him to the school. It was pulling him back, and the figure in white was pushing him forward, to somewhere familiar and safe.

“But I don’t want to go back,” the ghost resisted, “This isn’t what life is.”
“Life is joy. Life is pain.”

The slimer looked down at the small figure, turning and tried to plant his feet into the ground. But still his legs bent, and he walked forward while leaning against it.

“Stop… I don’t want to go.”

His eyes wandered. The sea of grey moved around him while he stood out like a light tower of green. There wasn’t much to see. Their faces blurred. Their features barely visible when they were together. He looked down, and he caught the sight of his pin.

He remembered. He remembered the feeling of being accepted. He remembered the only person he had ever given his pin to, Circe. This memory was recent. It was before their trip to the Isle of the Horsemen, which now was a memory as well.

He looked down at his hand, and closed it into a fist. Hidden inside his slimer body was her pin. He kept it out of sight and he kept it close. He felt it move around in his body as he pulled it from himself. He felt it through his arm, and as he opened his hand. The pin moved through the skin of his palm, and there it lay. He closed his hand, and then closed his eyes as he was pushed forward.

His thoughts were now of only his time with his best friend, the blonde and black eyed reaper. He remember the depth of how their feelings went. How it twisted in confusion thanks to adolescent inexperience, but soon they grew out of it, and deep scars they made just pulled them closer.

He did miss the reaper. It is ironic though, that the slimer’s greatest fear was death, and his best friend was a necromancer.

It’s funny how the world works, he thought as a smile moved across his face.

The feeling was ever so faint, a twinge of despair that sent a flutter through his chest every time someone landed a hit on the colossal bird. Others had been far luckier than West—little Amrita, who wasn't so little anymore; a golden-haired Hunter, perhaps trying to subdue the beast his people had created; Bul's ghoul Mei with her broken face—but for all the damage they should have been causing, the creature didn't seem any worse for wear. It winged through the sky, absorbing all of the havoc they could wreak.

West was still staring skyward when the fog rolled in, viscous as half-dried white paint and somehow even more opaque. He didn't notice its slow invasion at first, but once it wrapped its milky tendrils around the phoenix, its presence was no longer something he could ignore. The boil wanted nothing more than to shut his eyes against it, to clap his hands over his ears and block out the voices that whispered words just outside his comprehension, but he was powerless to do so. The fog engulfed him an instant later, and once it had stolen his sight, crawled deep into his nose and throat, and left him deaf, there was no longer any reason to fight at all.

The world had collapsed and it was all their fault. Things would never be the same again.

He stood in a cramped white cell. No. He was strolling across a featureless plain that stretched farther than he could ever have wits enough to imagine. An equally featureless figure formed beside him, moving so smoothly that it might have been floating. It was as pale as the world around it, a small, proud being that lacked any distinguishing... anything, save for being small and proud.

Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?

West didn't hear it speak, but he was familiar enough with words that rang through his mind instead of through the air that he responded aloud anyway. "Crossin'? Issat what we're doin'? I dun think I should..." He looked behind him, squinting into the fog as he swallowed. When he turned back to his companion, it was gone. Before he had time to call out or even wonder where the figure had disappeared to, he heard the familiar sharp clack of high heels against marble.

"Westus? You have mail. From that... school."

His mother strode out of the nothingness, and behind her bloomed the perfectly tiled floor of his kitchen back home. The smell of crabapple pie wafted past, and as the walls solidified around him, West thought he saw Vesper, one of their undead chefs, pulling a hot pan from the oven, tendrils of steam curling into his empty eye socket as he bent to sniff his creation. He stared at Vesper for a long time.

"West!"

Something tugged at his arm, but he pulled back, reluctant to follow. Eventually he did take a few halting steps, unable to see what was coaxing him along. A crumpled piece of paper dropped out of his hand, and he glanced at it as his boot pressed it into the colorless ground. A ticket for a train. Amityville?

When he had made the decision to leave Wailington Prep, West had sent applications around with no more thought than he gave to the order in which he put on his shoes. But Amityville... It wasn't an acceptance, but it was a response. If he had truly been thinking three months ago, he would have dismissed them as being out of his league. He was glad he hadn't been thinking. He shot his mother a questioning glare and her face flickered for a moment, her eyes white instead of green, but no less curious.

"You know I would prefer you stay where you are now," she said haughtily. "Wailington is an excellent school. And your father went there." She smiled faintly. "But it's up to you, dear."

West chuckled, shook his head, and blinked, his eyes staying shut just long enough to see himself riding a cycorgi, getting pelted with paintballs, watching a Hunter die, kissing Levi, building a sandcastle, getting sliced in half, dancing, punching a music stand, shooting a cannon, fighting, fighting, fi—

The world had collapsed. Things would never be the same again. Everyone was leaving, and he wanted to go with them.

"Y...yeah. Home. I wanna go too."

West stopped holding back. His breathing slowed and his eyes lost focus as he followed the murky shapes into the void.

RALLIN

ALL FOURS?