Muses

"That's..... something Mali." By that point Joe's voice had become dry and raspy, an after effect of the deeply involved conversation he had just carried with Mali, a length he hadn't attained prior to the accident.

Mali looked up at him from the green spiral bound notebook she finished reading off of. It had just occurred to her that, though they operated as a group, she carried some dependency on Casey and Gordon. It was obvious why. Casey's motherly instincts were a comforting welcome and Gordon shared with her the foreigner card, a concept the rest would soon understand.

"This was nice Joe, I mean all things considered. I'm usually afraid of the things that come out of my mouth, but I feel like it doesn't really matter here. Thanks."

Nodding was all he could do before his medicine wore his consciousness thin.

Gordon found himself in a curious situation. After mysteriously being bailed out, he found himself with a note replete with address and hospital room number. Gordon scratched his head and laughed, a nervous habit he found comfort in.

"What have these blokes got themselves into?"

Uncertain where to begin, Gordon simply walked, hoping serendipity would give him a smile and a wink. To waste time until an idea came to him, Gordon sat on the sidewalk, absorbing the scenery and pondering a story.

There once was a merry band of pirates who sailed the highest seas. The world feared the very utterance of their name, the dreaded crew of Jack Hawksmoor. He and his nighthawks were no scallywags, they only pilfered what did not belong to those they stole from. Merchants dared not attempt to cheat the people, lest they suffer the wrath of Jack and his crew. Defenders of the weak they were, and one particular adventure tested their mettle.

As they sailed the ocean in search of adventure, they came across a beast the likes of which few had seen. Jack had heard tales of a being older than time itself, a creature referred to as "Ole Tentacles." Jack wanted to see if such a beast existed, knowing he could attain something from it, be it knowledge or treasure.

Jack set sail for uncharted waters, his crew in high spirits. They sung songs of joy, of celebrations, of their fearlessness of the unknown. Jack knew he had a good crew, a group that were not only willing to face the infinite blue but accepted it willingly. As they approached the island, a body of land that can be identified by the perpetual darkness that surrounded it. A foreboding silence infiltrated the crews quarters, but not their hearts. They arrived on the shore of black sands, ready to face the Old One. As they ventured further in, The Endless One stood before them. They attacked fiercely, striking where they could but to no avail. Once Jack realized they could do no harm to a creature that will outlive the entirety of existence, a creature of malevolence incarnate, he commanded his troops to collect the tentacles they managed to sever and retreat. Jack's crew made it back in good time as The Tentacled One gave no chase, the very notion was beneath it. Jack thanked wonderful Poseidon that there were no casualties and ruminated with his crew on what to make of the Ancient One's severed parts.

Gordon sat up quickly, his idea required standing.

To Redress (Chris)

A second past, an eternity to some, a fluttering to others, but a moment nonetheless, that ended in abrupt Joy. Hugs abound, or at least to a degree that Joe could manage given his conditional stipulations.

"Looks like God gave you back to us for another day at least."

After the Joy and light banter ran its course, silence began to permeate the room. Any questions had already been answered and the assemblage weren't sure where to continue.

"So where's Captain America? Saving the day?"

"Well, according to a reliable source, he's in immigration, we're just not sure whether to set out and find him or what."

Sensing his calling, Joe took hold of the situation as best he could with three broken fingers.

"Well, here's my proposition for a plan. Casey and Parker go to the immigration office for Mr. Mischance, Mali here will keep me company until you guys return. I'm sure Casey knows how to use your phone to find the building and you guys can always call my phone if there are any issues."

Casey wasn't sure what Joe's aim was in the division. Was he ignoring her? Did he not want to address the situation? Should she even be making such statements given his condition? What puzzled her even more was Mali's perky willingness to part with her phone, the Mecca of all things her. Rather than over analyze the situation, she decided to ride it, taking Mali's quiet "Thank You," to heart.

"Alright Joe, we're off. I'll keep him in line while we hunt for our native Britannica. Parker, if you say one thing about your feet hurting, I will remove them so you'll never have to complain again."

Parker nodded, his cries for attention came to an end and he traipsed aimlessly into the hall.

As soon as the door shut, Mali lept on Joe and hugged him.

"Thank you so much for relieving me of Parker, even if it's just for a little bit. He was getting on my last nerve. It's not that I hate him or anything but it felt like every time we did anything, he'd want to pair up with me. He never left me alone, not even at Burning Man. You'd think exposing yourself to a born again Christian would drive him away, but noooooo he's on this quest to convert me. Well, whatever the case, I'm not going to speak on the subject anymore. Thanks again for the respite."

Joe smiled, as far as his bruised cheek would allow.

"No problem, I could tell you were annoyed so I thought I'd let Casey handle him for a bit. They haven't really interacted all that much either so I thought it'd be fun to let that play out. I'm sure they'll retrieve America's bastard baby soon enough. I was thinking about our stories, since that's all I could really do and i think we need new dice rolls. i believe we've told enough of those stories and need to progress a little don't you think?"

"I agree. I've been thinking about that for awhile actually and i know one thing I want is for our stories to have a happy ending for once. You guys are way too somber with all the sadness and the killing, it's all a real mood killer. Let's try something like that, have a roll require a story to have a happy ending. "

"Not bad, I agree even though I'm just as guilty as the rest of them. I've always found music to be inspirational, what if we told a story that has to be derived from a song lyric, how does that sound?"

"I like it, but I think there should be some guidelines."

"Like what?"

"Like I think the words from the song have to be in the story and I think you should only be able to use lyrics from a band once, that way we don't have Gordon doing a dozen John Mellencamp song or anything like that. Really gives it some variety."

"do the words have to be in a row in the story?"

"Nah, you can disassemble it, just as long as you can re-assemble it from the story, so a word here a word there as long as they're all there."

"Well Mali, sounds like we've got ourselves a couple of rolls, maybe we could wait until we get together again to do the rest."

"Or I could send Casey a text with your phone and have them come up with something."

"Or that. In the mean time, you mind telling me a story? I've wanted to hear one for awhile now."

"Sure Joe, but it doesn't have any real merit. I'm still working on some things."

"Not a problem, I just heard a story from a tape recorder like yesterday so don't even worry about it."

"Come again?"

"Never you mind, now on with it."

Why do we not move is a question that never arose. To say that they were a stagnant culture would be a declaration no different than the statement "They are human." It has become as much a part of them as the hair on their head or the fingers on their hands. Through what method can be traced through their lineage but whether they are members of the leegs or the illeegs is really situated in their demographic. How did their parents maintain inertia? Were the means just? How did their bodies react? All questions asked that will never be answered. Who is there to voice what has no thought attached? A thought must be have an impetus after all, even if that motivation is simple spontaneity. Given that as the fundamental precept, where does a mind go with no desire to propel itself?

There were once a group who dared deviate, who wrote doctrines on the idea of resisting, of operating outside the spectrum of leegs and illegs. The two standing parties knew little, but what they did maintain was what they liked and what they did not. The interruption of their status quo fell into the latter.

They struck: bluntly, bludgeoningly and improficient. Mercy did not enter the fray nor could it given the means and method applied.

remnants existed thereafter, but none carried enough weight to interfere with the cold war that could never and would never meet any kind of conclusion, save total annihilation. That, however, wouldn't be a resolution at all: wiping the board doesn't end a game, it merely starts a new one.