Iwaku SHATTERED - Redux

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It was uncommon.

When Zen darted away, making for the alley where Meds had been tossed, it was perhaps with the assumption that Azazel would follow. After all, who could last in this city without a quick tongue and a quicker step? Azazel was thus the anomaly to the hustle and bustle, moving no faster than an ink blot. He could not match a human's pace.

It was uncommon.

And even the attempt was thwarted as he felt the wind pick up. Sand and trash spiralled airward, like spirits raised, and each eddy stabbed the fear into his core. Azazel took shelter by the wall of the alley which Zen had rushed down. And there he flattened himself, pulling the heavy coat around him, hood and sleeves folding inwards.

If the wind caught him and got inside the coat, he would be dissipated. He would be flung wherever the breeze desired, and would spend the rest of the day reconstituting. And so he stayed and curled himself as best he could, hoping in resignation that the scarlet woman would return his companion to him.


* * * * *​


"Mrow?"

The Owl and the Pussycat had not gone to sea, after all. And for the second time Meds found himself choking on feathers. Scrambling out from under Arkie's scruffed wings, the kitten found a place on her chest to sit and look up at Rul.

It was that bored look, the kind of look a cat gets when it has nothing better to do, and neither wants to be petted, fed nor interfered with.

...And Meds' expression wasn't much different.

They stared at each other and Meds waved his tail back and forth, shifting his paws now and then to make Arkie's breasts more pliant.

"Mrow."
 
The sink was full of dishes soaking in the cold, gray water. The stove was piled high with used pots and pans. The fly paper on the wood panel wall was full of writhing insects. A woman sits at a card table near the window, her hair as steely and silver as the aluminum foil that covers the glass. Next to her, a rusted window unit blows uselessly. Somewhere in the next room, someone is watching a cartoon.

She hardly reacts when a teenage girl enters the kitchen to retrieve a can of soda from the fridge. The girl's hair is dyed black, her baggy clothes hide her ample form. The girl doesn't open the can, only tucks it into her massive bag with the Sailormoon character printed on the side.
"Man from the school came yesterday." The gray woman's voice is perforated from years of smoking. A cigarette burns away in her nicotine stained fingers. "If ya' ain't gonna show up, ya should get yerself a job, start earnin' yer keep 'round here."

"State ain't givin' you enough to take care of me?" The gray woman catches the angel wings printed on the back of the girl's shirt, before the slamming of the screen door drowns out her shouts.
Click to expand...

For the second time inside of an hour, Arkie's head was plagued with a splitting ice pick pain. Her clothes were also starting to fill with dust, which meant other parts of her were starting to fill with dust.

And why did her tits hurt?

Arkie opened her blue eye, the not blind one, to see the kitten kneading her breasts in order to make them more comfortable. "Oh thanks."

"Miss."

"MISS."

"Eh?"Meds and Arkie were both blinking at Rul, perplexed by his presence. Arkie was quick to her feet, clutching the kitten protectively. "You! You want to eat my cat, too, don't you?" Her eyes narrowed at the man. He wasn't like any of the others she had encountered; he had all of his own teeth, for starters. He was even handsome in his own, haughty way, but that made him even more suspicious. Who could live in a place like this and still be handsome?

"Well, you can't. He's..." Arkie paused to check the name on the kitten's collar. "Meds--really? What kind of a name is-- Meds is my only friend in this place." It was sad because it was true.
 
Tits.

I try to smile at the woman, but at that particular moment (and this happens quite frequently) the worms inside me decide to eat my spleen - my blood storage organ - in a feeding frenzy. The upward curve of my lips is aborted, one side instead curving down in grimace. It's an odd expression, no doubt, I've seen it many times in the mirror.

The lady looks at me with one eye. Coy. My heart actually beats once. The last time it did that to simulate human emotion must have been a month ago, when I tried to simulate the feeling of exhilaration upon spying a couple having a go with my binoculars (their anatomical details made my homework exercise pretty distasteful).

I'm not sure how to answer her question. I used to like sex. How could I not? The era I inhabited was filled with sexualizing vampire lore, and it bore down on my being, compelling me to be sparkly. I managed to kill most of my partners, but it was Pyrrhic. Instead, I look at the cat.

"I used to spend a lot of time talking to animals. As far as science is concerned they have no way of understanding me, but then again, I am outside the realm of reason, so why can't animals understand me?" I cupped my cheek in one hand as I spoke, my right hand. It's important that I use my right hand, because I am right handed.

Sniff. My nostrils dilate slightly and my attention is momentarily jerked away. This is a ploy to divert the girl's attention, but there is some truth to my actions; it has just started to smell faintly of library.

The right hand extends, offering a handshake. The other one has grabbed a handful of tit. Singular. My hands aren't big enough to grab both.

"My name is Hawks. It's a fitting name, right? I don't really like my other name." I indicate the feather in my beret.
 
"Um, actually I was looking for that."

She slowed her pace upon seeing Arkie and Rul. The wings were what startled Zen, they were just so out of place. She would have sprinted past them if she hadn't noticed. However it was good that she did, Azazel's kitten was in her hands. Tian her owl, gave Meds a death glare, hooting menacingly. He obviously hadn't forgotten the scuffle from earlier. Her eyes of course glanced towards the paler of the two, noting his paler complexion. How odd, why wasn't he tanned?

And why was she running into odd things today?

Oh right, she was a traveler.

The sprint down the alley caused the monk's head to spin. Exercise was going to be out of the question until she got some real food into her system. She would probably have to resort to begging sometime soon, or maybe a bit of healing work. Whatever had to be done to get some food. Placing a hand upon the wall of the alley, Zen gave Arkie a brief smile.

"If you don't mind, I'll take him back to his owner."

A spasm of pain rocked Zen's world.

"Or," she continued with a hitch in her voice, "You could come with me and we can all go together."


​
 

Meds looked at Rul.

Meds looked at Arkie.

Meds looked at the arm that bridged the gap between them, squeezing the woman's boob.

Meds looked at Zen.

Meds looked at the owl on Zen's shoulder.

Meds didn't know which of the four to visciously attack.

He settled on coughing up a hairball.
 
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I hadn't expected to find him on the first try. He'd been so close to me all along? I could have reached out an arm and touched him at any time, and now I had him belly-up and vulnerable on the ground in front of me. I stared, taking in dark hair, hollow blue eyes behind a pair of unseated shades, and a muscular frame. By some impulse I couldn't quite explain, I found myself planting a splayed hand on the ground next to his and covertly comparing the length of our fingers. There was that look, too, when he'd first opened his eyes- the wild, frantic look of a cornered animal. I knew that look.

He was asking for my name.

He was also asking for painkillers. Had I hurt him? I didn't remember. Regardless, I didn't think he should be taking anything from the "Doctor". I knew that if the man in the plague mask tried to feed me pills, I'd spit them out in his face.

"It's... Chanter," I repeated myself, my fingers tightening in the leather coat for a brief instant before tossing it on top of him. Both of my hands recoiled, arms close to my body, elbows turned out so that I didn't seem any smaller than I was. I might have put more space between us, if I weren't surrounded by people on all sides. Hedged in. I was going to slink off as soon as...

What?

What was I doing here?

"Who are you?" The question burned its way out of my throat.
 
He nodded in thanks to the doctor and rested the syringe in his lap as he felt himself being examined but the girl who called herself Chanter. He briefly wondered if she could sing before he had his coat dumped in his lap and he examined her back. Her eyes were one of her most prominent features, almost more so than her stitches but he make sure not to stare too long since Chanter seemed twitchy like a bird caught indoors.

He busied himself with retrieving the syringe out from under the coat and sitting up, his hand moving away from hers to that he could jab the needle into it and push the plunger, though he only used half of it before pulling the needle out and stowing the rest. He needed to remain aware of his surroundings and conserve his doses as much as he could. Still though she had asked who he was, and from then until this moment he didn't know how to answer. So he took the question as it was usually intended and looked back at her as the ghost pains ebbed.

"Raziel." he said. "Just a drifter." he moved back t lean against the wall and with a gesture invited her to join him as the numbness slowly took hold and he let out a long sigh of relief. He made no sudden loves, and only looked away to see who else was in the room and to see that they were looking as lost as he was. "Glad to see you're alright." He was repeating himself but if he kept talking, maybe he'd entice her to stay. Right now he had to assume she was a petty thief or orphan who was caught robbing the stood rooms for food by panicked people fleeing a bar fight rudely interrupted by cannibals. If only he had some food to offer to share.
 

The pace seems ponderous, slow, almost like a breath held by the collective group of them, waiting for something to happen. There's talking and the doctor seems more than willing to oblige in answering questions that the others have, while slighting the woman who had crashed the ship. To this, Na'ava saw little reason to argue - the woman had gotten them stranded in an ocean of sand, after all. Certainly, Na'ava didn't expect that she herself could have done better at piloting by leaps and bounds, but perhaps by some and certainly not many could have done much worse. Still, what was done was done. They were no longer in the desert, after all.

"We're going to wait, then? For the storm to pass? And what if it gets worse? Do we have supplies, or ought we risk seeing if one among us tastes as strange as they look?" Na'ava felt the stirrings of hunger in her belly and was perhaps slightly testier about the prospect of not eating than she normally would be in light of this fact. She had gone a long time without eating so far, the ability to weather out hunger being similar to not catching disease, she supposed, but it had been very long now indeed and she still needed to eat now and then. This seemed like a now, or approaching on it at any rate. The whistling of the wind picked up at that moment, as if to remind her that there was likely nothing to eat. With growing agitation, she realized that she was also thirsty, which was typically relieved when she ate, as she gravitated toward meals that were still bleeding and had no stomach for eating leaves.

Unconsciously, while posing her question, Na'ava had begun to pace, trying to ignore the gnawing sensation in her stomach. The smell of the space around her was infused with the scent of those milling about such an enclosed area and she supposed that it was fortunate that they smelled thoroughly unappetizing, that the doctor smelled of something sterile and the girl of things long dead. ​
 
What the actual fuck? Everyone in this place is insane.

Her first reaction was to slap Hawks, or whatever his name was, for taking such liberties with her anatomy. But then this...lady? who wants to take Meds with her (probably to eat by the looks of her) doesn't seem too shocked by the fact that she's come upon two people groping in an alley. That drew only one logical conclusion: this was an accepted form of greeting.

"Um, hey," Arkie balanced Meds on her shoulder, before reaching out, cupping Hawk's chest with her right hand and Zen's breast with her left. "I'm Arkie." May as well try to blend in for now until she could get her bearings. "Sorry, but I can't go with you until I know where you're going." She paused, looking back and fourth from Hawks to Zen. "...And no, I won't give you the cat." She wasn't sure if they wanted to eat Meds, or not.

"Are you OK?" The monk lady with the owl didn't look so good.

And she hoped Hawks didn't notice the hairball that just splutted onto his shoe.
 

Azazel drifted around the corner.

Azazel looked at Arkie.

Azazel looked at the hand gripping Arkie's boob.

Azazel looked at the hand gripping Rul's chest.

Azazel looked at the hand gripping Zen's boob.

Azazel looked at Meds.

Meds looked back at Azazel.

Zen's owl turned its head around and looked at Azazel.

Azazel looked at the owl.

Azazel noticed the hairball on Rul's shoe.

Azazel wrote on Arkie's left arm.

Excuse me.​

Azazel wrote on Rul's arm.

May I have my cat back?​

Azazel wrote on Arkie's right arm.

Please?​
 
"Ga-ah!" Arkie jumped back, releasing Zen and Hawk's respective chests, her wings flared out behind her from the shock. Annoyed by all the jostling and happy to see the one person who didn't want to eat him or smother him to their breasts, Meds leaped from Arkie's shoulder and trotted over to Azazel, mewing his kitten laments as he did.

Arkie's stare drifted from her arm to the three who surrounded her--especially the quiet guy. Creepy didn't even begin to describe him.

"Look guys, I don't want any trouble. I just woke up here not even an hour ago and some pimp guy wanted to cut me, then these big guys want to eat Meds and I have sand in my everything." Arkie's shoulders drooped in defeat. "Can you guys just tell me where I am and where I can find a phone? I need to call my mom."

Or her dealer.
 

Raziel.

The name struck a chord, familiar but jumbled, like I'd read it in a book once upon a very long time ago. A metallic tang surfaced in the back of my palate. I swallowed, certain for a jarring moment that I was bleeding, and the taste was gone. What was wrong with me? I stared at Raziel again, asking myself if there was anything to rattle my fragmented memories into place, but I saw nothing I recognized in the lines of his eyes, his mouth, his jaw. No, I didn't know him, any more than I knew anyone.

At least, I didn't think so.

The atmosphere of the enclosed, crowded loading bay was oppressive, and my hackles rose when my darting eyes fell on the flaxen-haired swordswoman who was interrogating my erstwhile protector-against-scalpel-wielding-assholes.

"Do we have supplies, or ought we risk seeing if one among us tastes as strange as they look?" Another predator, that was certain. The edge of hunger that tightened her voice, her stance, reminded me of my own need for sustenance. Maybe that explained my odd reactions to this place, these people; I was dizzy, unfocused, and barely keeping myself upright. As soon as the storm lifted, I would slip away and find food. In the meantime... I was trapped. With a sibilant exhalation of breath, I followed Raziel's example in putting my back to the wall, keeping a close eye and ear on the others stranded inside the ship.

Maybe seeing how they tasted wasn't such a bad idea. Eat or be eaten, and I'd take the first.

"Why?" I asked Raziel, finally, giving him a furtive glance. The question was short and simple, and yet with so many things implied: Why are you glad? Why do you care? Why did you save me?

What did he want?
 
Cannibalism?

Not something Raziel would resort to or let happen around him. He had a gun and would use it to make sure that everyone got through whatever they were in together... or not at all? Way that really how he felt? He felt thirsty, and tired, and certainly hungry but he would not eat Chanter, or the doctor, or anyone else.

Why?

It was a good question. Why were they here? Why had the city been destroyed? Why hadn't he left her? Why did the look at her stitches and her eyes and feel like he was missing something. But then he usually felt like he was missing something. "I don't like killing." he said. "I'll shoot if they want me dead, or if they want to do harm to others. But on principal its not something I enjoy. I couldn't leave you behind, and I don't did not want to hurt you." Why did he call himself Raziel when he had no memory of anyone calling him that before he did? Too many questions.

He didn't like being trapped here either. Waiting for the storm to end and hoping that wouldn't have to dig their way out of the sand when it was done. He looked around the steel walls and wondered if the storm wasn't saving them from baking alive inside. "Chanter." he repeated, he liked the name and looking at her was lot better than wondering where they were, what they were going to do about supplies or how lucky they were to be alive all things considered.

"Where are you from?"
 
I was slapped by the girl - not surprising. The hairball is a bit unexpected, because I expected it to be a sand and grit ball instead. But all the same, fate decides that it should land on my shoe, so I watch it for a bit as it seeps down the side before I shake it off. It leaves behind a bit of spit and stomach juices, but that doesn't really bother me. A monk joins us, and she seems starved and athritic.

It seems that I have created a rather favourable trend, for everyone begins to grab each other's chest. Naturally I don't feel anything when she places her hand on mine, but I fake a small gasp and command a bit of blood to flush my face. Maybe this trend will catch on too! The most important thing is to plant a seed, afterall.

"It seems like everyone is in pain?" The moment feels ripe for a follow up with a witty comment, but the worms decide to nibble at my brain and the only thing I can think of is obscenities or very mean things to say. So I don't follow it up with anything.

I brace my hands against my knees and push myself up into a standing position. The ligaments in my knees were getting a bit stiff and creaky - probably microholes that the wriggly ones have bored through. At this point in time an actual library shows up, a walking talking library. It's about the only word I can use to describe him (it? Can it grow an ink penis? Does it shoot ink jizz? How would an ink vagina work, ink has low viscosi -- and here I abort my train of thought), because he just smells like a roiling mass of ink, faintly bitter and wet. This is all but confirmed as letters are drawn across my arm (lord, I hope it's not permanent).

"I never had a need for it! By the way, I am Hawks." The feather is indicated again for emphasis.

The girl mentions that she wants to leave. Impossible.

"You can't." The stare I give her is somewhat intense. Even though we have not moved closer to each other, space seems to distort, shrinking the effective distance between us as my eyes appear to get larger and swallow the entire landscape. Of course, most of this is an illusion, just an intense stare, and it's effect from person to person varies. The girl has dropped hints that she is familiar with drugs, so there's that.

"I have a feeling that you - and you and you, are my ticket out of here."

"And you." The last one is directed at the cat, in case (s)he can understand what I'm saying.

"Of course I can understand what you're saying, simpleton."



The first genuine smile breaks my features since forever. I quickly close it later due my mouth beginning to fill with dust, but that doesn't matter!

"Yes, yes. I knew it! You seemed unnaturally smart!"

"Smarter than a brain dead amnesiac, at the very least." This provokes a grimace. I did not expect Meds to be telepathic.

"..."

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrul ... " Meds rolls the r's out with a purr.

"Grr .. " A small, inaudible growl leaves my lips, but my lips are twisted to reveal my fangs. It's an ugly, predatory expression. But it's the kind of expression that I use the most often, in this place.

Looking back on this incident, I can't help but feel embarrassed. Of course cats can't talk. It must have been the meningitis talking.
 

One need begets another, and each victim becomes bystander to another's anguish. The city was a spotlight shone on shifting waters. All surfaced in time, for their moment of thrashing wide-eyed terror. And as they sunk again it was with the reminder that truth is not our natural element, that we can no more break that meniscus than a fish than breathe the air.

Azazel was in need. Then he was sated. And now it was this girl who asked for help. The cycle continued.

The coat dropped slightly, till its edges trailed the ground, and through the flap the kitten poked its head, rubbing in the ink. Eyes, ears, whiskers - all were coated in the black and there was further purring till at last it pulled back. Then each droplet of ink retreated inside the coat, leaving the kitten bone-dry. The same ink receded from the arms of Rul and Arkie and took new shapes on the ground between them.

It even used the hairball for punctuation.

Thank you all. My companion is dear to me. Without him I would have no purpose.​

Azazel came a little closer, ghost-like, with not the motion nor the sound of footfalls. Behind him Meds remained and hissed up at the owl on Zen's shoulder.

No telephones here. The satellites fell, a century ago. Dust chokes radio waves. Runners and telepaths are favoured, but seldom neutral. But if you seek repose...​

Azazel inclined his hood slightly and Meds gave a "Mrow" of approval. The kitten extended itss claws and clambered up the coat, scaling it like a tree then plunging head-first into one of the side-pockets. There was more yowling as the cat, half-in and half-out of the pocket, squirmed around. Things began to get pushed out. One Engel, then a second, then three more. Each coin clattered to the ground and Meds dropped from the coat, landing on his feet and nudging the currency into a pile with his nose.

Enough for a vendor. You should eat and drink. My way of thanking you.​

A coat and five Engels - this was all they had taken from Isaac Terone. Meds kept one of the coins under his paw. He would spend his inheritance on a mouse-head and a saucer of milk.

Delicious.
 
Hiding, lurking, thinking: These things guaranteed Natalie's survival and well-being. Her mind and heart had become a fortress, nearly unshakable by the sea of sand at her feet. Its walls refused to crumble, even in the harsh heat and wind of this arid hell-hole. But in building all these walls, she never realized how much light she shut out. By the time she saw how expansive her fortress was, it was already too late. Night kept her heart in its icy grip, refusing to let it out into the sunlight.

And that's what almost brought tears to her eyes. There she stood, observing with utmost silence as the dark specter thanked those who searched for his pet. Though the bunch were quite odd, their features, even Arkie's gargantuan wings, failed to surprise her. It merely served to emphasize her drifting feeling. She felt that she was staring at the most beautiful corner of the city she'd ever seen, but was being pulled back. Further and further, the sand whipping her hopes and dreams until they were as battered as the decrepit buildings and shacks of the slums. The eclectic quartet soon seemed to be mere stars, shining mockingly while she fell further into obscurity. The sentiment overtaking her, she left for somewhere to protect her from the inhospitable desert, if only for a few hours.

Summary: Natalie watches from afar before deciding to leave for somewhere safe inside.
 
Tian looked at the cat with disdain from his perch on Zen's shoulders. There wasn't really much of a reason for Tian to act haughty, he just wanted to feel better about himself. And really he should. After all, he was the one who dumped the furball from the skies. He won their scuffle. The thought made him puff his chest out, cheeky thing that he was. But the action quickly dissipated as he noticed Zen's pain. He turned to her and hooted, concern reflected in his eyes. The monk acknowledged him with a pained smile.

There wasn't much chest for Arkie to grap, due to her anorexic condition. If she wasn't feeling so terrible Zen probably would have pinned the woman down on the ground, and demanded some sort of explanation. But remembering her moniker, the monk merely looked horrified and then thought better for her expression.

There really isn't much to grab... Skinny as I am, she thought mildly. No need to get worked up.

An awkward smile appeared on Zen's face, mixed with her previous mortification. Should she perhaps explain to this nutter that certain actions like these were prohibited? She was spared from rescuing her situation when Azazel appeared in the alleyway. Releasing a breath of relief she thought she would be well on her way until the the pale man started sputtering incoherently and fangs appeared where normal teeth should be. Zen plastered herself against the wall, looking about ready to backhand someone. Really, why didn't anyone warn her about these citizens?

Zen turned, "There's your cat, I'll be on my -"

The sight of Meds face covered in ink made Zen pause mid sentence. Swallowing hard, the liquid was magically pulled away, back inside Azazel's coat. She watched and read the words being spelled out in front of her, disgusted with the incorporation of hairball. Surely there was no way, a being made out of ink? Impossible - She had to be hallucinating. Lack of food, lack of water, it was all messing with her head. But she continued to watch, absolutely astounded as the cat pushed several Engels out of Azazel's pockets.

"Um, many thanks," she blurted out, squatting to pick up the Engels. The thought of food quickly entered her mind, causing her to salivate and the acids in her stomach to painfully burn her insides. They would have to find shelter though; a sandstorm was brewing not too far from where they were.
​
 
Too bright to even see the sun, Natalie thought to herself as she trudged through the simmering streets. The stars were gone now, yet they still seemed to mock her from far away. If I don't find somewhere, soon, not even this covering will keep my spell up. Natalie quickened her deathly pace, desperation giving life to her steps. Seeing an entrance to a building, she slipped into the crowd congregated within, and made her way to the one table that remained unseated.



​
 


Aeolus possessed such incredibly kind eyes.

Lucille felt her own sense of gratitude build up within her chest, threatening to burst into a string of 'thank you for saving my life' along with 'the doctor is just plain rude, I'm sure you are a great pilot'. She kept her mouth shut. While the others were chattering away, pricking at one another's nerves and trying to come to terms with the situation, Lucille was content. She was, in no way, injured. And her assistance was not needed, either. It seemed a good time as any for self-reflection.

She leaned back, following the orders to rest by lowering herself to the ground, head against the floor, staring up at the ceiling of the ship. It was rusted and strange. It made her think of the past that she did not have. She reached into her neck, pulling out the chain that contained a small, silver ring and stared at it. In the lightning, the engravings on the ring glinted. She read them again, letting the names simmer in her mind. As always, there was no reaction. She could not remember anything at all. Where she got the ring, who were the names, all of these questions and no answers. Lucille sighed and sat up again, dropping the chain into her shirt where it was hidden from view.

Perhaps I was just hopeful, she told herself, that something might have changed, that something was different now. She felt it in the air, something about the people around her, or perhaps about herself, something was different. She didn't know what it was, but she had secretly hoped it would help her regain what she had lost. As she looked around again and got to her feet, however, it didn't seem as such. She still felt as alone as always, as lost as she ever was.

She made her way to the exit to glimpse the outside. Aeolus said something about bad weather earlier. She wanted to see it, as long as it was not the inside of this ship, or the faces of these strangers. She was fearful, that perhaps if she could regain the memories, she might lose even more. She looked down at her hands, clenching her fists and unfurling her fingers out in one motion. It was strange. To be alive, but to wish for more than even that. If I should die, I would trade my life for the truth. Her eyes darkened when she raised her head again. A small sense of loneliness bubbled up inside her. Maybe I'll never find anything. Maybe this strange chain of events isn't my journey.

In the midst of her sadness, she closed her eyes. Aeolus' eyes flashed in her mind. Kind eyes. A gentle gaze. A protective touch. Lucille opened her eyes and drew a small breath. She pulled out the necklace and clasped one hand around the ring. It was still too soon to give up. She would wait a little more. Perhaps these people, as strange as they were, and these events, as sudden as they were, would change something.

If not, Lucille pondered, turning to look back at the survivors, maybe she could find something new, something else to chase after.
 
[size=+2][glow=yellow]Twenty minutes later…[/glow][/size]​

It was a matter of pride for the people of Fragment City that one of their oldest structures was also the most ironic. The Dmitri, a Russian fishing vessel, had been slumped in the sand for as long as any could remember, and was one of the early aid stations that first drew the population here. Whether there had once been an oasis around it, to sustain the early settlers, was a matter of debate. Most preferred to think that there had never been an ocean - that some god had simply dropped the ship out of the sky. A big, rusting punchline for those who died in the desert.

Now the Dmitri served as a shelter for several food vendors, most of them staffed by the same families who once ran the aid station. It was protected by a guild of bakers, smugglers and hydroponic farmers whose search for nutrients had the fervour of a grail quest. It was for them a religious duty to help people survive in this harshest of climates. But like all good clerics they ensured a tidy profit was made in the process.

Part of the cargo bay had been divvied up with corrugated sheets, forming booths that were more like cattle pens. In one, sat around a table of packing crates, the five strangers sat. Azazel, Arkie, Rul, Zen and Natalie, with the owl and the pussycat in attendance. The bulkhead curved gently over their heads and shook with the force of the sandstorm now sweeping through the town. Most were glad to be inside, and fewer were glad for the food.

Arkie stared at the menu, which was scrawled in chalk on the cargo bay wall.

<table align=center><tr><td>
Welcome to Mad Mac's

Today's specials:​


Children of Hen: Plain omlette with snake cheese and sand-berry jus.
The Bowl of Eli: Rat chilli with a side of bread.
Punnet of the Grapes: A fruit bowl grown in our hydroponics bay
Ham Legend: Pulled pork baked in the sun
The Crispylids: Fried potato skins with cheese
Judge Bread: Hand-baked focaccia with a side of 'slaw
Logan's Bun: Camel burger with side salad
Thunderdome: A plate of nachos with fiery dust peppers
Bisque of the North Star: Pureed vegetable soup
The Toastman: Sold out
The Handmaid's Quail: Birdmeat sandwich, fresh from the aviary
Twelve Monkeys: Chef's famous chimpanzee sausage
Battle Angel Burrito: With choice of rat or locust meat
The Meatrix: Hot dog and a side of fries.​


Ask about our famous Water-Whirl and Amtrak Smores desserts.​

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Meds was on the table top, lapping at a bowl of milk, while Azazel sat furthest against the wall. He had bought a glass of water, for sake of appearances, and was leaning over it in his coat, sleeves tucked together. It was the pose of a penitnent monk, or perhaps a vagrant feeling worse for wear. But it would keep any from looking for the face and hands that were not there.

...and after lying in the desert for forty years, I woke one day to find a kitten drinking me. He led me to this city. Then we found Isaac, my former keeper. This coat belonged to him.​

The ink finished its story and soaked away into the canvas sheet that covered the table. Azazel had told his companions what little he knew of how he came to be here. Now it was someone else's turn to speak.

It seems that few here can remember how they came to be.​
 
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