Hexaflexagon

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Alright so I less want #1 then I have some problems about #2 currently. So I'm going to try and explain the feelings that I am having.

Here is how I see it.

What are we necessarily trying to do by switching over to a new thread? It seems judging from chats in Discord and Wraith's prompt its to gather up new blood to revitalize the RP? And personally I don't see the reason for it you know? Ask any experienced GM how an RP goes the distance and its having a reliable core group. Look at all the RPs that have gone the distance on the site now and old guild what did they have? A core group of players that stuck with it. If you want to ensure the survival of the RP you got to look after those players.

To that end, I feel that the move will harm us in that regard. Look what happened with UOU for example. Switching threads effectively breaks any kind of narrative cohesion and consistency. It particular it hurts anyone (such as myself) that prefers long term storytelling over the small bit-sized arc structure. Because now people will literally have to dig up old threads to read the entire narrative. And also it puts an unnecessary pressure of "oh well I have to move uber fucking quick because Crisis is going to nuke the the thread in three months anyway." Something which you guys specifically said wasn't going to be a concern this go around and that you would be able to continue your narratives through crisis.

To that end I will also speak of the effectiveness or lack of effectiveness rather of the suggested move. Long-running roleplays get new applications all the time, those role plays just aren't really us. That has something to do with us as players not because of the GM and frankly it is the childish claiming culture that we have going on. @Lord Wraith I'm gonna call you out the most on this because you are a man and I know you can take it. We joke about your protective claim over Gotham but its actually a problem. Gotham is much bigger than Batman my dude, but you are potentially limiting new people's possibilities of the characters that they want to play. Not to mention any one's real hopes of playing someone else in the Bat fam. And this goes beyond claiming areas. Whole characters that could rightfully stand on their own and antagonists and the like have been scooped by people without even being used. We take away people's options before they are even there. I'm also part of that problem and to that end the only way we would be able to fix a change like that isn't a thread shift its a cultural change, because trust me I'm part of that problem to taking Swamp thing and such. It is to strive to be more like Maxx and Webby. Both of these players show a maturity that is beyond all the rest of us because they are ready and willing to give up antagonists, supporting casts or work with players so that everyone can use the characters that they want. And that's how real comics work! That is in part because of why they are so awesome because of the sharing of characters and the collaboration, but the current system doesn't encourage that. Instead it encourages grabbing all your favorite toys and not letting go.

The other problem kinda falls in the same area. We have already taken claim over a lot of A-listers with more to come from folks we know who are joining and other characters. Currently two of the only A-listers that I know of that don't have a sheet in the works are Hulk and Aquaman. All the other big names have been taken and also a whole damn lot of other heroes have been snatched up through supporting casts as well. We are limiting the options of new people severally and not even giving them a shot at the story they want to tell. It would be like going to an ice cream shop and finding out they are all out of ice cream and they only have cones left. And don't get me wrong you can do great things with B-listers and lower but unless somebody really wants to play that character you aren't going to catch any new blood that way. And the only way I could see us fixing such a problem would be making everyone have to reapply for their character again in Season 2. Which presents a whole nother bundle of problems that I don't think anyone would want to deal with.

And realistically consider how many new players are we going to draw in from the switch. Consider our last batch of new people that came through, we were only left with what like Ceta in the end? So if we consider that to do be a solid working point to go off of for every completely new person to join we will only gain one person? And beyond that consider how many other new people have joined and left, honestly really Ceta is the only new blood we have managed to keep. And if all those new folks ended up dropping out, I don't think it is a coincidence. I think it is a sign of a bigger problem that we have.

There is a reason that these games have a reputation. A bunch of people don't just end up thinking that we are assholes for no reason. And in some ways they are right. We are combative, we argue a lot, we are over protective of our characters and ideas. We play favoritism towards our friends sometimes to the detriment of others. When your RP becomes the definition of an Old Boy's Club of course new people aren't going to join. We actively push out new faces not invite them in. We have a lot of problems and that is never going to change unless we try to be better people and I know that is asking a lot from the most of us lol.

So to summarize I'm opposed to Option #2 if we are just trying to use it as a quick cash-grab to get new blood. Because that is not going to work, we have seen it not work before for the reasons above. I will support Option 2 if we make a commitment to try and change the culture and the nature of the RP moving forward because that is the only way that we are going to get new folk's to not only apply but to stay. If we honestly take a moment to reconsider and think about why all these RPs fail in the first place instead of jumping to a perceived easy solution to the problem. Because the problem isn't that we have a big scary thread, people jump into big scary threads all the time, look at literally any other sandbox RP lol.

No the problem is we are assholes and the environment we foster does not encourage nor support new players in the first place.

Anyway rambling done. I've just had a lot of thoughts about these RPs for a long time and it was nice to organize them into a cohesive structure.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland VI

_{The Royal Palace, Hallways, Faerie
CW: Some mild body horror towards the end, so if that ain't your thing you might want to skip this one.}

---

“You seem troubled timoune.” Voodoo asked as he adjusted the collar of his guayabera again.

“I’m fine,” Zatanna replied dismissively “a little nervous that’s all”

Voodoo laughed

“That’s fair,” He agreed “it isn’t everyday you dine with royalty.”

“Yeah... that’s true”

Though I guess it isn’t everyday you try and stage a jailbreak either Zatanna thought to herself.

Before Tefé and her parted ways in the bathhouse they had come up with a basic plan. Fae dinner according to Tefé wasn't, “Sittin’ around a table thanking Jesus or some shit”. Rather the dinner functioned more like what Zatanna might call a ball or gala in the Mundane world. A function where the “who’s who” of society could socialize amongst themselves. If everything went well, Zatanna wouldn't be subjugated to such torture. The plan itself calling to spend as little time in the ballroom as possible. Once she rendezvoused with Tefé, they would slip out on the pretense of trying to locate a restroom. From there Tefé would lead them towards where they would be keeping the Kingkiller. If all went well Zatanna would use her magic to contact Voodoo so that he could also make his exit. They would then sneak their way out of the castle and meet back up on the other side of the bridge. From there it was as simple as getting on the next train heading back to London.

And yet Zatanna could not quite shake her own haunting anxiety as she prepared for the evening. If crime movies had taught her anything it was that no heist went according to plan. Though it wasn't even the chance of disaster that bothered the magician that much. No, instead it was Voodoo's earlier remarks about balance. Her actions would remove a society’s ability to choose and she wasn't sure she had that right. No matter the realpolitik behind the Kingkiller, he was still a criminal. Did she have the right to decide what measure of guilt counted? She didn't know but she knew what she was going to do anyway, she made her choice. And yet, despite her resolve, she knew there was also a reason she was choosing not to inform Voodoo of the plan before hand.

In an attempt to distract herself she looked at her reflection in a passing mirror. Deciding that her typical show outfit was too loud, she choose something more formal. She ended up going with a simple black dress. Along with the dress she wore a pair of white sneakers, not wanting to have to flee for her life in heels again. The outfit was more "student at fashion school" than "master thief" but a catsuit seemed a little much

Soon they arrived at the ballroom. It hung over the twilight below as its own standalone wing. A large octagonal space with dining and buffet tables lining its perimeter. The floor in the center made out of thick glass that provided a stunning view of the endless twilight. The nobles chatted amongst themselves on the floor in small groups. The hum of conversation accompanied by musicians playing string instruments alien to Zatanna.

"Jericho!" A voice called cutting through the noise.

From the other side of the ballroom Titania approached them. She wore a long gown weaved of moonlight that surrounded her in an ethereal glow. Like moths entranced by the glow, a small entourage of courtiers surrounded her. Yet Titania give them no mind as she glided across the floor towards the two magic users. She seemed happy to see them, a broad smile on her face.

"Queen Titania," Voodoo replied with a bow "you look as marvelous as always."

"Always the charmer Jericho," Titania replied chuckling "best be careful or I'll keep you."

"Oh you wouldn't want an old bore like me."

"Nonsense! Come! Come! We have much to discuss after all! I'm oh so very curious about what is happening in the Mundane."

As Titania took Voodoo by the arm Zatanna took the opportunity to slip away. The older magician glanced over his shoulder at her, Zatanna giving him a wave as he was dragged away.

Zatanna slipped through the groups of people as she headed towards an empty table. As she made a way over, she plucked two flutes of alcohol from a waiter's tray. Setting the drinks down on the table she sat and observed the crowd. The way they moved about the room reminded Zatanna about bees and how they danced to communicate. The nobles moving between groups as if following some kind of predetermined mechanism. Up close it was unbearable but at a distance there was a beauty to it that Zatanna couldn't deny.

She regarded one of the flutes of alcohol watching how the light caught the bubbles before she took a sip. As soon as the liquor hit the back of her throat, she had to fight the urge to cough. A hint of honey followed by a burning bitter burst that swelled in her neck like an open flame. As she tried to regain her composure someone called out to her.

"Didn't anyone tell you not to drink on the Job Z'?"

Tefé sauntered over to the table and pulled up a chair. Her look had transferred from The Clash to the Thin White Duke. She leaned against the edge of the table reminding Zatanna of a cat about to pounce.

"That's a shame, because I have this other glass right here." Zatanna explained as she offered Tefé the other drink.

"I never did say it was a bad thing did I?" Tefé explained as she took the other glass. Her fingers lingering for a moment as they brushed against the magician's. "Salute!"

They tapped the rimms of their glasses before they each downed the contents of the flute. Zatanna let out a long exhale as the burn of the alcohol settled in her chest. She watched in amusement as Tefé titled the flute all the way back to ensure the last drops of the liquid came out. She wore a triumphant smile as she slammed the glass back on the table.

"So," Zatanna questioned "we still doing this? "

"Fuck. Yeah."

Without another word needed the pair began to make their exit. They slipped out of a side service exit to avoid the guards stationed at the entrance. They slipped in through the door as a waiter carrying another platter of food stepped out. Ahead of them, Zatanna could hear the chaos of the kitchen as the shadows of chefs dance along the wall. Whispers and fast footsteps caused Tefé to pull Zatanna down another passage. This one-sided game of cat and mouse ending only as they exited through a door back into the upper halls.

"This way." Tefé gestured as she gained her bearings leading Zatanna to the left.

"How did you find out where they are keeping him anyway?" Zatanna whispered

Tefé laughed.

"I asked one of the guards?" Tefé explained with a grin. "Turns out they are as respective as anyone to questioning when their pants are down."

"Hmph," Zatanna mused as shook her head "guess some things never change."

"There are some things about nature that people can't fight Z' remember that." Tefé asserted with a wink.

As they continued the quiet rumble of the ballroom continued to fade. Zatanna followed behind Tefé as she navigated the labyrinth hallways with a purpose. The other woman only having to stop at one or two intersections to consult her own mirror before heading on. At regular intervals Zatanna checked behind them to make sure that they didn't have a tail. Their gambit having so far been successful as not a soul stalked the halls this far away from the ballroom.

As Zatanna was looking over one shoulder she almost collided into Tefé who had stopped at a corner. Before she could speak her companion raised a hand to her lips and gestured around the corner. Zatanna nodded in understanding before peeking around the corner to see the problem. At the far end of the hallway were three guards positioned around a large gated entranceway. Two of the guards sat on stools around a table playing cards, while the third watched the hallway.

"Guessing that's where we need to go?" Zatanna whispered cocking her head in the direction of the guards.

"Didn't say it was going to be easy did I?"

"Wouldn't of been fun if it was," countered the magician "what's the plan?"

A manic grin pulled the corners of Tefé's mouth tight.

"Act shitfaced and follow my lead."

With a wink Tefé wrapped a hand around Zatanna's waist and pulled her around the corner. Together they began to stagger down the hallway towards the entryway. Their erratic pattern drew the attention of the guard on watch who alerted the two playing cards. The card players readied themselves picking up their weapons and getting into position. The guard who had first spotted them took the initiative and step forward her spear raised.

"Stop and identify yourself!"

"D...do you know where the bath...bathroom is?" Tefé slurred as she closed the distance further "We reallllllly need to find one."

The tension in the lead guards body relaxed her grip on her weapon loosening. Her two companions stepped forward on either side of her but did not raise their weapons.

"Drunks." Explained the lead guard shaking her head

"What should we do?" Asked the guard to her left

"We'll try and send them back to the ballroom."

Expoliting the guards confusion, Zatanna and Tefé closed the distance further. As they came within arm's length of the lead guards thrusted rward spear Tefé sprung into action. Dropping her hold on Zatanna, Tefé grasped the shaft of the spear and with great strength yanked it upward. The lead guard catapulted into the air could only shout in surprise before she went flying. Dropping the spear, Tefé outstretched a hand towards the guard on the right who was readying a thrust. Zatanna's eyes widened in surprise as the other woman's arm exploded into an expanded column of vines. The arm now turned battering ram slamming hard into the guard's chest sending him flying back. The force of the blow caving his armor inward as he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

The last guard did not have a spear but instead a long sabre which he brought down towards Tefé. The young woman still dealing with the other guards leaving herself open. But before the blade could make impact Zatanna raised a finger towards him and shouted.

"Tsur!"

There was a slight distortion in the air around the guard as spots of brown began to appear on his armor. Yelling the guard dropped the sabre and tried to wipe at the spots but the damage was already done. The rust crept across his armor locking the joints as his shouting continued. Unable to move he toppled over encased in a thick coating of rust, his yelling now muffled. Feeling bad because the guard was only doing his job, Zatanna knelt down and whispered a command.

"Peels."

The panicked shouts dying out soon after.

"Remind me not to piss you off" Tefé commented gesturing towards the guard.

"I could say the same about you!" Zatanna replied standing up "You didn't tell me that you were a plant person!"

Tefé chuckled at this comment as she sauntered over to orignal guard that she had tossed through the air. The impact was enough to knock her out but unlike the other two there was minimal damage to her armor. Tefé pulled off the guard's helmet revealing elfin features and red hair pulled up into a tight bun.

"Oh I'm so much more than a plant person." Tefé explained as she reached out and touched the guard's face. "A plant person couldn't do this."

For a second nothing happened and Zatanna was about to tell the other woman to stop pulling her chain. And then Tefé's skin began to bubble, it was slow and first before growing to a rolling boil. Zatanna could only watch in horror as her skin ran off her body creating a waterfall of blood and flesh. Her bones screamed as they cracked shifting in size and position as her height increased an inch or more. A new layer of skin and hair was visible underneath all the blood, but instead of her own face Tefé now wore the guards. Bloody and naked, she began to strip the unconscious guard of her clothes.

"What. The. Actual. Fuck." Zatnna spoke as fought the urge to vomit and failed.

"Yeah that's the typical response," Tefé responded as she continued to loot the guard "if it makes you feel better I can always change back."

"You... you stole her body!"

"I copied her body." Tefé stressed "And you trapped a man in a prison of rust. So neither of us are angels in this scenario darlin'. And how else did you think I got in here in the first place? I ain't fancy pants nobility or some spell-slinger."

"Bu-Bu," Zatanna protested "that was very just... it was very visceral and you gave me like no warning!"

"You could of turned away at any time. You weren't terrified, you were curious. Now are you going to help me put this armor on or what?"

"...Fine!" Zatanna relented as she began to pull at a boot.

What Are You Listening To?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland V

_{The Royal Palace, Bathhouse, Faerie}

---

Their previous escort had left two guards posted at the door. Each roughly stood at least a head and a half taller than Zatanna, dressed in knightly metallic armor tinged with green as a moss-like substance grew in the cracks of the armor, their insectoid-like wings reminiscent of a dragonfly's tucked tightly against their backs. Their purpose, either to keep them safe or prevent them from wandering Zatanna couldn't have guessed, but they served their uses well enough to the dark-haired young woman. Amicable enough to the prospect of conversation they listened to Zatanna as they leaned on their long elegant polearm their tip covered large jagged protrusions of glass. Between the two of them, they were able to aid Zatanna in her plight directing the magician towards a bathhouse located on the lower levels of the palace's guest wing.

Giving them her thanks Zatanna took a left down the hallway stopping at the third door before the end. The wooden door opened to reveal a long spiral stone staircase descends downward, the pathway lined by floating globules of light that changed color from a bright pink to a deep purple as Zatanna passed by them. Following the directions given to her, Zatanna followed this colorful display of light down passing by various landings similar to the one she entered the stairwell from. As she continued her descent, the magician couldn't help but notice the decrease in temperature around her, splashes of gooseflesh appearing across her skin as her breath became visible on the air. Pulling her arms closer against her body to try and ward off the cold, Zatanna soon arrived at the bottom of the staircase.

Reaching for a handle encrusted in frost she pushed open a wooden door and entered another hallway. Particles of ice hung suspended in the air creating a breathtaking effect as spheres of light similar to those in the hallway were reflected through them like a kaleidoscope. On either side of her were long windows that looked down onto a large workshop. Workers rushed about large vats filled with strange frothing liquid hauling containers of the strange substance to the craftsman busy sculpting the strange glass covered armaments that the guards around the palace and the city seemed to carry. Though the surrounding environment lead Zatanna to suspect that it wasn’t glass at all, but rather a kind of magically enchanted ice made resistance to melting. The bridge-hallway fusion that the young magician stood upon lead towards the center of the workshop where a large furnace continued to belch flames that the works thrust containers of the liquid into which seemed to cause the frothing liquid to stabilize. Above the furnace was a large egg-like structure that a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway lead into. Zatanna could only assume that was the titular bathhouse using the residual heat from the blasting of the furnaces to its own ends.

The thought of warmer climes spurred Zatanna onward as she picked up speed. As she reached the pair of doors they opened on their own volition scraping across the ice-covered stone of the hallway as they went. Immediately upon crossing the door’s threshold, Zatanna was hit with a burst of warm air, her extremities beginning to break out in pinpricks as blood began to rush back. A thick cloud of steam hung in the airlifting upward from a series of large pools that were dispersed across the room. Each pool was closed off from one another by an array of decorative paper walls inscribed with floral designs. A podium carved from a singular protrusion of stone jutting upward from the ground greeted Zatanna but there was no one manning it. Zatanna looked around experimentally for someone that looked like they knew where they belonged but couldn’t find any and so with a shrug she went deeper into the bathhouse.

The stonework of the podium served as an aesthetic prelude for the rest of the chamber that opened up into a cavernous space carved out of stone. The smooth stonework of the hallway and the rest of the castle faded into impure darken stone that rose and fell, made up of interspersed sections of smooth stone worn down by countless footsteps and rough cracked surfaces. Zatanna carefully made her way across the stone paths slick with water from the pools that they navigated around. The pools themselves were sparsely populated, a handful of patrons who mostly clustered towards the pools nearer to the bathhouse’s entrance. They paid little mind to Zatanna talking quietly amongst themselves as they enjoyed the water.

Not particularly in the mood for company, Zatanna made her way towards one of the pools towards the rear of the cave. Small and approximately the shape of a lopsided crescent, the pool was tucked away into the back left-hand corner. Stepping behind a privacy screen constructed out of the same floral paper walls, Zatanna began to undress. At first, getting in and out of her stage uniform had been something of a hassle which was made only worse by the fact that she was the one who designed it in the first place. Yet in the four years since then and an innumerable number of fast changes later, the outfit had become more or less a second skin for her and she was able to efficiently and quickly undo the many straps and hooks that held it all together. Gingerly like one would take care of a child, she grouped the clothes together in a small pile and left them on the driest area of rock that she could find.

Tentatively she dipped a toe into the water testing the temperature, Zatanna was aware of how human bathhouses worked in regards to efforts to prevent their inhabitants from boiling alive, but there was no way she could be sure that such establishments in Faerie work along with similar guidelines. Much to her relief though while the water was warmer than she was used to it was not excessively so. The young magician eased herself into the pool of water making sure to keep her head above the water. Sinking downward so that everything above her neck was submerged Zatanna let out a long sigh of relief as muscles that she didn’t even know she had began to loosen from the heat. Closing her eyes she leaned back against the perimeter of the pool resting her arms upon the stone,

She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she was able to properly relax. Between her show’s west coast tour, her father’s death and then everything that came after it had to be at least months. The sense of relief that she was feeling came with its own share of guilt. Zatanna had everything that anyone could have wanted, her name plastered in lights on marquees across the country and yet all she wanted to be was normal. She saw what famous meant, it meant having a father that barely existed, it meant a trapped existence defined by the high walls of your estate, it meant never feeling like you had a family. If Zatanna wanted to she could have lived the life of any rich Gotham socialite, but she had no desire to be the next Bruce Wayne. But no matter how she tried to desperately avoid it fame had managed to entrap her.

Deep in her own contemplation, the magician did not hear footsteps approaching her until a voice asked in an easy southern drawl

“You mind if I join you?”

Causing Zatanna to nearly leap into the air.

Crouching at the edge of the pool was a young woman roughly Zatanna’s age her blue eyes looking down at her inquisitively, a smile across her face as she nestled a hand along the shaved stubble along the back of her head, her sides shaved in an undercut, an uncontrolled puff of white hair cresting her head like a cloud. Her whole appearance screamed more punk rock show in Brooklyn than a royal palace in a parallel dimension: a worn-in pair of converses, black skinny jeans with a rip over the left knee, and a shrunken white crop top with a stylized black raven across the chest, the crop top in turn revealing the pale white skin of her stomach the definition in her abs clearly visible. Zatanna felt a blush coming to her face as her gaze rested on the exposed skin for perhaps a second or two too long.

“Sure?” Zatanna responded after a minute or so delay still caught off guard.

“Thanks” The other woman responded offhandedly before she began to strip.

Zatanna wasn't a prude, a quarter's lifetime of working in show business expunged any faux-pas or taboo that may have existed over nudity, but the blatant disregard that the other woman showed still managed to surprise her. Letting out a sound that generously resembled a squeak, Zatanna quickly spun around facing away from the stranger directing her gaze downward as a discarded bra landed in her periphery. This small display earned an amused laugh from the other woman.

"Aww," She teased "there was much more to stare at then just my abs."

Her comment was followed by a splash as she entered the pool.

Zatanna tentatively turned around just in time to see the stranger burst upward from beneath the water in total disregard to the potential bacteria that could find a home in the warm liquid. She stretched her arms out wide taking in all the warmth that she could manage, a large smile across her face as her eyes closed in bliss.

“My name is Tefé by the way.”

“I’m Zatanna”

“Oh,” the other girl laughed again “I know who you are”

“You know who I am?”

“Z’, it's your first day here and you've already managed to have an audience with the Queenie herself. Everyone knows who you are.”

“Is that why you wanted to join me?”

“Well, I ain't a liar so I’m not going to say I’m not curious” Tefé admitted “and you being cute only helps in that regard.”

“Cute?” Zatanna asked flustered before quickly moving on “I mean, curious what about?”

“Well, the rumor is that you are looking to free the Kingkiller.”

“The Kingkiller...” Zatanna sighed “the way all of you keep on talking about them I can only assume he’s some kind of boogeyman or the Second Coming, maybe both.”

“Wait?” Tefé asked with a cocked brow “Are you telling me you don’t know who the Kingkiller is? Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Might as well of been considering the number of surprises I’ve had this week.”

“Somebody sounds a little angsty. Well, maybe I can help clear up that angst a little bit.

Once upon a time, all of Faerie was ruled by a cruel king by the name of Oberon. A warrior born and bred he ruled his kingdom like a general would an army demanding complete obedience and respect. But the Fae valued freedom above all else and so conflict between Oberon’s loyalists and those who stood against his rule. And so civil strife as nature tends to will it became civil conflict and soon all of Faerie was plunged into war. A war that would only end once the hired assassin known as the Kingkiller’s cold iron plunged its way into Oberon’s heart.”

“But who would have hired them?”

“Someone is asking the right questions! I had a good feeling that you were going to be a clever one” Tefé proclaimed.

“The most common belief was that it was Titania herself. The Queenie at the time was a neutral party choosing not to align herself with either faction in the squabble, and because of that, she was in a fine position to become a “neutral” party to rule after everything settled back down. So I don’t know about you Z’, but that might just cause a girl to hasten up the process.”

“And then she had him arrested to cover up her tracks!” Zatanna declared

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Tefé concurred with a grin before leaning in closer to Zatanna “But that still leaves little old me with some questions, particularly what a pretty girl like you needs with a big bad assassin like him.”

“Well...” Zatanna said as she slipped out from around Tefé causing her to have her back against the wall “as you mentioned this Kingkiller is particularly proficient at the whole killing business and my companion and I, need help killing a very particular kind of monster.’

“Ah yes,” Tefé commented “the venerable Doctor Voodoo... so are the two of you an item? Not that I’m judging, he just seems to be a bit of a bore.”

“Ugh of course not!” Zatanna protested shaking her head and in her distraction, Tefé was able to switch their positions around again leaving Zatanna up against the pool’s wall “he’s a family friend and totally not my type.”

“Oh, you have a type?” Tefé prodded curiously

“Of course I do,” Zatanna explained with a wink “Not that I would tell some random stranger I just met though”

“Hmmm, that’s fair.” Tefé admitted with a shrug “Maybe you would be willing to divulge if I helped you?”

“Help with what exactly?”

“The Queenie isn’t going to let you have the Kingkiller,” Tefé explained like it was obvious

“Why? She said she would think about it! And Voodoo said she owed him a favor!”

All the flirtatious energy withdraw from Tefé as her face grew cold. “Because of the living shithole that calls himself Anton Arcane.”

A shiver went down Zatanna spine despite the warmth of the pool as she remembered Arcane’s ember eyes. “Arcane? I mean from what Voodoo has told me he sounds like a total creep but he has no control here right? He’s not the Queen?”

“He has what the Queen wants. The daughter of the late King Oberon and the Queenie’s former lover, the Girl-Traitor Queen Mab of the Court of Dawn is slowly rebuilding her father’s lost army to reclaim a throne that her lover took from her. The gristle of it is that Arcane is promising to create the Queenie an army to crush this rebellion before it can begin in exchange for her patronage, and that army will be constructed using the Kingkiller’s blood as its catalyst.”

“How do you know all of this?” Questioned Zatanna

“Let’s just say that I’ve made it my mission to keep tabs on Arcane.”

Zatanna shook her head “This.. this isn’t good. We came here specifically for the Kingkiller! They are the only one that would be able to help us.”

“Hey don’t be giving up just yet Z’, maybe the two of us could help each other out?”

Zatanna looked up at Tefé smiling face “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Tefé explained swimming in closer so that their noses were mere inches from brushing against one another, as she looked Zatanna earnestly in the eyes. “I know where they are keeping him and I don’t particularly want Arcane securing such a powerful ally as the Queen. So while most of the staff is attending the needs of the court at dinner, the two of us can stage a little jailbreak in fairyland. What do you say?”

Zatanna didn't even need to think about it.

“I’m in.”

What Are You Listening To?

Hex's Repository For Things Lost and Now Found.

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

W A R B I R D

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^{_{C A R O L D A N V E R S ♦ S U P E R H E R O ♦ W A S H I N G T O N D. C ♦ T H E U N I T E D S T A T E S
O F A M E R I C A}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right. - Carl Schurz}

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The world of today is different from what it once was, new threats and dangers challenge the old order of things. The dawning of the new millennium has shown that the United States of America once defined by its stalwart impregnability can bleed. A bleeding that has only been worsened by the continued arrival of metahumans and other 'powered individuals'. This new existential threat to the country having been clearly shown in the recent tragedies in Star City and New York. The damage to both innocent lives and property endured in this devastating attack on the American people has confirmed earlier suspicions by the Department of Defense that America must have a readied response to these new types of potentially catastrophic threats. These fears would lead to the formation of the Department of Extranormal Affairs headed by King Faraday. It was then quickly decided that the Department would need a face for the common people to rally behind. With Wonder Woman's loyalty being questioned more and more each day, and Captain America swallowed into Nick Fury's shadow games, it was felt that America needed someone new to hold up the virtues of Truth, Justice, and the American Way.

Luckily for the USA they already had an ace up their sleeve.

Carol Susan Jane Danvers was born in Boston, Massachusetts to working-class parents, Joe and Marie, and had two brothers, Joe Jr. and Steve. Succeeding both academically and athletically in her younger years, Carol gained admittance to the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado, Springs, Colorado. As her time in the Academy ended, she was tapped to undergo further training to prepare her for operations underneath the banner of the Air Force Special Operations Command (AFSOC). Predictably Carol would excel in her time in the special forces, she would earn high praise from her commanding officers, as well as numerous commendations including the Air Force Cross. It would be her continued gallant actions and her time and time again commitment to the cause that would lead her to being tapped for EXCELSIOR.

Project EXCELSIOR began soon after the end of the Second World War as an attempt to create an improved Super Soldier Serum. Due to budget restraints and bureaucratic red tape, EXCELSIOR would be canned, and the project would all but be forgotten until a decade ago. Everything changed when a Kree scout ship would crash in the New Mexico Desert; ironically enough it was the Corpse recovered in the crash that would breathe new life into EXCELSIOR. Gone now was the old plan of simply making a stronger Super Soldier Serum, instead using cutting edge genetic engineering technology they would splice together Kree and Human DNA to create the perfect mixture of both species’ strengths.

Carol was the 23rd EXCELSIOR test subject and thus given the designation of Subject - W. But where the others had failed, Carol's DNA took to the gene splicing exceptionally well. The two divergent helixes would merge together to create something entirely new. The DoD immediately saw the potentiality of Carol's powers and soon Carol would be shifted back under the oversee of United States Special Operations Command under a new codename - Warbird. Not wanting too much information to be leaked about their new weapon, SOCOM would use Carol sparingly and only in the direst of situations usually rescuing other operators that otherwise couldn't be saved.

But now Carol's time in the shadows was over. Transferred out from underneath SOCOM and under the jurisdiction of her new boss King Faraday. It was something that Carol welcomed with eager arms ready to take a more proactive role with the powers that she had been granted. And with the Department of Extranormal Affairs first press conference scheduled, it would only be a matter of time until the whole world knew Carol's name.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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^{“By stressing that the identity of a democratic political community hinges on the possibility of drawing a frontier between 'us' and 'them', Schmitt highlights the fact that democracy always entails relations of Inclusion & Exclusion.” - Chantal Mouffe - The Democratic Paradox}

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Without mincing words too much the story I currently have outlined is very politically charged, as at its heart it is fundamentally the story of the failure of the Western democratic model. A model built on the promise of ensuring the rights of all its citizens but having never really been able to do so. A model that has propped up and supported increasingly authoritarian systems of governance supported by its most fundamental framework of inclusion and exclusion. The plot, I currently have outlined attempts at least in part to explore not only these broader ideas but the underlying themes of fear, hate, displacement, and the "other". For a point of reference thematically it is much closer to a House of Cards style show than a West Wing style show.

Carol then, serves as the perfect character to use to explore these narratives. In many ways, she represents the strange juxtaposition of ideals and values that can form in distinctly non-homogeneous place such as the USA. On one hand, she matches even the Cap himself in her belief in the American experiment. On the other hand, she is everything that same exact experiment seems to despise: a woman, LGBTI+, and in the Absolute Verse she falls under the category of Extranormal. And so, there is an unmistakable tension there in her character, which will serve primarily as the central tension of the story going forward. A tension that will only increase as Carol rather than rejecting the establishment outright as some might do, instead chooses to take up the herculean task of trying to make real change from the inside.

Beyond flexing my creative muscles with a tale about the moral gray on gray of the modern nation state, Carol also provides with me an opportunity that Zatanna's story did not - collaboration. Carol's position as the "face " of the Department of Extranormal Affairs will hopefully allow me to be much more open and active with collaboration and just helping expand the wider world further.

All in all, this is a story I’ve been thinking about for some time now, and I’m excited to have the potential opportunity to share it with you all.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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^{"Order, is a kind of compulsion to repeat which, when a regulation has been laid down once and for all, decides when, where, and how a thing shall be done, so that in every similar circumstance one is spared hesitation and indecision." Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents}

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• Carol will be wearing her more modern Captain Marvel style suit, because aesthetically I feel it fits better with where she is coming from and what she is doing in this story.
• Putting my money where my mouth is, I will be listing a supporting cast below, but there inclusion here no way, shape or form means that I'm claiming complete ownership over them the only thing I ask is please consult me before you do anything life changing with characters marked with a Δ.

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▼ Department of Extranormal Affairs ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Δ King Faraday - - - ◼ General Samuel Lane - - - - ◼ Δ Jessica Drew - - - - - ◼ Jimmy Woo - - - - - ◼ Avril Kincaid	- - - - - - -

▼ Enemies of the State ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Δ Karla Sofen / Moonstone - - - ◼ Δ Robert Hunter / Nitro - - - ◼ Albrecht Krieger	--

S A M P L E P O S T:

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^{"By this I mean a number of phenomena that seem to me to be quite significant, namely, the set of mechanisms through which the basic biological features of the human species became the object of a political strategy, of a general strategy of power, or, in other words, how, starting from the 18th century, modern Western societies took on board the fundamental biological fact that human beings are a species. This is what I have called biopower." - Michel Foucault, Security, Territory, Population}

---

Prologue

1401-1409 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Willard Hotel, Washington D.C | Four Hours Ago

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^{Blast Radius|Prologue}

0

A buzz of activity hung in the air around 1401–1409 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, as a pack of journalists made their way into the Willard Hotel. All the big names were there: Times, Post, WHiH, Planet anyone that was anyone was sending somebody to the press conference held by the Department of Extranormal Affairs. The government's newest department was creating a significant amount of noise on the political circuit. The cynics amongst them were eagerly anticipating new blood to grease the gears, expecting similar controversies to that of Homeland Security, the last department created in response to an attack on American soil. Others were just curious to see what Extranormal Affairs purpose was going to be. The Extranormal Affairs Bill which give the department life followed very typical political mannerisms in that it said a lot while saying very little at all.

This air of anticipation was only intensified by the lack of information following the bill's passing. Little was made public about the hiring and staffing of this new department with only a few key roles being disclosed. The names that were released predominantly included former members of the military and intelligence communities. Among those drawing several raised brows being the inclusion of one General Samuel Lane, an old warhawk that made his name during the War in Iraq and being one of the main playmakers in the United States more proactive counterterrorism policy. With members such as Lane, it didn't take long for the conspiracies to begin to form about a militant wing of the government seizing power. This chatter only increased in volume when it was announced King Faraday, a relative nobody when it came to public politics, but someone with many ties with Langley and the broader Intelligence community, was tapped to serve as the department's inaugural secretary.

The shakers and movers in the Department of Extranormal Affairs seemed to be playing into this aura of mystique. Where the traditional way of communicating to the journalistic community may have been a courtesy phone call or email, the details surrounding the press conference came much more traditionally. The selected editors in chief finding a spotless white envelope on their desks closed with a wax seal carrying the department's crest. Only two dozen of these letters were sent out in total, the rest having to watch the live television broadcast like everyone else.

The lucky two dozen were ushered from the Willard's lobby to a second-floor conference room. The room was spartan in its layout, at the back a table with miniature bottled water, cups filled with precision cut spears of carrots and celery, and a small selection of patriotic themed baked goods. Beyond the table was the camera equipment being used for the press conference. A small film crew worked to get rigs set up, microphones ready, and gaff tape on the ground. They were following the directions of an arthouse documentary filmmaker who had made a minor wave at Cannes the year before for her documentary on Seoul's grassroots punk rock scene. Her presence another oddity replacing a veteran C-SPAN crew that would traditionally be taking on a conference like this. The journalists filtered pass the film crew and towards the front of the room where a few rows of chairs and a lectern was set up.

As the press moved to take their seats, Agent Woo counted heads with an analogue clicker as his partner checked passes. Dressed in a finely tailored black suit with matching tie and sunglasses, Woo played the role of government spook like he was born into it. Having served with the South LA County Violent Crimes Task Force for the better part of a decade, before spending time teaching at the Macau Security Forces Training College to get back in touch with his roots. He dropped the grade book and picked up the badge again when Faraday had finally cashed in an old favor. Woo would never tell his wife, but it felt good to be back in the field.

As the number on his clicker moved closer to the magic number he leaned into his arm to cough. As he leaned in closer, he whispered into a receiver that was clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket.

"This is Fisher to Kasparov, only a few stragglers left."

"Understood, be with you shortly Fisher." King Faraday replied.

He sat in an adjoining room as he tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the soil of a windowsill planter. Faraday wore the same navy-blue suit that he had been wearing for the past thirty years. The old intelligence operator was shameless to admit he did not own a suit in any other color. It came from some old kernel of wisdom he had picked up from his grandfather years ago - "King, my boy" he would say, "suits are like women. When you find one that fits stick with it." The hand spun Italian linen wasn't necessarily the kindest to his wallet, but it breathed easily and didn't restrict his movement.

King lounging there in his chair as he took another drag from his cigarette was the complete antithesis of Carol.

Carol Danvers stood in front of a mirror straightening out her medals for the fifteenth time as she practiced smiling. It was ridiculous really, she could storm an entrenched enemy position no problem, fly a million-dollar tin can with rockets strapped to it breaking the sound barrier, but she couldn't smile. Each attempt only managing to push her further and further into demented serial killer territory. And it wasn't like this was a new struggle that she was dealing with, her parents had an entire school yearbook that said otherwise. When she was little, her mother always told her to just think of something funny in her head, but how could you laugh at your own jokes?

As the blonde-haired woman gave out a defeated sigh, Faraday piped up from his chair.

"Loosen up Danvers, you look like somebody just shot your dog."

"Easy for you to say, you aren't the main event."

King stood up grinding the butt of his cigarette into the planter. He had the rigid locked-in perfect posture of a career military man; his 6'1" stature giving him roughly three solid inches over Carol. Despite being on the far side of fifty, King managed to fill out his suit quite nicely, he adhered to a strict physical fitness regimen to combat any ill effects that his advanced age and lifetime pack-a-day habit may have brought. As he walked over to the mirror were Carol stood, he licked two fingers and flattened out an unruly strand of white hair.

"Danvers, I spent years using media to influence foreign elections to suit our great country's many interests. And in that time, if I learned anything it's that the media loves a good story."

"So what? I love cake but I still know when I'm eating a shitty one."

"Well good thing we aren't feeding them cake then. And even if we were, any cake will taste good after being starved for weeks. We've been denying them any information for weeks and now they are just begging for any little morsel we may dish out. Trust me Danvers everyone in this country is going to know who you are by the end of the day."

Yeah as that girl who can't even smile right Carol thought to herself as she followed Faraday out of the room and into the hallway.

King straightened his tie before entering the conference room. He gave a small wave as the clicking of cameras filled the air like rain rolling off a roof. He walked towards the lectern at a controlled pace, giving the cameras all the time, they needed to track his movements. Despite being a spook for most of his life, Faraday navigated the crowd like he was a movie star. From his first step he made it clear that he was in command here and everyone else was just along for the ride.

As he got to the lectern, he made a show of pulling a piece of paper from his suit pocket. It was a piece of loose leaf, the edges off kilter in a way that suggested he had just torn it out of a notebook moment prior. It echoed another man called King, who finished his "I Have A Dream" speech in the Willard's lobby several decades prior. Of course, in King's case, the paper was blank, an artist hired to rip, wrinkle, and fold it in such a way that created the most aesthetically pleasing mimicry of frantic energy that money could buy. Another prop in the carefully planned show that was unfolding in front of a nation's eyes.

Clearing his throat Faraday began to address a waiting populace.

"Thank you, members of the press, for joining me here today, as well as all of you at home watching this live. Today is a monumental day in the history of our great nation, because today I get to introduce to you the future of American security & safety. Before we begin, I believe introductions are in order, my name is King Faraday and I will be serving as your newly appointed Secretary of Extranormal Affairs.

What is Extranormal Affairs you may be asking? All of you, I assume are painfully familiar with the attacks the befell New York and Star City. I will be frank with all of you, we were unprepared, and we paid the price. The Department of Extranormal Affairs was created to ensure that we are never unprepared again. By committing to developing our state of readiness and enabling proactive measures against potential threats we, will ensure that no Extranormal threat is able to devastate our people in such a way again.

But our mission isn’t just preventative, it is also about building bridges. The only way our new department's mission will ever come to pass is through the aid of those among us that possess abilities and understanding far beyond our own. As many of you undoubtedly know it was many of these exact kinds of individuals that at the end of the day were essential in stopping the attack on two of our greatest cities. And so, it is our intent to foster dialogue and communication between the everyday citizen and these remarkable individuals. For it is the belief of myself and the entire department that we will work better together.

To that end, I would like to introduce you to a very special individual. Many of the bravest members of our armed forces community know her personally and those that don’t, know someone that was saved by her. She is one of our own having graduated near the top of her class at Colorado Springs and afterwards serving with Air Force Special Operations Command with distinction for several years. And yet she is also unlike us with abilities that most of us could only ever dream of. In this way she has a foot firmly planted on each side of the divide, and if our mission goes according to plan, will help erase that divide from our vernacular completely. When she is on mission, we call her Warbird, but today I will introduce her to you under a different name. Without further delay, it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Ms. Carol Danvers.”

The woman of the hour closed her eyes and exhaled as she tried to expel the tingling sensation which was causing her lungs to seize up. Standing in the hallway by the same door that King had entered moments earlier, she half-listened to Faraday. She had heard the newly christened secretary give the speech at least seven times during their car trip to the hotel. The words were already solidified, but each variation he would change his dictation and inflection in subtle ways. The meticulous way in which he hung on each word reminding Carol of an old fling who worked at the Smithsonian telling her why the old renaissance masters marble sculptors were so impressive, it was because they were about subtraction. Painting she told her was about addition and so wayward mistakes were easier to fix, but sculptor was about subtracting and that was permanent. That’s how the white-haired man went over his speech, the subtle cutting away at particular pauses and moments of emphasis to give a new angle that would reshape the work.

The words all too familiar at this point, she waited absentmindedly for her cue. Most of her attention was drawn towards wrestling with the other thoughts that were racing through her head. The primary one was that she didn’t give her parents a courtesy call before the conference went down. None of her family knew about the whole “super powered government” agent deal, they just knew that she did work for the Government that she wasn’t able to talk about. The first that they would be hearing about any of it was going to be with the rest of the country. Carol could only imagine the angry string of text messages and voicemails that her mother was going to send her way. Her father would try to do damage control of course, but being an undercover superhero was a lot bigger than hiding a rescued stray cat in your bedroom for a month, and when Marie found out about Apollo, Frank had only managed to reduce her sentence to one long month of nothing but chores, homework and sleep. And now the Danvers’ matriarch babied old Apollo like he was her long-lost child or something.

Was it okay to feel nervous about your entire way of life changing? Since her last day at the Academy life had become at least partially defined by the bureaucratic masquerade. A system of security clearances, long established cover stories, and the type of lies that after a while just ended up becoming fact. A structure of organized hoops and dotted lines to at least create the facade that somewhere in the chain of command that someone knew what they were doing. After all, if the public even understood half of the uncertainty that went with protecting and securing the interests of the world’s biggest superpower, Danvers was sure they would wonder where all that money for drones and the NSA was going. But now in a way, Carol was being liberated from that structure, though if she was being honest, it felt less like being freed of something and more like being pushed out of the nest.

Though if that was the case, she only had herself to blame. She was given ample opportunity to turn the offer down and the DoD would have been more than happy to keep her for themselves. She couldn’t though, Danvers wouldn’t have necessarily described herself as religious despite growing up in a family of self-identifying Ulster Protestants, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that doing this was what she was put on the Earth to do. She believed tremendously in the Department of Extranormal Affairs intended message of collaboration and acceptance. A fundamental idea that at the end of the day you were always better trying to build a bridge than burn one. It was a simple choose to her really, it didn’t take more than a casual observation of any playground brawl at the local school, violence always ended up breeding more violence. Healing only was able to happen once you put the swords down. It was time for Carol to put those beliefs to test, to make them more than just moral philosophizing done in the dead of night to bring her own demons to rest. And that all started now.

“…it is my pleasure to introduce you all to Ms. Carol Danvers.”

There was a moment before Danvers had entered the room, while Faraday pivoted his torso and extended his arm to greet her that their gazes met. In that brief fraction of a moment as the perfect blue of the sky collided with the deep earthen gray all that needed to be said was. A playwright from England once said that all the world was a stage and now for just a few minutes that stage was going to belong to Carol. She nodded her head in affirmation, smacking a palm across her right shoulder to get the blood pumping again and then she stepped in from the hallway.

The blonde-haired woman had to fight the urge to block the flashes from the cameras. The rapid fire clicking that preceded each shot sending an involuntary shiver down Carol’s back as they sounded eerily like the punctuated staccato firing of a machine gun emplacement. There was no moment of reprieve as each barrage of flashes followed closely on the heels of the last volley. Somehow though, despite the efforts to seemingly blind her, Danvers was able to make it to the podium.

Standing there she felt like a specimen on display. Bright lights from either corner of the room brought in by the film crew were centered on the podium radiating heat like two miniaturized suns. As sweat began to build on her brow, Carol looked out onto the crowd but only found shadows looking back at her as the lights swallowed any significant detail from their facial features. The conditions were at least vaguely familiar to her, having been cast as the corn stalk in her preschool thanksgiving play, but they were still unwelcome. The world watched on in a stretched out and agonized silence, as Carol took a few seconds too long to get adjusted. The ease and command that her boss exerted moments earlier replaced with an awkward anticipation. Gripping the edges of the podium, she forced out a slow and shaky breath as she looked down at the podium, King’s artisanally disheveled paper still sitting where he placed it. As she exhaled, she looked back up at the journalists and too nervous to think about it, Carol produced the easiest smile in her entire life.

“Sorry,” She started out “it’s a little bright up here.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment as the blonde fought the urge to sprint out of the room. Thankfully, one of the journalist’s chuckled and a few others followed. Carol wasn’t sure if the journalist was laughing at her or with her, but in the moment, she didn’t care either way. The laugh dissipated the tension in the room, as Carol could feel the heavy knot in her chest start to loosen. Flickering her eyes quickly to her left, she caught Faraday stone-faced and standing to one side, but ever so slightly he nodded his head in approval and confirmation to continue. Having caught her own momentum and unwilling to let it go again, Carol practically jumped to the next comment.

“My name is Carol Danvers, but I guess you all know that already don’t you? I am a superhero and I will be working with the Department of Extranormal Affairs to bring back a sense of normality, to allow our great country to heal the wounds that have been unjustly placed upon it. And it is my hope, that along the way, I can inspire some of you to do the same…”

The script that a gaggle of speechwriters had worked hours on painstakingly crafting for her had gone straight out the windows. The words became muddle and key points lost in the haze of the moment unable to find purchase upon her tongue as she spoke. Despite going off the range the journalists seemed to respond well to her comments as she reinforced many of the same talking points that Faraday had hit on previously. Her primary focus being on a message of unity and community building rather than the disciplinary side of Extranormal Affair. Hopeful in tone and assertive in her convictions, through the course of her speech citizens of not only the nation, but the world watched as Carol slowly came into her own. And at the end she gave an even bigger smile than before as she looked out into the crowd.

“Any questions?”

A forest of hands sprouted from the seats as the eager journalists all began to try and get Carol’s attention. Peering into the crowd, she picked a hand jutting outward from somewhere in the middle. The lights still made it hard for Carol to get a look, the journalist’s face still covered in shadow. Though as she peered forward Danvers was able to pick up on two details: The first was the man’s long white hair pulled up into a tight ponytail; the other was the slightest glimpse of the man’s eyes. It was the eyes that made Carol freeze, she’d seen those eyes on only two kinds of people before: those that were about to kill themselves and those that were about to kill somebody else. The blonde could hear the smile on his voice as he spoke, his voice distinctly light and velvet smooth, like a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day.

“Have you ever seen a man explode Ms. Danvers?”

Time slowed down to a crawl around Carol as her human/kree adrenaline gland kicked into overdrive as her “sixth sense” kicked in. She watched as the white-haired man’s skin began to crack and flake away as pulsating red energy poured through rapidly forming cracks and fissures. Her options were limited, if she broke the sound barrier she was at risk of permeant deafening the people with less than superhuman eardrums, the bomber had intentionally positioned himself in a location where she also couldn’t safely let off an energy blast without hurting the other journalist. The only real option she had was trying to absorb whatever energy that the man was about to release. And so, she moved.

In the blink of an eye, Danvers vaulted over the lectern and bolted forward like a bullet through the air. She outstretched her right hand and gritted her teeth as she flew directly at the “journalist”. The last she saw of his face was a haunting wild grin before it vanished consumed by the red energy. As the man combusted and the energy rocketed outwards Carol attempted to absorb it. Like smoke being pulled into a funnel the energy pulled towards her. She could feel it begin to course through her veins, but the energy was too much for her to handle, it felt like liquid metal coursing through her body and she couldn’t hold on. The explosion spilled back outwards filling the space as it went, and the last thing Carol saw before the darkness took her was an angry wall of red as she felt the heat and heard the screams.

The world, through the lenses of one of the still functioning television cameras, watched in horror as there was a bright flash followed by heavy smoke. And in the middle of that smoke there was a newly reformed figure who emerged from his cloud of death. The white-haired man’s hair was no longer in a ponytail and he was now wearing something closer to a skintight jumpsuit, but the manic grin still clung to his face as his eyes were bright with bloodlust. He stalked up to the camera slowly and with inhuman strength yanked it up and into his hands so that the whole world could see his face.

“The meek shall inherit the Earth no longer.”

And with that he threw the camera to the ground; as the picture faded into static, he to faded into the smoke.

_{Prologue End}

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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^{"The fact that man is capable of action means that the unexpected can be expected from him, that he is able to perform what is infinitely improbable. And this again is possible only because each man is unique, so that with each birth something uniquely new comes into the world" - Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition}

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N/A

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland IV

_{The Royal Palace, Guest Quarters, Faerie}

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Much to Zatanna's dismay Voodoo's definition of waiting involved the older man locked away in his bedroom with several books he borrowed from the castle library on Faerie legal procedure. The magician cramming harder than a student during finals week left Zatanna trying to find some way to occupy herself until dinner. Partially spurred on by her companion's sudden bibliophile streak and partially because she finally had a moment to rest, Zatanna conjured up her Father's journals from the small fold in reality that she had tucked them away into since leaving the estate and spread them out across her bed.

They numbered nearly two dozen collectively, picking the one closest to her up Zatanna weighed it experimentally in her hands. Immediately she was struck by two things: first was the weight which seemed uncharacteristically heavy for the journal's slender profile and the smoothness of its black leather covering on her fingertips and palms. The journals were something that he took very seriously as something that his father before him did as well. In that way Giovanni used to refer to the journals in conversation Zatanna with a kind of reverence that one usually reserved for the divine. The elder Zatara going as far as getting the leather from the same farmers near Naples that his ancestors did. Yet where those journals of old served primarily as monetary ledgers, Giovanni's journals held much more esoteric knowledge.

Cracking open the journal held in her hands and experimentally flipped to the last page. The only thing deceriable to a normal observer was the date which places the entry about a month before Giovanni's death. Beyond that though, the page was filled with a strange array of markings and shapes that took up the majority of the page. A look of bemusement slowly transformed to a small smile of recognition as she quickly ran into the studying gathering up a pen and some paper.

Dealing with magical powers that had the capacity to unravel reality's fragile threads on a daily basis Giovanni never recorded anything using traditional methods. The effects of some malicious party getting a hold of his spell book would of been too catastrophic. Instead, the magician wrote everything through a complicated series of ciphers of his own design, the man spending a year teaching himself the ins and outs of traditional cryptography techniques just to ensure that it was up to snuff. And just to be sure, the cipher's key was not written down it had to be painstakingly memorized, a process which father forced upon daughter. At the time, Zatanna hated the lessons and the pneumatic devices she had to remember to get a grasp on the sequence, but now all that hard work was coming to fruition. With the speed of someone drafting a message in their native tongue, Zatanna quickly began to decode the entry

As the entry neared its completion it became apparent that it wasn't an entry at all, it was an incantation weaved into the very ink that lined the page. A last layer of defense entrusting that only Giovanni or his progeny were able to activate the enchantment with their magic-infused words. Upon its completion, Zatanna began to recite the command phrase backwards and as she did the scribbles in the journal began to glow with a purplish hue. Zatanna reached out to touch the now glowing page and as she did purple filled her vision and the smell of roasted beans hit her nose.

"More espresso sir?"

Mister Tong stood next to her hoisting a silver platter upward with a medium sized clear decanter filled with black liquid. They were back in her father's study and she was sitting at his desk the journal from previously placed atop of it. Reflexively, Zatanna attempted to move away from the large butler and cast a spell in defense before he could transform and attack. But Zatanna found that she was unable to move and when she did speak it was a voice that while deeply familiar was not her own. It's gruff texture of years of cigar smoking smoothed over by whiskey, deep and rich.

"No grazie Tong, I should really be getting to sleep soon."

"Yes sir, of course sir"

"Oh and Tong?" Giovanni asked as the butler slowly inched backwards out of the room.

"Yes sir?"

"Did Zatanna ever respond about dinner tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately, I have not heard from her sir."

Zatanna felt a sad and heavy sigh escape from her chest.

"That's alright! We will just have to try for next Sunday."

"Of course sir."

As Tong exited the room and the door clicked behind him, Giovanni rested his hands upon the desk as he looked over the journal. They seemed older and more frail than Zatanna remembered. The skin was pulled tight around the bones permanently displaying his veins as they ran up into his arms. He had let his fingernails go slightly overgrown as what looked like dirt was slowly began to build up along the edge. He pulled them together bunching them up closely as he began to speak to himself. As the words left his mouth the coded seal began to take shape on the page.

"I had the same dream again. Gotham, a city of corpses and that infernal abomination at its center. This can't be a coincidence, someone or something must be trying to communicate with me. To what end I do not know but it is becoming painstakingly clear that I must find out before this horrid prophecy comes to pass, for all our sakes.

I must consult others in this matter. My knowledge has been stretched thin and no books in my library speak of any such creature. Tomorrow, I will travel to New York and speak with Strange hopefully the Sorcerer Supreme will be able to put me on the right track...."

And with another burst of purple Zatanna was once again sitting cross legged on the bed, the purple glow now faded from the text in front of her. She picked up her discarded pen and placed the butt in her mouth and chewed on it softly, a distraught maths tutor and one long session with a tongue depressor later having taught her not to apply too much pressure. Chewing away on the pen, Zatanna tried her best to process the new information she gained, let alone the fact that her father had constructed mini-windows into his past that she could just peer into like a tank in an aquarium.

After a few restless minutes of chewing it became clear to Zatanna that she wasn't getting anywhere with the new information. Frustrated, she tossed her pen across the room letting it clatter against the far. Soom the young magician got it into her head that it was the environment that was the problem. The dark gray stone of the walls, the significant lack of a singular window, and the old wooden bed frame made Zatanna feel like she was some rebellious nobles daughter shuttered away in a nunnery to avoid any scandals, and it was making her restless. The increasing tension only furthered an urge in Zatanna to find a shower.

It was a silly thing really, the showering. The shower was one of the only places where she was able to have any privacy as a child, her only impregnable bastion from house staff and tutors. And so a routine slowly began to establish itself, needed to cry? It was time for a shower. Needed to yell? Time for a shower. Needed to think? Time for a shower. The rushing water served as the walls of her constructed hideaway where all her other problems could melt away. Of course such mechanisms had their drawback, particularly after one rough month including a rough breakup, a friend then immediately afterwards sleeping with her ex and a chemistry exam that left her scrambling to explain to her father why the water bill was so high.

The memory of her father's bemused expression managed to crack a small smile across her face, a smile that quickly faded as she looked at the journals spread out around her. All he'd ever cared about was making sure that she was ready to take up the fight when he was gone. The talk he had with her after the shower incident was exclusively about how a Zatara couldn't run away or hide in a shower, they had to stand and fight or the world could fall into darkness. And now, there she was scouring through his journals and chasing after his ghosts, he had gotten exactly he'd wanted. And yet since he died, all she could think about were the good times. Those rare moments when she actually felt like she had a father and not a strict magic tutor that only checked in on her every other week.

Feeling worse off than she started, Zatanna stowed the journals back into their fold in reality and exited the bedroom. She didn't know how long she had been in there minutes maybe, hours? The confusion only further worsened by the lack of any sort of timekeeping device and looking outside wasn't any help either revealing only a sea of perpetual twilight above as below crawling forward endlessly. Whatever time it was, she had to assume that she had enough time to find some sort of bathroom before dinner. Before she ventured outside though she walked over to the still closed door of Voodoo's chamber, experimentally she pulled at the hand which gave way as the door swung upon.

Voodoo sat cross legged on the floor a series of books each as thick as Zatanna's skull sprawled out around him in a semicircle. In his own lap was his own big black book where he was taking down notes with a pen. As he was writing, Zatanna couldn't help but notice the fact that he was having a conversation with himself. Commenting here or there about a particular line to back up a claim or refute an unspoken argument.

"Well obviously I've already thought of that! Who do you take me for exactly? You know I was always the smarter one."

Zatanna knocked on the door.

"Huh?" Voodoo looked up startled but the tension released from his shoulders when he saw it was only Zatanna

"I'm I interrupting something?" Zatanna asked cocking a brow as she did.

"No, no, of course not!" Voodoo explained with a smile.

"You sure? Because you sure were having an illuminating conversation with your self" Zatanna stated as she peered around the room double checking behind the door to make sure nobody was there.

"You should try it sometime," Voodoo admitted with a shrug "you'll be surprised how insightful it can be."

"Maybe I will," Zatanna coincided with a shrug "anyway I just wanted to tell you that I was going to go find a bathroom of some kind. I need to get clean and presentation before dinner."

There was something strange going on and Zatanna knew it, but was wise enough not to prod into it at the moment. It was on the same grounds of perhaps being a better conversation for later did she justify not telling Vodoo about what she learned from her father's journals. The older man was obviously busy with his research and she could delve deeper into the dreams on her own. Instead tactfully shifted the conversation towards her intended topic of discussion.

"Alright," Voodoo replied, there was a reluctance in his voice but he agreed anyway perhaps reminded of their spat from earlier "just try and not get into any trouble"

"No promises!"

"And close the door! The draft is dreadful!" He added exasperated as she turned to leave.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland III

_{The Royal Palace, Faerie}

---

“Anton... you died,” Voodoo responded his voice giving away no emotion. Yet standing next to him, Zatanna couldn't help but notice the just too-tight way in which he was gripping his staff, his hand slightly trembling from the effort.

Arcane laughed

“Oh Jericho, you should know better than anyone else that death is nothing more than a mere inconvenience with the right preparation.” Disregarding Voodoo, Arcane turned his attention towards Zatanna“I give you my sincerest condolences, while Giovanni and I did not see eye to eye on every matter, he was still one of the greatest minds of our generation and a respected colleague.”

Zatanna unable to take her gaze off of Anton’s ember eyes took a step forward.

“You... You knew my dad?”

“We were both pariahs in our own way. We both saw the guidelines, rules, and restrictions championed by the likes of Voodoo as inhibitive to progress. Though I am sure that Jericho has forgotten to mention that.”

Voodoo took a step forward and extended his arm effectively putting himself between Zatanna and Anton, "The girl is none of your concern Arcane."

"This girl can make her own choices thank you very much." Zatannaresponded as she pushed Voodoo's arm away.

"Tsk, Tsk dissension in the ranks already Jericho?" Anton prodded with a smile, "If Zatanna wants to abandon an old wash-up like yourself in search of greener that's her right."

"That's not what I meant!" Zatanna protested.

Before either party could continue all the sound was sucked out of the room. Words were ripped straight from tongues, gravitating towards a singular point. And then all that sound exploded outwards as Queen Titania spoke a singular command.

"Enough!"

Zatanna had to fight an inexplicable urge to bow as the command washed over her. Despite Titania barely whispering her voice rang out like a bullet shooting from a barrel. Rising slightly from her throne Titania towered above them her judgmental gaze washing over them. Her wave-like dress shifted and churned like the sea in the middle of a storm as her red hair began to rise upward on its own volition. Both Voodoo and Anton somehow managed to drag their attention away from their bickering and towards the Queen. A murmur of unease ran through the assembled nobles as their gaudy finery seemed to shrink and grow dim at the outburst.

“This is a royal court,” Titania stressed, “not a public house to air petty squabbles.”

“Your Highness,” Anton started “it was clearly the fault of these new interlopers.”

“Silence Anton. I’m more than capable of making my own observations.”

Zatanna couldn't help but chuckle softly as Anton visibly flinched at the comment. Laughter which soon got caught in her throat as Titania’s gaze fell upon them. She felt a blush beginning to build feeling like a child that was just caught by their teacher. Yet Zatanna could've sworn that there was a knowing and mischievous look to the Queen’s eyes. This moment of distinct humanity threw Zatanna off guard as it was the last thing that the young magician expected from such a divine presence. The confusion visible on Zatanna’s face seemed to only further spark Titania as a small smile worked its way onto her face as her hair and dress began to fall back to more neutral states.

“Jericho Drumm,” Titania began “You are always a welcome guest here, I would not be sitting on this throne if not for your assistance. Though I must admit that I’m most curious about what brings you here?”

As Titania addressed him Voodoo bowed respectfully. Zatanna noting the ease at which Voodoo was able to change emotional states. Whatever shock from Anton’s surprise appearance was quickly replaced with a strict level of observed decorum.

“I seek the release of the Kingkiller into my custody”

The explosion of noise that followed made Zatanna jump. The nobles gathered behind them expressing their discontent in an unorganized rabble. Voodoo seemed unaffected by the shouts as his gaze was instead focused on Titania. The Queen for her part seemed just as adept as Voodoo on maintaining an iron-faced visage. She let the anger wash over the court the noise only increasing in volume as the anger began to feed off of itself in a feedback loop. Eventually, after the nobles had worn themselves out Titania rose a hand guiding the chamber back into silence.

“You ask for much Jericho,” Titania commented, “the release of one of Faerie’s most hated criminals is no small favor.”

“You know I would not ask for such a boon if it was not under the direst of circumstances.”

Titania rested a hand against the underhand of her chin as she considered her options. Her gaze swept across the room before settling on Zantanna.
“And what of you Young Zatara? Do you vouch for your allies claim?”

“I don’t think my opinion really matters here your highness...” Zatanna insisted

“Nonsense!” Titania protested “As Jericho’s traveling companion you more than anyone else are most suited to speak of his character.”

“I haven’t really known him for that long though.“

“Darling, when a queen asks a question it’s best that you answer .” Titania reminded the young magician her gentle voice laced with steel.

“He.... no, we have just caused. We are dealing with a flesh elemental and require the Kingkiller’s expertise” Zatanna asserted

“A flesh elemental?” Titania responded leaning forward in her throne “You speak of dark and ancient magic. I thought the last of them were killed in the War.”

“My father told me never to assume anything.”

Titania chuckled at Zatanna's comment. For a figure as imposing as Titania, her laughter was light. It had a transportive quality to it, taking Zatanna back to late summer evenings and playful sea breezes whose dancing created choirs of tumbling windchimes.

“Giovanni was a wise man,” Titania commented with a small smile

“So you’ll help us?”

“It’s a shame that he didn’t also teach you the value of patience.” Titania teased and Zatanna shrunk as soft laughter ran through the court. Zatanna let out a sigh of relief as the queen raised her hand out of mercy not linking the ostracization linger on the air as she did for Voodoo.

“This request that you ask of me... it is something I must first consider. In the meantime, the two of you may stay here as my guests.”

As the court was dismissed, Zatanna and Voodoo were escorted out of the throne room by a cadre of winged royal guards. And as they left Zatanna couldn't help but notice the ember-eyed stare of Anton Strange. Standing in the middle of the room, the exiting crowd parted around him like a river bending around a large stone. Despite there being no detectable malicious intent in the older magic user's gaze, Zatanna could not manage to shake her unease. The gaze reminding her of her earlier nightmare of a Gotham consumed by corpses and rot. Fighting every instinct that was telling her not to look away from the danger Zatanna turned back around letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding only once they were around the corner and out of Anton’s gaze.

Their royal escort lead them through the palace towards the guest wing. As they walked, Zatanna was struck by how empty it seemed. Long hallways lined with miraculous stained glass windows and tremendous portraits of what Zatanna could only assume were former rulers, wide enough to carry five-man shoulder to shoulder across its width lay dormant. On a rare occasion, they would see a servant who would quickly disappear into one of the adjoining doors without a word. The empty halls reminding her of her old estate, but where those hallways give off a distinctive sense of presence as if the occupants had just left only moments previously, the halls of the castle felt barren as if nothing had ever been there in the first place.

Eventually, they were lead to a guest suite in the eastern wing. It was a small space made up of two bedrooms connected by a central study/dining area. Voodoo slumped down in a chair at the table, nestling his face in his hands as he made small circles around his temples. Deciding it to be wise to give him space, Zatanna circled the perimeter of the room her attention focused on the bookshelves that lined the room’s walls that were covered with a vast array of strange trinkets and other baubles.

The young magician picked up a metallic skull from one of the shelves. It was a small thing that fit comfortably in the palm of her hands. A series of strange letters in a language that Zatanna didn’t understand were etched into the surface. Examining it in the light revealed that it was actually one solid piece of metal that had been painstakingly shaped and molded into its current form. Through the reflected metal Zatanna could see the slumped over figure of Voodoo. Tentatively she began to speak in an effort to cheer him up.

“You never mentioned that you knew a Queen.”

Voodoo looked up from his hands smiling slightly

“I knew her before she was a ruler.”

“She said that you helped her get the throne?” Zatanna offered curiously, “That seems against your earlier policy of preserving the balance .”

Voodoo shook his head, “Preservation does not always equate to inaction. Titania and her former lover Mab, the matriarch of the Court of Dawn fell into conflict over which court would assume control of Faerie. It was in the best interest of the Mundane if Titania one that battle and so we acted.”

“So she owes you one,” Zatanna replied confidently, “that means she has to help us out!”

Voodoo sighed, “It is not the Queen that worries me.”
“It’s Arcane isn’t it?”

“...Yes”

“Who the heck is he anyway? Gives me like total creeper vibes.”

To Zatanna's relief Voodoo actually managed chuckled at her comment as he conjured up his big black tome. Without even looking he flipped the book open to a page and gestured for Zatanna to take a look. Placing the skull back on the shelf, Zatanna walked over to the table. An old photographer was nestled into the pages of the book, the corner of the picture crinkled and bent with age. The picture was of three men standing somewhere in the mountains, they were worn and beaten but standing proud and tall with smiles on their faces, behind them the corpse of a tremendously large dragon. Zatanna instantly recognized the man in the middle as her father dressed as fanciful as ever in his vest, dress shirt, and black pants even in the mountains. To the left of him was another familiar face, there were fewer wrinkles upon his face and his long and unruly dreadlocks peppered with white were replaced a short afro of thick curls, captured in that moment of celebration Voodoo looked the happiest Zatanna had ever seen him. In the far right of the frame Anton Arcane even in his youth possessed the same sulking figure that he had in the throne room. He was tilted slightly away from the camera, a smile on his face, but he was looking at something in the distance.

“There was a time when the trio of Drumm, Arcane, and Zatara rocked the magical world. Our antics and our success propelled us into minor celebrity status. We were young and foolish thinking ourselves to be invincible. But it was never meant to last.”

“What happened?” Zatanna asked running a finger against the bent edges of the picture trying to flatten them out.

“Richard Redditch happened.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“The press called him the Artist. He was a serial killer known for collecting an ear from his victims. One day while we were out on a mission, Redditch broke into Anton’s house and murdered his wife.”

“That’s... terrible.”

“Indeed, soon enough Anton was able to track Redditch down back to his apartment. Nobody knows what events transpired but in the end, Redditch’s wife was dead and so was the Artist himself having choked to death on his removed ears. Neither I nor your father heard anything from him after that for a while. He disappeared completely from both the regular and magical communities.”
“But he came back?”

“Yes, he resurfaced in Louisiana several years later. As it turned out in the interim, Anton had become obsessed with asserting his control over death. Such a search required plenty of human subjects so soon homeless, criminals, runaways, and other unfortunate souls in the bayou were getting abducted to be used as test subjects in his devilish experiments. Your father and I teamed up with a powerful swamp creature that called the bayou home and we were able to put a stop to his madness. Last we saw of Arcane was him being consumed by the fire that was running rampant through his laboratory as he tried to preserve his research.”

“And now he’s back.” Finished Zatanna

“And now he’s back.” Voodoo agreed

“What do you think he wants?”

“Nothing good.”

“So what do we do?”

“For now we do the only thing we can do. We wait.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Jailbreak In Fairyland II

_{Somewhere In Faerie}

---

In Zatanna’s dreams, Gotham isn’t dying, it’s already dead. The city had become a Venice of corpses, as seas of bodies fill the spaces where asphalt and street corners once stood. Above these pathways sprouting amongst the skyscrapers were blooming cancerous growths creating a canopy of blood as veins of raw flesh raced across the open sky connecting them together. Crawling atop these veins and picking through the corpses that swallowed up the ground were strange abominations of decay similar to the flesh elemental that had attacked her in her home. They squabble amongst themselves snarling and slashing outward at one another fighting over treasures like a particular well intact femur bone. But beyond these strange mockeries of flesh, there were no other signs of life as even the scavengers and carrion eaters, the corvids and the cockroaches couldn’t escape their fate.

What was once Robinson Park served as the tabernacle to this temple of decay. In mockery to the green and beauty that once stood there was a great mass of flesh and tentacles. The mass ever so often pulsated like a beating heart as blood dripped from its folds. It was similar to the much smaller car-sized growths that were emerging from the skyscrapers as if they were merely extensions of this much larger abomination. The blood-stained veins emerging from their flesh all leading back and sinking themselves amongst the flesh. A sea of eyes swam across its body each individual pupil, bright orange in color almost like the embers of a flame, each larger than a house.

Forced to reckon with this creature Zatanna immediately felt very insignificant. This feeling reminded her of reading a book about tsunami survivors in Indonesia. In each of their stories, there was a common linking thread, a feeling that could only be described as a powerful mixture of awe and fear as the ocean pulled away only to come back as a singular towering wall of water. The great mysterium tremendum to be forced to reckon with something so beyond yourself, so immensely more than you could ever be that it might as well be divine in nature. But where those tsunami survivors had to contemplate their insignificance in the face power of mother nature, staring into one of those ember eyes Zatanna could only witness life’s meaningless struggle against the inevitable that was rot and decay. And as she stared into the eye, a voice louder than creation itself filled her mind with a singular word.

C̸̭͈̎ͅo̶͍͗̓n̵̠͑͊̕s̶̨̩̍͌ͅȗ̴͖m̴̝̊́ẻ̵̬

Zatanna shouted as she opened her eyes shot open. Her breath came in quick short bursts, heart thundering in her chest as she looked around the train cabin. Thankfully most of the other occupants had moved on or otherwise were preoccupied with their own business to notice her outburst. Atop the mahogany table of her booth was simple white teacup etched with blue flowers atop of a matching saucer, the sharp smell of citrus drifting upwards from the mostly filled cup. Across the way from the cup sitting in the booth’s opposite bench was Doctor Voodoo, peering over at her quizzically from beyond the edge of his book. Zatanna felt her embarrassment override her fear as her face flushed, trying to act cool she reached for her tea. Yet her shaking hands betrayed her as the hot liquid spilled across the table.

“Dammit!” She cursed before pointing at the spilled liquid and commanding softly “yrd”

As the liquid was magically pulled away from the table, Voodoo put his book down on his lap and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Are you okay timoun?”

Zatanna exhaled for a long time as she placed the now empty teacup back on the table. She looked down at the table running her finger along the grain of the now dried wood. “Yeah, I just had a bad dream that’s all.”

Voodoo cocked a brow “There is significance in dreams. If you ever want to talk about it...”

“It was nothing, it’s just been a crazy couple of days” Zatanna replied shaking her head. “Are we there yet?”

Thankfully Voodoo had enough social graces to take her prompt to change the subject and gestured towards the window.

“Take a look for yourself.”

Zatanna couldn’t help but gasp as she leaned closer into the window.

The train rolled across a landscape that defied explanation. Primeval forests stretched across the horizon their towering trunks stretching into the sky as their leaves were caught in brilliant shades of red and orange so much that from a distance it looked like the entire canopy was consumed in an almighty wildfire. On the horizon beyond the forest's rose jagged mountain peaks that looked like they were constructed from half-gnarled bone. Great churning rivers that sparkled like a diamond catching the sun ran down from their ashen peaks, cutting great paths through the forest as they ran towards an ink-black sea. Bunched together like islands upon the sea of black were the towering masts of ships from nearly every age in history, lost in great storms and having been swept away to foreign shores.

And as the train rolled across this landscape suspended on an adequate like track above the ground, the primeval forest gave way to signs of civilization. Writhing trunks gave way to strictly organized developments of farmland. The crops that grew upon these organized sections of land were unlike anything Zatanna had ever seen before. They rejected any formal understanding of color, shape, or size, one batch that caught Zatanna’s eyes being an orchid of trees that opposed to growing fruits upon their branches instead grew severed arms. These groupings of strange and disturbing vegetation were planted around sprawling Edwardian era estates that Zatanna could estimate were each roughly the size of a Gotham city block in length. Some looked freshly painted and new as if they had been built yesterday, while others looked long abandoned and overrun as foliage and veins broke through shattered glass and crumbling walls.

And finally, even the farmland was replaced with a different concrete kind of jungle. The country environment giving way to an urban sprawl thick with artificially bent metal. The cityscapes were in some ways even more breathtaking than nature’s vistas. As huge sprawling towers made of shimmering glass rose skyward. Compared to the order and structure present in the farm plots, the planning for the cities seemed like a haphazard afterthought, but still somehow managed to find its order in the chaos. Buildings twisted and embraced one another, weaving in and out like one knotted mas. Streets varied from straight lines to at some points rising directly upward at perfect ninety-degree angles with no means of getting up them. All the while amongst these wandering streets, these dense and chaotic urban spaces never seemed to lose their connection to nature as next to the rising towers of glass were equal tall trees that seemed to serve the same purpose and large overrun parks and gardens dominated any open space.

Zatanna didn’t know what to expect from Faerie. The children’s tales and old legends described a world of idealized wonder. In a way they were right, the world outside her window could indeed be described as wondrous for the sheer strangeness of it all. The bizarre mismatched cohesion of colors, shapes, and architecture, unlike anything you would ever see in the Mundane. There was no unity of style or presentation as towering castles stood next to simple huts. And to make matters worse even as Zatanna watched entire sections of the city began to reconfigured themselves. Some of the buildings crumbled to the ground to be replaced with entirely different structures within the blink of an eye, while others just grew or shrank in size or even just a simple change in the style of the front door. The whole effect preventing Zatanna from ever really getting comfortable with the cityscape in front of her.

Eventually, the train pulled to a stop. Other passengers began to rise from their seats and prepare to depart. Pulling away from the window, Zatanna looked over at Voodoo who had at this point deconjured his book and began to rise from his seat. The bizarre landscape only made Zatanna more eager to go out and explore. It was one of the reasons she didn’t mind going on tour as much as other performers - the overwhelming desire to get lost in a place that was unfamiliar to her.

“Word of warning,” Started Voodoo as Zatanna rose to her feet “the Fae do not follow our conventional sense of morality. They are like children with a magnifying glass and we are the anthill, they act on impulse alone.”

“That’s lovely, I always hated children.”

They exited the train onto a wide platform. The surrounding building was a large dome-like structure, brilliant mosaics cast across the inside like the interior of some old Byzantine church. Everything was cast in a pallet that to Zatanna’s eyes seemed to be exclusively cast in shades of bronze and gold. Statues of colossal winged knights lined the dome’s perimeter their arms raised upward as if they were holding the weight of the dome above them. Passengers moved up and down the platform, some towards one of the many exits that lead out of the dome, others aiming to catch the train on its return trip. The platform was one of at least a dozen all performing the same ritual of embarkment and disembarkment.

Approaching them on the platform was a strange figure. He was dressed in what Zatanna could only imagine a knightly squire may have looked like. A loose white long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of brown sackcloth pants that half-covered a pair of bare feet dusted with hair. As the stranger approached a half-grin hanged easily on his face. He appeared young barely more than a boy with his auburn hair burst up from his head like wildfire. And yet even as his gray eyes sparkled, the carried a weight to them that rivaled Voodoo.

“Mister Drumm and Miss Zatara, I presume?” The stranger asked stopping in front of them.

“What you know who we are?” questioned Zatanna

The Stranger chuckled, “Of course we do! You are our honored guests after all.”

“Honored... guests?”

“Why yes! It isn’t often that two powerful magic users from the Mundane come to visit us.”

“Well then guide,” Voodoo his voice tired and laced with impatience “do you mind leading us to the Palace? We have important business to discuss with your Queen.”

“Right away sir!” The guide replied with a small bow before turning around and heading in the opposite direction.

The guide led them out of the dome and into the city proper. If the city was breathtaking from the window of the train, it was even more so being inside of it. Life seemed to almost overflow in the nooks and crannies between the towers of sculpted metal. Tantalizing smells attempted to drift Zatanna of course as numerous street vendors cooked up meals in cobbled-together hutches thrown together on the sidewalk. The sound of them and other vendors peddling their wares filled the air, a rising chorus of strange voices competing over one another to be heard. Unlike in a city in the Mundane, these voices did not have to compete with the roar of cars. The streets instead were filled with mostly pedestrian traffic and the rarer horse-drawn carriage.

One such vehicle parting the road as the group navigated the streets. It was a large black carriage the curtains on its windows tightly drawn blocking the curious gaze of any onlooker. Zatanna nearly was sent tumbling to the ground as the panicked crowd pushed towards the side of the street to avoid the thundering hooves of the horses that pulled it along, the driver seemingly unwilling to slow down to give pedestrians in front of the carriage time to get out of the way. Yet Zatanna wasn’t struck by this blatant disregard to safety as the four skeletal steeds that pulled the carriage. Boney hooves slammed against the dirt of the road leaving a chill in the air and frost covered impressions in their wake. A shiver running down Zatanna’s spine as they passed like a gust of wind on a cold winter’s morning had just blown by.

Their guide who had been less fortunate in avoiding being knocked over was a few feet ahead of Zatanna catching his breath as he rested on his knees. Dirt was now caked into the white cotton of his shirt and on smudged streaks across his arms and face. As Zatanna reached him she bent over and extended a hand to help him up. The surprise on his face was palpable but he nodded his head in thanks and accepted her help. Standing he scratched at his bramble of red hair with a thankful smile on his face.

“Thank you kindly miss” He added as he began to try and wipe away the dirt stains on his shirt.

“Here, I can help you with that” Zatanna offered gesturing towards the stain. “Naelc”

The guide looked down in amazement as the stains upon his body and clothing began to fade away as they seeped into flesh and fabric before vanishing altogether.

“That’s two favors you’ve done me now...We should get moving because soon I’m going to owe you a blood debt!”

“A blood debt?!” Zatanna asked startled as she chased after him. She turned towards Voodoo for assistance but the older magician’s face gave nothing away. “There is honestly no need! I just saw that I could help!”

“Help for the sake of helping? You sure are a strange one!”

The guide called back incredulously as he guided them down a, particularly narrow street. The buildings on either side of the road growing closer and closer to one another as if the entire street came together at a fine point. Their passage became dark and almost tunnel-like as the roofs on either side began to overlap with one another, blocking out the sun above. As space grew smaller and smaller, Zatanna was forced to pivot herself sideways to navigate through the crack, the much broader and muscular Voodoo having to push himself flat against the wall and inch forward like he was navigating a ledge. The end came with its own sense of panic, by that point Zatanna was submerged entirely in darkness, the only sounds being her companions breathing and the shifting of clothes against the bricks of the building. Zatanna was certain that she was stuck, but finally, with enough struggling, she came free and came out into the brightness on the other side

The funnel had emptied them out into a new area within the city. The cramped dirt streets replaced with paved, broad promenades lined with trees and statuary in sharp contrast to the squabbling vendors. What struck Zatanna most though was the quiet. The crowds that had existed only moments earlier had vanished. Instead, the citizens here moved in small and quiet groups of three to four. They were just as strange as their more rambunctious cousins, dressed in a strange amalgamation of aristocratic dress from throughout history. They walked at perfectly controlled paces, not slow enough to be considered dawdling and not fast enough to be described as brisk, taking a painfully calculated amount of time to regard the flora and statuary as if following a choreographic routine. Zatanna for her part then felt a drunken fan storming the stage disrupting this perfectly sculpted flow. Zatanna put her head down to block the gazes of intrigue and contempt that had been immediately thrown their way.

Thankfully the guide also seemed bothered by the attention and began to pick up the pace. He lead them through a winding path through the district. They quickly pulled off the main promenade, guiding them through abandoned side streets and alleyways that made untrodden paths between the walled off-estates towering in their austerity. Beyond the occasional groundskeeper tending to the strange multi-colored flora on their grounds, Zatanna saw little in the way of movement. Curiously as she peered at that passing buildings more and more, she began to notice a strange thing, those occasional lonesome groundskeepers were the only moving things, it was as if time itself had been frozen, ensnared in some kind of protective enchantment around the walls.

As she tried to wrap her head around the sheer amount of magical energy needed to perform, emerging from another alleyway they reached what Zatanna could only assume was their destination. A grand castle-like structure sat floating at the center of a sea of twilight. It looked like something out of a dream, created from a perfect blending of artistic vision and engineering talent, the artistic skill and talent of something like Michelangelo’s David combined with the sheer engineering might of the Burj Khalifa. A single tremendously long bridge stretching across an open void of purples, pinks, blues, and reds sat at the center of the city as if an artist had punched a hole in reality’s very fabric.

As they approached the bridge their guide stopped.

“Well, this is as far as I take you.”

“Thank you again,” Voodoo responded and Zatanna nodded her head in approval.

“Think nothing of it’s my task after all!”

And with a small wave, the guide left the duo alone disappearing back amongst the shadows of the buildings.

The pair looked at one another before taking their first steps on the bridge. The long crossing lent itself kindly to contemplation and roughly halfway across the bridge, something dawned upon Zatanna.

“He never gave us his name?”

“Who?”

“The guide!”

“He didn’t have one.”

“What?”

Voodoo sighed

“Names are very important here. In a world such as this, a world driven by fanciful whims and desires, in constant flux, because the mold has never had a chance to set there is a kind of holiness to those things that are granted permanence. Names are one such thing. They may change yes and titles may be added or removed, but at their heart, they serve as identifiers of the self. The name that you choose to carry comes to leave its mark on you, it becomes a part of you that cannot be removed. By taking on a name, you gain power over the flux, over the change, you become a rock upon which the river most divert itself. And so such powerful liberties are only awarded to the highborne.”

“That’s terrible...” Zatanna whispered

“To us,” Voodoo offered “we see it as a dehumanizing act, a purposeful erasure of identity. For them, this has always been this way. It is not like those with power are taking away something that they already had. We ourselves would think it's ridiculous if there was outrage over a dog’s inability to use the postal service.”

“I guess,” Zatanna relented “it’s just still no excuse y’know? If we see injustice don’t we have an obligation to try and use our magic to try and fight it?”

“You are not Wonder Woman timoune,” Voodoo warned his voice still soft but gaining a stern edge as he continued to speak. “You are an inheritor of a great magical legacy, and part of caring for that legacy is being mindful of the balance, of the things which you cannot change. Every day we flirt with forces of immense power and capability, we hold the power to destroy entire worlds in our hands, this is a power which when abused can distort and change a person. The moment you start trying to save everyone is your apotheosis, your divine awakening, but at the same time it is also not just your end but potentially the end of everything.”

“How do we know though?” Questioned Zatanna “Has anyone tried?”

“many..”

Zatanna dropped the topic.

Soon after they made it across. They were quickly ushered inside by a waiting servant allowing them to bypass the armed guards that stood at the other side of the bridge. The servant, a sharply dressed woman with a large pair of butterfly wings emerging from her back did her best to get them up to speed as they walked. They had arrived late in the day and the Queen was just finishing up with her audiences for the day, so they would have to hurry if they were going to be able to talk to her. They were also drilled with basic etiquette principles such as the importance of bowing and of not looking the Queen directly in her eyes. Though if Zatanna was being honest the servant was talking at such a frantic pace, that all the instructions began to blend into one incomprehensible mess.

As the servant finished her rapid-fire instructions, they arrived at a pair of large double doors flanked on either side by two more royal guards. The doors were already open and from beyond Zatanna could hear the soft murmur of conversation. The servant ushered them forward urgently following closely behind.

The doors lead into a large throne room. The floor below was made from glass or some other transparent material giving a direct view of the sea of twilight below them. On either side, leading up the throne were a large mass of nobles, dressed in a similar manner to those that they saw on the street. Many of whom chatted amongst themselves, whispering intently as Zatanna and Voodoo entered the room, pointing and gesturing at them. The throne itself was elegant in its simplicity, a single piece of metal that was painstakingly sculpted and pulled into an elegant and graceful shape, reminding Zatanna of a bird soaring into the sky.

Atop the throne was the most beautiful woman Zatanna had ever seen. It was like she had been forged from the very earth herself: dark caramel colored skin pulled from earthen clay, thick curly red hair tumbling down like a waterfall to her waist, the elegant blue gown was the sea as it shifted and moved on its own. Even from her sitting position she easily managed to command the room, dominating it with her presence.

Standing in front of her in private conversation was a human man. He was in his late forties or early fifties, clean shaven, dark hair brushed back, and wearing a simple black tuxedo. He rested much of his weight on a long black cane that he gripped in his left hand, the top adorned with the skull of some kind of corvid. Zatanna was automatically reminded of that old English professor that had been around since the 50s, that she was sure resided at every university. The stranger caring the same universal disdain for the world around them through sheer body language alone.

As they walked down the aisle towards the throne, the servant began to announce loudly.

“Presenting to Her Royal Majesty, The Queen of Faerie, The Lady of Twilight, The Wind of Change, The Great Muse, and the Vengeful Wind, Queen Titania, the Mundane travelers Jericho Drumm and Zatanna Zatara!”

As they were announced, the Queen and the stranger broke away from one another to turn to address their new arrivals. As the man turned around, Voodoo froze in his tracks. And all Zatanna could do was stare up at the eyes of the stranger who looked very pleased, eyes the color of a dying ember, the same as nightmarish creature she had seen in her dreams.

And across the room, Anton Arcane smiled back at them both.

“Jericho! What a pleasant surprise!"

What Are You Listening To?

_{Been on a city pop bender recently}