In the dream-world of Tibbs, a centuries-old war was coming to an end. It was an icy-cold morning as the diminutive gore-
spattered Time Manager stood between the two leaders of the terrible conflict and watched as they cautiously reached out
their respective hands to acknowledge the abeyance that would save millions-upon-millions more from spilling their blood
into the battlefield's mire.
The landscape was covered with destroyed bodies, steam from the recently slain hung above the torn corpses like reluctant
ghosts and the smell of exertion and fear percolated with the scent of death everywhere. Midnight-feathered crows gingerly
pulled at skin and beaked soft-matter from sockets and wounds from a mise en scène that Dante would have applauded.
Jack Frost was trying to adorn the abhorrent scene with his white-glinting crystals and as the Vithian turned to once more
survey the horrors of what supposedly-civilised entities can do to one-another, the panting Boy In A Dress -who was carefully
bringing a tray of two goblets of wine towards the hesitant pact, stumbled and clattered his burden onto the...
With a jolt, Tibbs sat up and rubbed his weary eyes.
Through the knee-high grass and after placing his spectacles on his red-marked nose, he saw the same character from his
dream gamboling after a flying bug of some-sort. Slowly taking stock of his surroundings, Tibbs saw that his wife was stirring
from her sleep and the Gunman was treating himself to a mug of coffee coaxed from the flames of the rebuilt campfire.
Resisting a greeting that involved asking whether Ninurta had shot anybody yet, Tibbs murmured "Good morning" towards
the lean figure idly monitoring the Man-Girl's antics. The metal cup beneath the brim of his hat may have stifled a response,
but the slight nod was enough for the Vithian to accept an antiphon.
He didn't do it much, but Tibbs felt a light subconscious slap across his intellectual reasoning with a wee-voice adding that
he shouldn't look on the man before him in such an inflexible manner.
Ninurta travelled his road his way and even though some might think a certain favourable hand of cards had been given to
the grizzled loner, Tibbs could evenly answer those envious ones that Ninurta took from the immortal deck by simply using
his steel-will and determination to decide his path. His path, his way and God forbid anyone who blocked that trail.
It wasn't right that he should perceive the Vandalian in the way he spoke to him. Granted, most of it was done with levity,
but how many times had that strange weapon on Ninurta's hip spoken and how many times had its voice saved Tibbs?
Even in the harshest of realities, the man across from him that seemed at peace with himself would ratiionally fall under
the heading 'a friend'.
And those are far-and-few-between Tibbs solemnly concurred.
Mucklebones moaned that she was also surfacing from her own nursery of chimera and leaving the screaming hordes that
bayed for her stake-burning, she cursed them all and turned towards the place we seem to believe is 'the real world'.
"Ah' feel like someone's took a dump in me-mouth" she whispered and with her eyes still closed, she pushed her torso from
the flattened-grass she'd called a bed.
The high-moral and deep reflection of her husband fluttered away like the creature the Man-Girl was pursuing as he offered
a disapproving-look towards the odd-looking alien who had stolen his heart. "Please dear..." he hushed "...your language"
and leaned over to kiss where the alleged night-intruder had defecated.
Boy In A Dress returned to the squatting time-machine and collected the debris -or breakfast supplies, that he'd involuntarily
jettisoned to capture the blue-winged butterfly. The beautiful insect had out-witted its hunter by hiding itself among the bloom
of a stretch of bushes near the edge of the wood.
That cunning thorax of skinny legs and alluring flappers had known the petals of the florets were also blue, the foiled-BIAD
was certain of it and from under that mat of black hair, he surprisingly conceived a plan.
Adjusting the plucked flower that he'd placed in his cleavage, the weird hermaphrodite picked up the wax-papered bundles
and took them to where his companions resided. "Sorry about the noise" BIAD said apologetically and focused on changing
the contents of the parcels into a hearty meal.
"What's with the flower?" Muckles said after using a minute to gather herself. Her green poncho had doubled as a quilt for her
slumber and now, ignoring the probable stares of lust from the males around her, she donned the well-worn carrier of her magic
-instruments and rose to clear her bladder.
"Tell me after I've had a pi... when I return" she corrected herself and smiled meekly at her frowning man. "Sorry my-love" she
added and wandered off to perform her ablutions.
BIAD fried bacon and after tipping a small portion of beans onto the three plates with the rashers, that seemingly-rarely-used
brain of his pondered whether a forage for staver-peas would have enhanced the meagre meal.
Ninurta took the grey-metal platter and muttered a thank you towards the grinning maniac-come-morning-chef.
The Witch of Carbiox and the Time-Herder addressed the situation in a similar manner and has Muckles tucked into the hot
fare, she lightly repeated her question about the indigo-toned blossom between Boy In A Dress' boobs.
Later, Tibbs would reflect on what BIAD said and ponder whether it's a natural phenomena when thinking-beings look for
resolution or something more mystical. Initially, the bearded-man in the monk's robes had looked on his wife's belief-system
as just another way of perceiving science from her less-sophisticated angle. But over the years, he'd have fallen off to sleep
in their bed with thoughts that there may be a mentally-whispered plan of numen, a way that speaks to the id in all of us.
But that was later.
Boy In A Dress placed three mugs -one a refill of course, beside the customers of 'BIAD's Diner' and related his Machiavellian
strategy. "It's all about bringing the prey to me instead of the other-way-around" he said softly with a faux-menace.
Ninurta silently wagered to himself that BIAD would once again, insinuate a path of rationale in his own bizarre fashion that
would not only succeed to acquiring his immediate quarry, but point a hypothetically-red-nailed finger towards their larger goal.
"...If the butterfly searches for these..." Boy In A Dress continued and pointed at the richly-painted foliage resting on his gravity
-defying bosom, he ended his speech with "...he'll fall into my trap and be mine" and stretching his crazy grin, waited for the
applause from his friends.
Mucklebones wiped her mouth with her forearm and cleared her throat. "What will yer' do with yon flutter-by when yer' catch
it?" she said, the plate was empty. The lack of a sober answer hinted that BIAD's plotting was also empty of a reason too.
"Well, I could..." he began and then turned his head to each of his listeners in his confusion, the logistics of the hypothesis
had enchanted the Man-Girl enough without contemplating the possible result.
"Er" was his next word before Ninurta rode to his rescue and Boy In A Dress' gratitude was obvious in the movement of his
tranquilizing shoulders.
"I think what our insightful cook is sayin' is that instead of racin' around the meadow in search of his goal, gettin' the thing
the butterfly wants the most is the smart thing to do" the Gunslinger said softly. "Maybe like findin' yer' Ba'al's supposed
indentical-twin?" he formed his last sentence as a query and aimed at the little man staring up at him.
"Billy-be-Jezzus" he's a smart-one is our BIAD..." Mucklebones said absently as she held out her empty cup towards the
now-beaming singularity of time and space. "...We can dry-ass this big-time hoss-head by usin' his own ego" she added
as the old crone accepted the refill.
.................................................
The last of the flames died as Ninurta kicked ash and some dirt over the area where they'd bivouacked and after checking that
no sign was left to indicate who'd spent the night in the meadow, he turned to watch Tibbs, Mucklebones and Boy In A Dress
pack the last of the campsite back into the cramped, spine-festooned machine that cheated time.
Tibbs had mulled on Ninurta's interpretation of BIAD's insect-catching tactic and after pressing some buttons on his enigmatic
handset he'd fished from his pocket, agreed that locating the 'mirror' of the Mainyu's leader would be an excellent plan.
They'd all had another cup of the cocky hermaphrodite's hot coffee and began to physically and mentally prepare to undertake
the idea.
Rolling a cigarette and picking up a smouldering stick, the Gunslinger blew a plume of smoke that wasn't too-distant from the
colour of BIAD's liberated butterfly. "Onwards, Ah' guess" he said to himself with a lop-sided smile.
spattered Time Manager stood between the two leaders of the terrible conflict and watched as they cautiously reached out
their respective hands to acknowledge the abeyance that would save millions-upon-millions more from spilling their blood
into the battlefield's mire.
The landscape was covered with destroyed bodies, steam from the recently slain hung above the torn corpses like reluctant
ghosts and the smell of exertion and fear percolated with the scent of death everywhere. Midnight-feathered crows gingerly
pulled at skin and beaked soft-matter from sockets and wounds from a mise en scène that Dante would have applauded.
Jack Frost was trying to adorn the abhorrent scene with his white-glinting crystals and as the Vithian turned to once more
survey the horrors of what supposedly-civilised entities can do to one-another, the panting Boy In A Dress -who was carefully
bringing a tray of two goblets of wine towards the hesitant pact, stumbled and clattered his burden onto the...
With a jolt, Tibbs sat up and rubbed his weary eyes.
Through the knee-high grass and after placing his spectacles on his red-marked nose, he saw the same character from his
dream gamboling after a flying bug of some-sort. Slowly taking stock of his surroundings, Tibbs saw that his wife was stirring
from her sleep and the Gunman was treating himself to a mug of coffee coaxed from the flames of the rebuilt campfire.
Resisting a greeting that involved asking whether Ninurta had shot anybody yet, Tibbs murmured "Good morning" towards
the lean figure idly monitoring the Man-Girl's antics. The metal cup beneath the brim of his hat may have stifled a response,
but the slight nod was enough for the Vithian to accept an antiphon.
He didn't do it much, but Tibbs felt a light subconscious slap across his intellectual reasoning with a wee-voice adding that
he shouldn't look on the man before him in such an inflexible manner.
Ninurta travelled his road his way and even though some might think a certain favourable hand of cards had been given to
the grizzled loner, Tibbs could evenly answer those envious ones that Ninurta took from the immortal deck by simply using
his steel-will and determination to decide his path. His path, his way and God forbid anyone who blocked that trail.
It wasn't right that he should perceive the Vandalian in the way he spoke to him. Granted, most of it was done with levity,
but how many times had that strange weapon on Ninurta's hip spoken and how many times had its voice saved Tibbs?
Even in the harshest of realities, the man across from him that seemed at peace with himself would ratiionally fall under
the heading 'a friend'.
And those are far-and-few-between Tibbs solemnly concurred.
Mucklebones moaned that she was also surfacing from her own nursery of chimera and leaving the screaming hordes that
bayed for her stake-burning, she cursed them all and turned towards the place we seem to believe is 'the real world'.
"Ah' feel like someone's took a dump in me-mouth" she whispered and with her eyes still closed, she pushed her torso from
the flattened-grass she'd called a bed.
The high-moral and deep reflection of her husband fluttered away like the creature the Man-Girl was pursuing as he offered
a disapproving-look towards the odd-looking alien who had stolen his heart. "Please dear..." he hushed "...your language"
and leaned over to kiss where the alleged night-intruder had defecated.
Boy In A Dress returned to the squatting time-machine and collected the debris -or breakfast supplies, that he'd involuntarily
jettisoned to capture the blue-winged butterfly. The beautiful insect had out-witted its hunter by hiding itself among the bloom
of a stretch of bushes near the edge of the wood.
That cunning thorax of skinny legs and alluring flappers had known the petals of the florets were also blue, the foiled-BIAD
was certain of it and from under that mat of black hair, he surprisingly conceived a plan.
Adjusting the plucked flower that he'd placed in his cleavage, the weird hermaphrodite picked up the wax-papered bundles
and took them to where his companions resided. "Sorry about the noise" BIAD said apologetically and focused on changing
the contents of the parcels into a hearty meal.
"What's with the flower?" Muckles said after using a minute to gather herself. Her green poncho had doubled as a quilt for her
slumber and now, ignoring the probable stares of lust from the males around her, she donned the well-worn carrier of her magic
-instruments and rose to clear her bladder.
"Tell me after I've had a pi... when I return" she corrected herself and smiled meekly at her frowning man. "Sorry my-love" she
added and wandered off to perform her ablutions.
BIAD fried bacon and after tipping a small portion of beans onto the three plates with the rashers, that seemingly-rarely-used
brain of his pondered whether a forage for staver-peas would have enhanced the meagre meal.
Ninurta took the grey-metal platter and muttered a thank you towards the grinning maniac-come-morning-chef.
The Witch of Carbiox and the Time-Herder addressed the situation in a similar manner and has Muckles tucked into the hot
fare, she lightly repeated her question about the indigo-toned blossom between Boy In A Dress' boobs.
Later, Tibbs would reflect on what BIAD said and ponder whether it's a natural phenomena when thinking-beings look for
resolution or something more mystical. Initially, the bearded-man in the monk's robes had looked on his wife's belief-system
as just another way of perceiving science from her less-sophisticated angle. But over the years, he'd have fallen off to sleep
in their bed with thoughts that there may be a mentally-whispered plan of numen, a way that speaks to the id in all of us.
But that was later.
Boy In A Dress placed three mugs -one a refill of course, beside the customers of 'BIAD's Diner' and related his Machiavellian
strategy. "It's all about bringing the prey to me instead of the other-way-around" he said softly with a faux-menace.
Ninurta silently wagered to himself that BIAD would once again, insinuate a path of rationale in his own bizarre fashion that
would not only succeed to acquiring his immediate quarry, but point a hypothetically-red-nailed finger towards their larger goal.
"...If the butterfly searches for these..." Boy In A Dress continued and pointed at the richly-painted foliage resting on his gravity
-defying bosom, he ended his speech with "...he'll fall into my trap and be mine" and stretching his crazy grin, waited for the
applause from his friends.
Mucklebones wiped her mouth with her forearm and cleared her throat. "What will yer' do with yon flutter-by when yer' catch
it?" she said, the plate was empty. The lack of a sober answer hinted that BIAD's plotting was also empty of a reason too.
"Well, I could..." he began and then turned his head to each of his listeners in his confusion, the logistics of the hypothesis
had enchanted the Man-Girl enough without contemplating the possible result.
"Er" was his next word before Ninurta rode to his rescue and Boy In A Dress' gratitude was obvious in the movement of his
tranquilizing shoulders.
"I think what our insightful cook is sayin' is that instead of racin' around the meadow in search of his goal, gettin' the thing
the butterfly wants the most is the smart thing to do" the Gunslinger said softly. "Maybe like findin' yer' Ba'al's supposed
indentical-twin?" he formed his last sentence as a query and aimed at the little man staring up at him.
"Billy-be-Jezzus" he's a smart-one is our BIAD..." Mucklebones said absently as she held out her empty cup towards the
now-beaming singularity of time and space. "...We can dry-ass this big-time hoss-head by usin' his own ego" she added
as the old crone accepted the refill.
.................................................
The last of the flames died as Ninurta kicked ash and some dirt over the area where they'd bivouacked and after checking that
no sign was left to indicate who'd spent the night in the meadow, he turned to watch Tibbs, Mucklebones and Boy In A Dress
pack the last of the campsite back into the cramped, spine-festooned machine that cheated time.
Tibbs had mulled on Ninurta's interpretation of BIAD's insect-catching tactic and after pressing some buttons on his enigmatic
handset he'd fished from his pocket, agreed that locating the 'mirror' of the Mainyu's leader would be an excellent plan.
They'd all had another cup of the cocky hermaphrodite's hot coffee and began to physically and mentally prepare to undertake
the idea.
Rolling a cigarette and picking up a smouldering stick, the Gunslinger blew a plume of smoke that wasn't too-distant from the
colour of BIAD's liberated butterfly. "Onwards, Ah' guess" he said to himself with a lop-sided smile.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.