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jack_babalonContinued from chapter 3 & From Chapter 4
It's not Magick.
It's not phsyics.
It's an accessing of the zero-space between any two actualities. A deconsturctive no-mans land, whereby two people can occupy the same time-space coordinates by allowing one to 'hide' in the Ghost Womb - an eigenstate membrane that exists between the overlap of parallel possibilities. Once stepped out of, it allows one to trade places with the other person. A Gemini Switch. Trish knows it as 'Riding the void'. Nikki prefers to call it 'The Schrödinger Bop'.
From inside the Ghost Womb Trish, intangible, invisible, a ghost passenger now, watches Nikki rise out of a crouch, her forefinger pressed to her lips. The Angels pause in their crawling advance along the surface of the wall, tilting their heads and sniffing the air. They can sense Trish still but cannot locate her. Using this brief moment of confusion Nikki begins her dance. The moves are Raqs Sharqi from below the waist and Shao-lin above. A physical alchemy between seduction and combat. Her hands are covered in an elaborate mehndi incorporating an intricate weaving between traditional patterns of lines, dots and curves interwoven with enochian sigils. As her hands glide across the air in front of her the deep cooper ink of the henna begins to illuminate into a golden radiance, leaving a glowing motion trail in the wake of her gestures.
One of the Angels growls, filling her head with the echo of an army of cellos being tortured with saws. It launches off the wall, it's wing spread covering the width of the hallways and coming straight for Nikki with blinding speed.
Just like she wanted.
She shifts her hips into a curve and one hand hangs still in front of her chest in a Vitarka mudrā, while the other gracefully traces a golden slash across the space between her and the charging angel.
The angel swoops in and crashes into an invisible wall just outside Nikki's reach. The impact reverbetates and the air around her suddenly shimmers with a thousand golden curling lines, dots, sigils, interconnecting and receding, impossibly, at all points into a spider web of fractal patterns.
The other Angel throws it head back, unhinges it's jaw and releases a stream of raw white light towards an unflinching Nikki. The light is not the white of ego death or after life visions of bliss. It is the light of police flashflights flooding your face when you've been pulled over, the humming glow of halogen office lights, a single bulb with too many watts on an empty room. The light splashes against the fractal web, revealing briefly the bubble curves of it's perimeter.
The charging angel lifts itself up, pounds with the flats of it's fists against the surface of fractal web. There is the percussive din of muffled artillery, followed by a hissing scream of unearthly pain. The angel steps back, it's fists smoking where it struck the web. Nikki leans in close to it's 'face', smiles and waves her middle finger between it's eyes.
"Fuck you you fucking space eunuch" she whispers then laughs when it tries to grab her resulting in a burst of anquished screaming.
"That'll hold 'em" Nikki tells Trish.
'How long?' she hears Trish's voice in the back of her consciousness.
The Angel sticks it's palms face out, squeezes them between an opening between the patterns, there is a sizzling sound, blood colored smoke rising from it's fingers and another scream more rage than pain. It begins to pry an opening from the space between the fractal lines.
"Not long. Wanna switch? You're faster" and without waiting for an answer Nikki puts one foot behind the other, twists, turns and Trish steps out of the zero space as Nikki steps in.
She can't see the web but she can see the angels grip tearing a larger hole in the web. It sticks it's head through it and releases another burst of light that just misses her by inches. She doesn't think about it. She turns around and sprints down the hall towards the fire exit. She can hear the grinding of steel being torn open. Another blur of light comes at her, she blocks it by flinging the exit door wide open, it ignites into flames but it doesn't matter she is racing down the exit now, grabbing the bannister and vaulting over one set of stairs to the next, repeating the process, taking a single flight in one leap after the other.
At the top of the exit the two angels land. They look at one another. Nod in silent agreement. Their wings spread open and there is a soft sizzling sound as they sink through the floor and plummet down after her.
*****
"Suddenly you have nothing to say... heh" the angel says with Sam's voice, "no bon motts to offer Mr. Last, no witty rejoinders...?"
Adam is having his face pressed into a mahogany desk. A little more pressure from Antonio and his side teeth will crack from his jaw.
"Very well, how about this. Where's my...." The angel searches for a word with a twirling of his hand, stops and "...shall we say 'Shit'?"
"Ahhhdunno..." Adam mumbles into the surface of the desk, "buh ahh cah geh choo yer mahnee bak.... "
"I don't want money, Mr. Last. I want what I paid for. Failing that... i'll be forced to find to other ways to entertain myself... ease up a little Antonio, I don't want him broken before I have a chance to play with him first."
Antonio releases the press but not the grip.
"It was stolen" Adam practically shrieks while wincing from the light coming off the angels body. As if in answer to an unspoken wish the angel rises from his seat and is replaced once again with Sam's presence.
"Really?"
"It wasn't me man... just ask your fucking gorilla over here. There was a woman. Short. Blond hair. She ... she fucked with my head somehow... must've replaced the bags or somethin'..."
"Another Magickian then?"
"She's prolly still out there..."
Sam crosses the room, lighting a cigarette casually in meditation.
"I see... so i'm to understand that you merely lost my purchase and then tried to use your clumsy glamor to rob me" Sam shakes his head both exasperated and amused at once, " Well... it doesn't matter really. I'll find her but that doesn't excuse you." Sam lights a cigarette and crosses back over to the desk.
"Do you know what I am?"
"Yeah..."
"No, you only know what you think I am. A meek servant of the Creator you've long abandoned or something from your ghetto grimories to be named by mispronounced latin and made to do your biddings. But i'm much more than that. I am an idea given form. An idea of grace, beauty and divine vengence. A representative of you r innate desire to transcend your own mortal shell..."
"Wow and here I thought you were just another asshole fiending for his blow... " Adam is lifted up off the desk by his neck and slammed face down into it again. He grips the sides to steady himself, tracing a finger slowly along the surface and desperately tring to ignore the fact that more than one tooth just came loose.
"The pleasures of the flesh are more... intense for my kind, true, but do not think that they are capable of enslaving us with their sweetness... a shame you can't say the same" Sam sits back down again. "No, what we really crave Mr. Last is to taste the darkness that fattens your 'souls' for lack of a better word... your sins, your regrets, your mistakes, all of those horrible things that seem to define your race. But I am kind. I would relieve you from this burden..."
"Why?"
"Because it's realllll Adam... it's the only thing we can taste. It's the only way we can come close to understanding you..."
"And you feed off of it, huh? So what's that leave when you're done."
"To be honest... not much really. But you'll be cleansed of doubt, of that haunting need to do the one wrong thing when there's a dozen other things you can do. Not a bad trade really."
"Psshh... so at the end of the day you're just another fuckin' vampire. One that sucks out shit instead of blood. Nice."
Sam nods then shrugs, leans back in his chair and delicately stamps out his cigarette: "And what does that make you then? Another addict who learnt a few tricks and thought that made him a magician."
"See that's the part everyone fucks up" Adam smiles, his fingers doodling sigils into the desk surface.
"What's that?" Sam asks without betraying the slightest hint of curiosity.
"My so called 'tricks'... everyone thinks if they look far enough up my sleeve and they'll see the card... and it never occurs to them that's where I want them to look."
Adam finishes moving his finger and begins to flicker, as if he was a movie projection missing chunks of frames. Antonio's hand sinks through his neck and hits the table. The flickering becomes more erratic. He's tapped into a loop he set up when he arrived at the club. Before Sam, before Antonio, before Sarah. When he sat alone at the bar doodling sigils into the counter. Adam's body becomes opaque, a glass outline of a movie invisible man. He can see Sam shouting something but he's already out of range. He closes his eyes and goes back.
He opens them again and is back at the same seat at the bar from over an hour ago. "I'm more Proust than Faust, asshole" Adam mumbles smuggly, getting off the stool quickly, pulling out his cellphone and pounding out an S.O.S. to the only person who can get him out of this shit.
His Woman.
****
Racing a pair of homocidal angels down an office fire exit, moving Parkour style down the stairwell, not knowing what'll be down there waiting when she hits the ground floor - the Ride? More of those things? The law? Trish pushes the doubts back down and returns to pure instinct, pure motion when her cellphone suddenly starts humming Joy Divisions She's Lost Control Again from inside her leather jacket.
Only one person has that ring.
Her Man.
It's not Magick.
It's not phsyics.
It's an accessing of the zero-space between any two actualities. A deconsturctive no-mans land, whereby two people can occupy the same time-space coordinates by allowing one to 'hide' in the Ghost Womb - an eigenstate membrane that exists between the overlap of parallel possibilities. Once stepped out of, it allows one to trade places with the other person. A Gemini Switch. Trish knows it as 'Riding the void'. Nikki prefers to call it 'The Schrödinger Bop'.
From inside the Ghost Womb Trish, intangible, invisible, a ghost passenger now, watches Nikki rise out of a crouch, her forefinger pressed to her lips. The Angels pause in their crawling advance along the surface of the wall, tilting their heads and sniffing the air. They can sense Trish still but cannot locate her. Using this brief moment of confusion Nikki begins her dance. The moves are Raqs Sharqi from below the waist and Shao-lin above. A physical alchemy between seduction and combat. Her hands are covered in an elaborate mehndi incorporating an intricate weaving between traditional patterns of lines, dots and curves interwoven with enochian sigils. As her hands glide across the air in front of her the deep cooper ink of the henna begins to illuminate into a golden radiance, leaving a glowing motion trail in the wake of her gestures.
One of the Angels growls, filling her head with the echo of an army of cellos being tortured with saws. It launches off the wall, it's wing spread covering the width of the hallways and coming straight for Nikki with blinding speed.
Just like she wanted.
She shifts her hips into a curve and one hand hangs still in front of her chest in a Vitarka mudrā, while the other gracefully traces a golden slash across the space between her and the charging angel.
The angel swoops in and crashes into an invisible wall just outside Nikki's reach. The impact reverbetates and the air around her suddenly shimmers with a thousand golden curling lines, dots, sigils, interconnecting and receding, impossibly, at all points into a spider web of fractal patterns.
The other Angel throws it head back, unhinges it's jaw and releases a stream of raw white light towards an unflinching Nikki. The light is not the white of ego death or after life visions of bliss. It is the light of police flashflights flooding your face when you've been pulled over, the humming glow of halogen office lights, a single bulb with too many watts on an empty room. The light splashes against the fractal web, revealing briefly the bubble curves of it's perimeter.
The charging angel lifts itself up, pounds with the flats of it's fists against the surface of fractal web. There is the percussive din of muffled artillery, followed by a hissing scream of unearthly pain. The angel steps back, it's fists smoking where it struck the web. Nikki leans in close to it's 'face', smiles and waves her middle finger between it's eyes.
"Fuck you you fucking space eunuch" she whispers then laughs when it tries to grab her resulting in a burst of anquished screaming.
"That'll hold 'em" Nikki tells Trish.
'How long?' she hears Trish's voice in the back of her consciousness.
The Angel sticks it's palms face out, squeezes them between an opening between the patterns, there is a sizzling sound, blood colored smoke rising from it's fingers and another scream more rage than pain. It begins to pry an opening from the space between the fractal lines.
"Not long. Wanna switch? You're faster" and without waiting for an answer Nikki puts one foot behind the other, twists, turns and Trish steps out of the zero space as Nikki steps in.
She can't see the web but she can see the angels grip tearing a larger hole in the web. It sticks it's head through it and releases another burst of light that just misses her by inches. She doesn't think about it. She turns around and sprints down the hall towards the fire exit. She can hear the grinding of steel being torn open. Another blur of light comes at her, she blocks it by flinging the exit door wide open, it ignites into flames but it doesn't matter she is racing down the exit now, grabbing the bannister and vaulting over one set of stairs to the next, repeating the process, taking a single flight in one leap after the other.
At the top of the exit the two angels land. They look at one another. Nod in silent agreement. Their wings spread open and there is a soft sizzling sound as they sink through the floor and plummet down after her.
"Suddenly you have nothing to say... heh" the angel says with Sam's voice, "no bon motts to offer Mr. Last, no witty rejoinders...?"
Adam is having his face pressed into a mahogany desk. A little more pressure from Antonio and his side teeth will crack from his jaw.
"Very well, how about this. Where's my...." The angel searches for a word with a twirling of his hand, stops and "...shall we say 'Shit'?"
"Ahhhdunno..." Adam mumbles into the surface of the desk, "buh ahh cah geh choo yer mahnee bak.... "
"I don't want money, Mr. Last. I want what I paid for. Failing that... i'll be forced to find to other ways to entertain myself... ease up a little Antonio, I don't want him broken before I have a chance to play with him first."
Antonio releases the press but not the grip.
"It was stolen" Adam practically shrieks while wincing from the light coming off the angels body. As if in answer to an unspoken wish the angel rises from his seat and is replaced once again with Sam's presence.
"Really?"
"It wasn't me man... just ask your fucking gorilla over here. There was a woman. Short. Blond hair. She ... she fucked with my head somehow... must've replaced the bags or somethin'..."
"Another Magickian then?"
"She's prolly still out there..."
Sam crosses the room, lighting a cigarette casually in meditation.
"I see... so i'm to understand that you merely lost my purchase and then tried to use your clumsy glamor to rob me" Sam shakes his head both exasperated and amused at once, " Well... it doesn't matter really. I'll find her but that doesn't excuse you." Sam lights a cigarette and crosses back over to the desk.
"Do you know what I am?"
"Yeah..."
"No, you only know what you think I am. A meek servant of the Creator you've long abandoned or something from your ghetto grimories to be named by mispronounced latin and made to do your biddings. But i'm much more than that. I am an idea given form. An idea of grace, beauty and divine vengence. A representative of you r innate desire to transcend your own mortal shell..."
"Wow and here I thought you were just another asshole fiending for his blow... " Adam is lifted up off the desk by his neck and slammed face down into it again. He grips the sides to steady himself, tracing a finger slowly along the surface and desperately tring to ignore the fact that more than one tooth just came loose.
"The pleasures of the flesh are more... intense for my kind, true, but do not think that they are capable of enslaving us with their sweetness... a shame you can't say the same" Sam sits back down again. "No, what we really crave Mr. Last is to taste the darkness that fattens your 'souls' for lack of a better word... your sins, your regrets, your mistakes, all of those horrible things that seem to define your race. But I am kind. I would relieve you from this burden..."
"Why?"
"Because it's realllll Adam... it's the only thing we can taste. It's the only way we can come close to understanding you..."
"And you feed off of it, huh? So what's that leave when you're done."
"To be honest... not much really. But you'll be cleansed of doubt, of that haunting need to do the one wrong thing when there's a dozen other things you can do. Not a bad trade really."
"Psshh... so at the end of the day you're just another fuckin' vampire. One that sucks out shit instead of blood. Nice."
Sam nods then shrugs, leans back in his chair and delicately stamps out his cigarette: "And what does that make you then? Another addict who learnt a few tricks and thought that made him a magician."
"See that's the part everyone fucks up" Adam smiles, his fingers doodling sigils into the desk surface.
"What's that?" Sam asks without betraying the slightest hint of curiosity.
"My so called 'tricks'... everyone thinks if they look far enough up my sleeve and they'll see the card... and it never occurs to them that's where I want them to look."
Adam finishes moving his finger and begins to flicker, as if he was a movie projection missing chunks of frames. Antonio's hand sinks through his neck and hits the table. The flickering becomes more erratic. He's tapped into a loop he set up when he arrived at the club. Before Sam, before Antonio, before Sarah. When he sat alone at the bar doodling sigils into the counter. Adam's body becomes opaque, a glass outline of a movie invisible man. He can see Sam shouting something but he's already out of range. He closes his eyes and goes back.
He opens them again and is back at the same seat at the bar from over an hour ago. "I'm more Proust than Faust, asshole" Adam mumbles smuggly, getting off the stool quickly, pulling out his cellphone and pounding out an S.O.S. to the only person who can get him out of this shit.
His Woman.
Racing a pair of homocidal angels down an office fire exit, moving Parkour style down the stairwell, not knowing what'll be down there waiting when she hits the ground floor - the Ride? More of those things? The law? Trish pushes the doubts back down and returns to pure instinct, pure motion when her cellphone suddenly starts humming Joy Divisions She's Lost Control Again from inside her leather jacket.
Only one person has that ring.
Her Man.
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no subject
on 2007-07-06 05:08 am (UTC)i really like the nikki/trish vs. the angels bit.
it would make such a kickass movie...
no subject
on 2007-07-06 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-07 03:00 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-09 08:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-06 07:20 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-07-06 07:02 pm (UTC)