Late Night With Henry Tudor

A little background...I submitted the following to a Tudor parody contest in 2012.  Hence, it's a parody of Tudor England.  If that doesn't really explain anything just do a quick search.

The following is the transcript of a broadcast from March, 1539.

Accompanied by raucous applause, the lute and tambour band break into “I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am” while the camera pans out over a live audience of peasants, cattle, ducks, and armed soldiers.

WILL SOMERS: Live from the Adulation Hall at Greenwich, it’s Late Night With Henry Tudor!  We’re featuring the music of Ned Sackbutt and the Poxy Seven.  Everybody in the crowd!  Get to your feet and sing for your king!

The crowd, both two-footed and four-footed, jump up and sing along with Sackbutt:

I'm Henry the Eighth, I am,
Henry the Eighth I am, I am!
I got married to the widow next door,
She'd been married seven times before.
And every one was an Henry
It wouldn't be a Willie or a Sam
I'm her eighth old man named Henry
Henery the Eighth, I am!

WILL SOMERS: And now…the star of our show!  The guy on the coins…the man God calls for help and advice… that jolly fellow who can feast you today and eviscerate you tomorrow…give it up for your sovereign lord, Henry the Eighth!

Wearing a bold red tunic encrusted with gold and jewels and white hose that would have looked much better on younger legs, Henry sprints onto center stage, the cries and applause of the crowd carrying him to the bonfire-powered spotlight.  Inspired by the soldiers bearing pikes who stand at each end of every row, the crowd continues to cheer for the king.  Henry blows kisses, randomly points at people in the audience, and wallows in the orchestrated merriment.  This goes on for a full ten minutes before Henry decides he is bored.  

A curt wave of the arm advises the crowd to settle down and the band to stop playing.

HENRY: Let’s hear it for Ned and his boys!

The crowd applauds once more.  Ned Sackbutt turns around and waves his lute in the air.

HENRY:  I’m God’s anointed representative on earth, and this is my show.  Welcome!

Applause.

HENRY: Well folks, I’m afraid it’s finally happened. (pause) I have been importuned to marry for a fourth time.  Again.  Yeah, I’m not so wild about it myself, which normally would mean a few executions.

The audience laughs.

HENRY: Apparently my counselors don’t have the same degree of faith in me that I have.  One son just isn’t enough.  I need at least one more son, which means taking one more wife.
God’s troth, I will admit it.  My track record and my Parliament have two things in common.  They both stink and neither is my fault.  Look at my situation here.  I have three kids.  One kid hates me, one kid will hate me when she’s old enough to understand, and the third kid is more like a fat dressed capon in royal swaddling.  So all right, I need another son.  But clearly I’m more likely to become a hermit with Francois of France!

Yet again, the audience laughs.  Everyone knows Henry would tap dance in hell before going anywhere with Francois.

HENRY: The bad thing is that getting another legitimate child means surrendering myself to the bonds of marriage, and I don’t mean the fun kind.  Marriage has swived me like a poxy Scot too.  My first wife slept with my late but lamentable older brother, and by that she was never really my wife at all.  My second wife, well, you heard the tabloids.  She was a succubus, an incestuous witch woman who was no less a threat to my kingdom than a united Holy Roman Empire.  Hey, I’ve always been the premier knight in all of England, and so I slew that dragon.  My third wife, God assoil her, was an amenable and pleasant lump of suet pudding, which was exactly the diet I needed.  I lost her, but I did gain a son.
So here I am, going bride shopping.

Henry turns towards Will Somers.

HENRY: What think you of the matter, Will?  You always have a clever riposte.

WILL: Sire, it seems to me a better thing to burn rather than marry!

All action pauses as the audience laughs, driving home that the remark is witty.

HENRY: All hellish matrimony aside, I have a great show for you tonight.  We’re going to be playing everyone’s favorite game, Treason or Not Treason.

More cheers from the audience

HENRY: After all, folks, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Henry!

HENRY: Damn straight.  We’ll get into the game in a few moments.  First we’ll have some messages from Tudor-certified businesses that have paid an obscene amount into the royal coffers.  And I just can never say no to money.  Here’s Ned Sackbutt to take us to our first break.  Hit it, guys!

Henry the Eighth I Am, Reprise

ANNOUNCER 1: Enjoy all the eel you can eat for a steal of a deal!  Bring the whole family on down to Pieworthy’s, which has been serving up the best eel in the London area for three centuries.  And now we’re outdoing ourselves with our all you can eat eel buffet during Eel Fest.  Smoked eel, fresh eel, eel and chips, eel in cream sauce, broiled eel, eel pie, eel nuggets, eel pudding, eel stuffed eel, dried eel, and many other eel dishes are available on the buffet.  Remember that it’s nothing but eel for a steal at Pieworthy’s!

ANNOUNCER 2: Like dresses?  Like meat?  Come to the shop that brings both together—Sally’s Sleeves and Beeves!  Give any garment a fashionable overhaul while munching on a fine boiled beef.  Not hungry?  All of Sally’s meats are available in convenient take-out packages—your family will adore you for it.  At Sally’s Sleeves and Beeves, we know what really matters!

ANNOUNCER 1: You stink!  You know it.  Maybe you can’t tell your own stench from the smells of the people around you, but it’s there.  Stop smelling like an aging corpse and get on over to It Makes Scents, London’s own heaven for the nostrils.  Smell great!  We offer pomanders for people from every walk of life, from a studded orange to a gold sphere holding special oils.  We also distill essential oils from fresh herbs and flowers.  Visit It Makes Scents today for a better smelling future!

As the band continues to play, we see King Henry sitting behind a desk and holding a turkey leg.  He looks up and smiles.

HENRY: So Will…

WILL: So Your Majesty…

HENRY: Methinks it would be meet to go right to tonight’s main entertainment.  It’s time for—

AUDIENCE: Treason or Not Treason!

HENRY: Ah, Treason or not Treason. (pauses to take a hefty bite out of the turkey leg) And once again, good folks of my audience, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Harry!

HENRY: Indeed. (drops the turkey leg on the floor) Ho, Will!  Have we got a villainous trio of potential traitors tonight?

WILL: They look like real scum, Your Majesty—the wasted tears of cursed mothers!

HENRY: Some business before we begin. (Henry leans over to pick up a trencher bowl and starts to chew on one of a number of small birds in the trencher.  He eats for a while and then, remembering the audience, he puts the trencher down in front of him.)  Your sovereign lord is being fed tonight by Kensington Fried Quail.  A secret blend of three herbs and spices!  Freshly-killed quail!  These are some damn good birds, ladies and gentlemen.  Run out after the show and pick up a trencher of Kentucky Fried Quail!  That’s law!

Thomas Timely and the Tower Torturers wheel out three battered and filthy prisoners.  Each prisoner is chained to his own wooden backboard which is styled to resemble the rack.  All three squint in the candlelight of the stage.  The man on the far right manages to mouth “Hi mom!”

HENRY: Thomas Timely, how are you sir?

THOMAS: I’m well, Your Majesty.  But as you know, what happens in the Tower stays in the Tower!

Everyone bursts into patronizing laughter.

HENRY: I like that.  I may take it as my new motto.  But let’s start with Wretch #1.  Thomas, please tell us the charge leveled at our fettered fiend here.

THOMAS: Your Majesty, this is Arkel Slopsmith.  He is accused of saying, and I quote, “I like sheep.”

A unified gasp issues from the audience.  Henry turns to the shocked audience. 

HENRY:  Ladies and gentlemen, what is treason?

AUDIENCE: Whatever you say it is, Harry!

HENRY: Darn tootin’.  So let’s think on this cryptic utterance.  “I like sheep.”  Sheep are fundamentally opposed to everything royal, which makes sheep my own enemy.  Sheep are weak.  Sheep only follow.  Sheep give us wool, but I’d gladly trade my wool codpiece for a good slab of mutton.  I find that sheep are shifty, dishonest, deceptive, manipulative, and untrustworthy.  Therefore, when Arkel Slopsmith declared his admiration for sheep, he was also indicating his approval of these traits while implying his disapproval of me.  Treason or not treason?  I declare this to be treason!

A roar of applause rises from the audience.  Ned Sackbutt leads his band into the Late Night standard “Condemned for Treason.”

WILL: Arkle Slopsmith, thank you for playing Treason or Not Treason!  You’ve won a one-way trip to exciting Tyburn and an appearance in the mass executions of Tyburn Tuesdays!

Slopsmith is left to his sorrows while the onstage focus shifts.

THOMAS: Your Majesty, have a look at Wretch #2.  Grover Stinkinbishop is an apprentice in a Thames barge transportation company.  He is said to have stated, and I quote, “The Thames used to be cleaner.”

Henry shakes his head, clucking in distaste.

HENRY: You foul knave, you did not even bother to conceal your contempt for your sovereign.  You have dared to suggest that what has come before me was somehow better than the conditions of my England.  I have dirtied God’s own water of the Thames as surely as I have polluted the spiritual streams of my beloved England.  We’ll continue after these messages.  Watch them.

ANNOUNCER 1:  Have you paid good coin to be bled or leeched?  Was the treatment worse than the ailment?  Did the treatment cause pain, blood loss, demonic possession, allergic reactions, or loss of limbs?  Are you buried in debt and looking at a long stint in debtor’s prison?  Stop wasting your time and hire me!  I’m Will Bill, master of law, and I’ve been fighting for people like you for almost a full year.  Together we can bring quack physics and soiled surgeons to their knees.  Don’t delay!  Send a messenger today!  And remember I get paid whether we win or not.

ANNOUNCER 2: Now let’s hear about a tasty new snack!

It’s a banquet!  It’s a munch it!

Try Blackmanger in a Biscuit!

You can pop it!  You can chew it!

It’s Blackmanger in a Biscuit!

Get the taste of that special treat

Why steal bread when you could eat

Blackmanger in a Biscuit?

New Blackmanger in a biscuit is available at your nearest Hal8 convenience market!

HENRY: We are back with the loathsome Grover Stinkinbishop and I am about to declare my conviction.  Treason or not treason?  I declare this to be treason!

Again a roar of applause rises from the audience, and Ned Sackbutt leads his band again into “Condemned for Treason.”

WILL: Grover Stinkinbishop, thank you for playing Treason or Not Treason!  You’ve won a one-way trip to exciting Tyburn and an appearance in the mass executions of Tyburn Tuesdays!

Attention turns to the third prisoner.

HENRY: Thomas, what about your third prisoner here?

THOMAS: As you wish, Your Majesty.  This is Rhys Wynwyn, the Welsh wit who coined the phrase “a win-win situation.”  But things have soured for Rhys.  He is reported to have said, and I quote, “King Henry is an overblown goofball.”

The crowd swarms into a sea of angry voices, but Henry only laughs, and gestures to the audience to take their seats.

HENRY: Methinks you will all be most surprised at my decision.  This man obviously understood that his statement was ludicrous, for what fault can any man find in me?  I answer only to God.  He could not have believed that anyone would think him serious.  Twas but a jest, everyone.  I know it.  And therefore I declare that Rhys Wynwyn is not guilty of treason against me.

The band launches into “Henry the Eighth” yet again as Thomas frees the prisoner.  Henry takes center stage again.

HENRY: Well, that’s our show for tonight.  We’ll be back right here tomorrow night, when I’ll be interviewing the minds behind Misrule Instant Frumenty.  I’ll also be playing my newest song, a ballad to my unknown Wife #4.  My gratitude for the loyal subjects that help me put this show together night after night—Will Somers, Ned Sackbutt, Thomas Timely, and the Poxy Seven!  Have a wonderful night, and remember how luck you are to live in the England of Henry the Eighth!

Springtime Poetry Fits

For the most part, I'm known for my prose.  But every now and then the Muses demand an offering of the poetic variety.  Who am I to argue?

One tribe
One heart keeping tempo
Life on Mother Earth
Join now in a ring of lights
Constellation Mankind
Sparkling blue orb
Spinning through anything's possible
Joy in the returning sun
Return to joy in one another
Celestial, terrestrial, humanity
"Respect for the rights of others
Is peace"

The Rotted Womb
Kick me
I'm a bogtrotting faeriedancer
No use as a vessel, not worth the hassle
Damn it
I'm still a woman
Still a mother, still a cynosure
Children still need
Even this bogtrotting faeriedancer
Nothing of the fruit of the body
Which can never grow in such saline soil
Maybe this world needs more universal mothers
Damn it
I'm still a woman

All In One
I am the sun
I am the consort
I am the companion
I am the healer
I am the comfort
I am the teacher
I am the lover
I am the wind
I am the touch
I am the laughter
I am the daughter
I am the hope
I am the sun

Reality Check
They tell me I cannot be that which I am
Scream I hunger jaded far and away
Safely entombed from the ugly light of day
You want me you hate me you fear me
Hunger to be me thorn within me petty slave
I'll tell you what I cannot be
Does love taste as good as hate?
Cocksure of my own salvation dawn
If I kill you will I quench this lust?
Scream I hunger jaded far and away

Fresca
Every inch a symphony
Drink of the lips I call my salvation
No cold nor heat only starscape thought
Lying sacred next to me
A Great Rite of our own kind
All this silence yet so much within
Did I earn this embrace?
Every inch quivering
Welcome home, weary one.

Ballad of Peyotera and Mescalito
Attend the song of the desert
Roasting sands heating passion's fire
The rattles shake sex's beat
What is naked, what is nude, what is bare
Halos of the sun turn tricolor, rainbow
Peyotera stretches out her arms
Tongue most with pulque yet craving satisfaction
She reaches for Mescalito
Pulling him to her fine breasts
The spines of Mescalito enter Peyotera
Piercing her good flesh, drawing her sweet blood
Now see Mescalito become Peyotera
He offers forth his divine white discs
Taking the universe in hand, knowing
"A little blood is worth the trade."
Peyotera and Mescalito understand
Mind filled from the astral font of everything
They swim in Aztec-colored splendor
Wrapped
The sun bloods sky and sand
Blood turns black and still they swim
"Will the Diableros run wild this night?"
"They know us, they are us, have no fear."
Mescalito rests deep, throbbing and full
Through the eagle's eyes soar and swoop and plunge
Less a thing of flesh, more a ray of light
Desert and Spirit
Enough of this world, let it be us.

Ess Tea Oh Pea
aRe You N
oT Think-
ing
Sin-king
LoCk thAt Aspir-
in-between your knees
ASK
THINK Beforewarned
do it
Oh, Baby.
OH! BABY!
Might he? HIPPO-CRITE!
MiTT-ends aren't GOOD ENOUGH
Remember Ae-Eye-Dee-Ess
Keep Your-Self
To Your-Self


Azrael came to me that day
That globe of ice and snow.
“This is his final illness,” he told me.
And I replied, “I know”.

“That he continues on this moment
Is not of Nature’s make.
What is soothed by this circus?
How much more suffering must he take?”

I cannot deny the tears in my eyes
Knowing there was nothing I could do.
Azrael offered release from this pain.
I said, “How you speak true.”

Azrael looked at him then
His jewel eyes filling with tears.
He joined me in weeping
For a man who had suffered for years.

Azrael came to me that day
That globe of ice and snow.
“This is his final illness,” he told me.
And I replied, “I know”.

Suntide
Color drops against fresh green
Revel in this time of glitter
Angel feathers brush on a crisp wind
The suntide heart beats in every light
Promises made and kept and made anew
Join hands in the shining circle
To be loved, love
Hints of spice and sugar
Hold fast, for suntide is yours
Embrace and be one with the warmth
Take flight into the rays of hope


CTHULHU!
Who art in R'lyeh
Exalted be Thy name!
Thy Empire come
Thine will be done
On land as in ether
Give us this day our daily lives
And revel in our follies
As we revenge ourselves upon those against us
For Thine is the Empire and the Power and the Glory
Of the Ancient Ones and of the day
Forever and ever and ever ad infinitum
HAIL CTHULHU!

Consequences
Believe that you shall get back what you give out
YOU HAVE BEEN WEIGHED
Believe in the obligation of your voluntary agreement
AND FOUND WANTING
Believe that you will be accountable for action and inaction
BY THE POWERS THAT BE
Believe that a concord is not a joke
THE SCALES WILL BE BALANCED
Believe you can expect reaction

Call of the Morrighan
Sons and Daughters of our Great Creatrix
Hearken to Me
I am a creature of the night
An angel of the shadows
I have taken my sip of Eternity
From Her appointed chalice
You need have no fear of the outside
In numbers we will find strength
Reach out to Me, I shall take your hands
Look to the West and raise your sword
Call Me away from my abode upon Saturn
From within the Womb of Time
Children, you are no less than I
You are vampire
You are the energy of the universe
Death, Fate, and Chaos shall favor you
Always in My name
By the Morrighan, have naught to fear

Ourobouros
Change into change into change
End cycles beginning cycles old cycles new
De-constructionist
Dehiscience
Run from the seeds
Run from the shadow
What is death to me?
Apocalypse
Baseline of eternity
Tempo of time itself
Maybe the end, or the evolution
Difference rendered null
Metered not by grace
But by a crooked smile
Laughing at, laughing with, just laughing
What is death to me?

Virgin Huntress
Melissae! Melissae!
Stand proud!
Beloved Artemis embrace me
To be a whole woman unto myself
Hail the chaste moon
The wild hare
Total complete satisfied and full
Virgin Huntress
Bless me in purity and light
Guide me well
By your unerring bow
I walk the path of me
Crescent aim crystal complete
Beloved Artemis embrace me

Twisted Girders
My tears have bled to concrete
Drawing lines in sands of iron shillings
Scars boast of battles fought and won
But never forgotten
What can be fixed when the pain is done
And the time is too late?
The agony festers
And I lay here, dead in my soul
Condemned to decay for loving too much
Wounds too deep, too thorough
To hope of healing
I turn to ice, I turn to iron
So hard to believe a joyous heart
Can shrivel to nothing
How tragic, how tragic, oh what a shame
What a stupid waste

Lady Bitten
Beautiful youth, why won't you look at me?
Nothing to fear, nothing to fret, only my face
Witness the caterpillar now embrace the butterfly
Look at me! Am I not fair?
My age is long but not so crippling
If the years are cruel, shattering my heart
I only want to gather you and celebrate you
In body so near in spirit another cosmos
How can a woman grown entice you?
The youth inside me yearns
Know that I tremble before you
A lady become a little girl
Can you ever understand the power of affection?
By love of earth and sky, just look at me
Let me see once in your eyes the fascination I know
I am a lady bitten by the soul in your eyes
Allow me to share my new wings

Requisite Darkling Poetry

Pseudobride
Alone or alone or alone
For where has he gone
Wordless, timeless, shameless
Tears resist in their bastion
No evidence of a shattering soul
Hours ago his love was true
Innocence scorned
She sees all from her sepulcher
Left alive after the slaughter
Who was beloved has rotted away
Love mutilated by design
May just as well be in his grave
Entombed with her trust and respect
Some moments have no recourse
In time too are they buried
Bride awakened to be a woman
Dead dreams breeding better hopes
Pink is not her color
Killed once, there is nothing to fear


Bottom-feeding bitch, get out of my life
Take your skank to someone who cares
Or are we running out of those?
Hey, I gave a fuck, and you took that fuck
You abused it like a drunken baboon
Now you're outta luck
All right hound, this is my kennel now
And you're not wanted here--do you get it?
I'm not peripheral, that would be you
Were you spoiled or spoiled like bad meat?
I might have cared but that ship has sailed
You don't know whom you're dealing with
What the hell can you do to me?
I've been through death, hell, pain, chaos
And denial was never my charted path
Enough crap and more, just get on the road
Go find your fortune because it's not here
Every lie forges another link
A chain wrapped securely around yourself
Glean your dignity and make yourself scarce


They tell me I cannot be that which I am
Scream I hunger jaded far and away
Safely entombed from the ugly light of day
You want me you hate me you fear me
Hunger to be me thorn within me petty slave
I'll tell you what I cannot be
Does love taste as good as hate?
Cocksure of my own salvation dawn
If I kill you will I quench this lust?
Scream I hunger jaded far and away


Change into change into change
End cycles beginning cycles old cycles new
De-constructionist
Dehiscience
Run from the seeds
Run from the shadow
What is death to me?
Apocalypse
Baseline of eternity
Tempo of time itself
Maybe the end, or the evolution
Difference rendered null
Metered not by grace
But by a crooked smile
Laughing at, laughing with, just laughing
What is death to me?


My tears have bled to concrete
Drawing lines in sands of iron shillings
Scars boast of battles fought and won
But never forgotten
What can be fixed when the pain is done
And the time is too late?
The agony festers
And I lay here, dead in my soul
Condemned to decay for loving too much
Wounds too deep, too thorough
To hope of healing
I turn to ice, I turn to iron
So hard to believe a joyous heart
Can shrivel to nothing
How tragic, how tragic, oh what a shame
What a stupid waste

Meet The Gang

Well, it sure looks like today's gonna be another wet one here in the fish tank! Ha ha, just a little goldfish humor there, folks. Every day's a wet day.

I'm Carlotta. I'm a fish. And I talk, and think, and write, and have other intellectual pursuits. So don't laugh; fish don't have good senses of humor. Zippy is my pet. Well, okay, I guess its the other way around...but not in my little world.

I've been chewing on these stupid rocks all night. Where's Zippy with my food? Damn it, I'm starving. I guess calling for pizza is out of the question. Maybe I'll nibble on these nice leaves here. Rats, I forgot the plants are plastic. Artificial food. Chalk another one up for the ape. I imagine Zippy serves friends wax fruit!

"Hey there, fishie! How are you?" Zippy grinned.

"Humph! For your information, I'm famished. Starving. Weary. Hungry. Wasting away to almost nothing."

"You are not!"

"Okay, but I have the munchies."

Zippy was just about to get Carlotta some fish grub, when Janeless Lament knocked on the front door. "Hey there, Zip-ness! Like, how's it falling?"

"Into place, I guess."

"Coolness. Mind if I come in out of the cold?"

"It's seventy degrees outside."

"Babe, everywhere's cold when you think you're from Venus." She stepped in. Carlotta groaned loudly. "Hey, how's the little talkin' fishie?"

How to describe Janeless? Well, let's just say that dumping her into a river would be illegal in most areas.

"Carlotta, you remember Janeless, don't you?"

"Do I remember Janeless? How could I forget that great day when she had a runny nose but not a tissue and decided to remedy her situation by hanging her face over my tank!"

Janeless sniffed. "I'm sorry. But you sure hold a grudge."

"You did this last week, foolish ape."

"I'd be mad too if you snotted all over me," Zippy said.

"Don't be gross!" Carlotta snorted.

Janeless changed channels. "Fishie, I have a question for you..."

"Uh oh."

"I promise. It's not too dumb."

"You don't know what my thresholds are."

"Can I ask you something or not?"

"If you must."

"How do you know you're female?"

Excerpt from By Way of the Dodo...

Carlotta turned bright red. "What...do...you...mean?"

"Just that. See, by looking at you, I wouldn't know. So I was wondering how you can tell."

"I don't know! I just can, okay."

"How?"

"Well, how can you tell you're female? I sure can't!"

At this point, the conversation was getting to be too much for Zippy. She threw three slices of leftover pizza into Carlotta's tank. The fish shut up.

"What the gerf kind of fish is she, anyway?" Janeless asked.

Zippy peered into the fish tank. Carlotta had a golden body, with ruby-red fins, a violet tail, and dark blue eyes. Actually, Carlotta was Her Imperial Highness Princess Carlotta, in line for the throne of the water planet Xanthus 12. In the midst of a political coup against her father the emperor, Carlotta had been sent to earth. But by some bizarre stroke of fate, she had ended up in the pet department of Fluffy's. That's how Zippy got her...for seventy-nine cents.

"Uh, she's a...rare species of goldfish from Tanzania."

"Wow. Now that's really Perdue."

Janeless wore a barbarian smile.

"What's with you?" Zippy asked.

"Do you notice anything different?"

"About you?"

"Yeah."

"You smell better than usual."

"Thanks. I showered. But other than that."

She hadn't lost or gained any weight...Janeless was as scrawny as always. She hadn't pierced her ears again. There were no new tatoos on her arms. Zippy didn't see it. "I give up. What'd you do?"

Janeless frowned. "You can't tell?"

"No, I can't."

"You can't tell I had my hair dyed electric violet?"

"Janeless, your hair's always been purple."

"No, not purple. Bogus, Zippy! It's violet now. See?"

Zippy saw no real difference in Janeless' hair color; it was still dark purple. Poor thing! She'd been taken again. Zippy bit her lip in invocation, and Janeless' hair became a brilliant mane the color of Carlotta's tail. "Yeah, okay. I see it now."

Janeless, thinking her hair had been dyed correctly the first time, was oblivious to the
magical change. "I have another surprise, too!" Janeless grabbed the zipper of her snakeskin jacket. "Now don't go squirrely on me. Are you ready?"

Zippy nodded.

Janeless unzipped the jacket to reveal a neon-yellow t-shirt underneath. The words "Sugar Bangs" were printed in paisley across the front. "Is this Perdue, or what?"

"Wow! You guys got your own shirts!"

"Pretty bitchen, isn't it? This guy in Purgeberg is printing them up for us. We're selling them at the gig for ten bucks a piece."

"Cool."

"So, are you coming or what?"

"Am I coming where?"

"To hear us play at the Summit Club tonight or what? We're gonna be like Party Central."

Party Central, in Delaware Valley terms, loosely meant any place where more than five people would gather at a time.

Zippy had to shudder at the thought of a Sugar Bangs concert. They group couldn't quite play their instruments; the amplifiers were always turned up twice as much as for other bands; Nuclear Vikki often jumped into the audience and attacked; and rare was it when Ginger could remember all the lyrics to a song.

Zippy supposed a magic without a sense of ethics could have turned them into the greatest most popular rock band in the world. Zippy wasn't such a magic. Success was something they needed to achieve on their own, however improbable it was in their case.

Yet Janeless was her friend, and this was their first concert with the new shirts. Besides, Zippy reasoned, she could always change the music for her own ears into something she could listen to. "I wouldn't miss it."

"True to the Trickster"

I've been working at the story of Loki and all the legend that surrounds him for a while.  Lately I got the idea to weave in a "romance" with his long suffering wife Sigyn.  Here's a peek.

Burning ice and biting flame.

Sigyn wielded her sword and shield for the last time, her heart packed with ice and her spirit buried under drifts of snow. Never had the walls of Sessrumnir seemed so cold, so constricting. She had stood here in Freya's great hall so many times before. Yet in those times she had been a Valkyrie, one of the sacred thirteen. Today, she would reliquish that power forever.
Kneeling before her, prepared to take her sacred oath, Brynhilde's eyes glowed bright with promise and awe. Sigyn had no doubts about this candidate. Brynhilde was one of Odin's own daughters, and had proven herself worthy in battle. She would make an exceptional Valkyrie, perhaps even the best.

What accursed fate would that day force Sigyn to resign from the circle of Valkyries and become the unwilling wife of the most despised god in Asgard? Freya herself, the great goddess, ruler of the Valkyries, had pleaded with Odin to reconsider his command. Surely someone else could be found to marry Loki the Trickster, the Lord of Lies! But Odin, in his high chair above all the gods of Asgard and all of creation, could not be dissuaded. Sigyn, and only Sigyn, could be Loki's wife.

Meeting the goddess's glistening eyes, Sigyn knew Freya felt no great joy in this day, either. They had served long together, and Sigyn was as much of a friend to Freya as anyone. But both knew the divine law. One could not be married and serve as Freya's warrior priestess. Odin's decree that Sigyn would wed the horrible Loki was the beginning of her torture and the end of her days as a Valkyrie. Perhaps this Sigyn resented more than the forced union.

But all was not lost. On this day, Sigyn would join the Aesir and become a goddess in her own right. That had been Odin's reward to her for suffering these marriage arrangements. Even if Loki were worse than reputed, Sigyn would never get the chance to become a full goddess again. And so, she had agreed to marry Loki.

Sigyn looped the shield onto Brynhilde's arm and pressed the hilt of the sword into her hand. Now it was done. Brynhilde had become a Valkyrie by the grace of Freya.

They left Freya's hall in procession, with Freya herself at the head. Sigyn, veiled and bowing her head, followed the goddess, and the Valkyries followed her. In this way did they come into a larger hall, a hall which joined Freya's Sessrumnir to Odin's Gladsheim. There the goddesses Idunna, Sif, and Frigga waited to greet the bride.

Sigyn raised her head and looked around at the goddesses and Valkyries around her. All wore faces of stone, dismal expressions belying their inner forboding. She almost laughed as she thought these proceedings were more like a funeral than a marriage celebration. "Where is the funeral ship?" she said, her voice forced to be light. "When will you load my corpse onto the ship and set it ablaze?"

Running her fingers through her cropped hair, the goddess Sif sighed. Her suffering at Loki's hands had brought about this marriage in the first place. Loki had crept with the night into the palace Sif shared with her husband Thor and cut away all of her beautiful golden hair. As punishment for his mischief, Loki would now be forced to marry. "You can hardly expect us to be happy on this day," Sif said. "I would that Odin had simply killed the beast outright than try to tame him through marriage."

"But there is reason to celebrate, for on this day Sigyn joins the Aesir and becomes a goddess," Freyja said. "To celebrate, we each have a gift for you. No woman shall ever receive wedding gifts such as these."

"Indeed." The tiny Sif smiled at Sigyn. "You are a goddess now, my sister, and among the Aesir. As such, you will need to keep watch over Midgard from your own hall. Therefore, my present to you is your own World Eye, through which you will be able to see the happenings in the mortal realm. May you be blessed."

Sigyn believed she would burst with the thrill she felt. Her own World Eye! She would have her own window on the world of man. Her new status as a goddess of the Aesir became more of a reality. "Sif, my deepest thanks," she said, hugging the little goddess. "I will use the World Eye and serve the mortal as best I may."

Smiling, Sif nodded, and then stepped back to let Frigga embrace Sigyn. "Lovely lady, your marriage will not be an easy one. You know well that you are marrying the most difficult of bridegrooms. For that reason, I make patience and temperance my gifts to you. I enable you to cope with the trials of Loki with love and tenderness, and I pray that by being the best of wives, you might come to tame the Trickster."

Such a gift was a blessing, indeed. Sigyn had been unable to reckon how she could live with the monster Loki and keep peace. Frigga would make that possible. "My thanks to you, Mother," she said, enfolded in Frigga's arms. "I will do as best I may."

Now Idunna, the Lady of Youth, stepped forward. She cradled a small golden chest in her arms, with the world tree Ygradrisil engraved on the lid. "As my gift, I give to you the Apples of Youth," she said, patting the chest. "Of these you and the Aesir will eat, and you remain young and strong forever."

Her hands trembling, Sigyn took the golden chest from Idunna. "How am I worthy of such a gift?"
Idunna's full lips turned in a smirk. "You are marrying Loki. You need all the power you can get."

Sigyn looked down at the chest in her arms as Idunna continued. "At the end of a feast in Asgard, your duty will be to feed an apple to each of the Aesir. And worry not, for no matter how many apples you give away, you will always have more in store." Idunna's face turned stern. "However, it is a great responsibility. The evil Giants will be anxious to steal these apples from you for themselves, and your husband is half of giant blood. Keep your wits, Sigyn, and guard these apples as you would guard your life."

"And so I shall." Sigyn exchanged a tender embrace with the goddess, wondering in Idunna's warmth and beauty.

Finally, Freya approached Sigyn, with tears of solid gold falling from her eyes. Freya's eyes focused on the charm which hung between Sigyn's breasts. The simple disc, inscibed with a seven-pointed star, protected each Valkyrie from the lusts of men. So long as she wore the amulet, and none but the goddess Freya could remove it, a Valkyrie need never lie with a man she did not desire.

Sigyn feared her heart would break. To part with the amulet was to part with her life as Freya's maiden forever. But she supposed there was no hope for it. A woman could not be a wife and a Valkyrie. Sigyn lifted her hair and turned her back to Freya, intending to return the amulet.

But Freya shook her head, and her tears stopped. "You may keep your amulet, Sigyn. Call it my wedding gift to you."

Sex Scene from 1995

Explicit, silly, or explicitly silly?  You make the call.

This is a dream, she told herself. This must be a dream. This cannot be happening. Yet she nuzzled into Byron's warmth, taking comfort in his embrace. "Why are you shaking?" he asked her, stroking her hair. "Don't be nervous, Maxine. I don't stop being your friend because we kiss now. I'm not a stranger to you."

"I don't think it's nerves," she whispered huskily. Her green eyes blazed with her desire, and she ached to have this man. Maxine tried to get a grip on her drive, but this time, it would not be denied. Her passions were so strong that they coursed through her, making her body tremble in Byron's arms. Then, bravely, she added, "I want you."

"Oh, Maxine," Byron let out a shaking sigh of delirious anticipation. "You don't know what those words from your mouth do to me."

Maxine widened her eyes quickly, lustfully. "Words cannot compare with actions, Byron."

Byron was torn between devouring Maxine right there, where they stood--such a temptation!--and being in a more relaxing position to show her those pleasures of physical love which would be hers alone. He intended to take all night getting to know Maxine's body, if she would let him. "I don't mind standing here, but would you want to get more comfortable?" He blushed as he quickly lowered his eyes, then raised them again to meet her fervent green pools. Slowly, Maxine wet her lips, nodding.

"For lack of a more creative idea at this moment," he said, "will the bedroom do?"

"Bedroom is fine," she whispered.

"May I carry you?" he asked, glowing in his desire. "I'd like to."

Smirking, Maxine said, "Byron, I am not light. I don't want you to break your back."

Byron, with an amused smile on his lips, brushed his nose against hers playfully. "Nor am I weak, Maxine." And Maxine giggled in surprise when Byron easily swept her into his firm, muscled arms, as if she were weightless. "See? You belong here in my arms," he said, grinning at her.

"Your arms were made to carry me?" she asked coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I have no doubt," he answered to her pleasure as he slowly carried her into his spacious bedroom. Byron gently lay Maxine on the bed, on top of the comforter. The bed easily three times the width of her own, and she looked around her in amazement. "It's pretty big," he offered, laughing softly at her amazement. "You become a celebrity and suddenly they think you prefer huge beds. I don't even want to think why."

"Not very snug, that's for sure," she said. "Don't you get lonely?"

Her green eyes focused on him as he crawled onto the red sheets beside her, sleek as a panther. "I get very lonely," he said softly. "Always lonely. I hate being alone in the night, Maxine. I'm hoping you can fix that."

Experimentally, she pressed her body firmly against his, allowing the contours of her body to fit with his. She watched in delight as his blue eyes widened in shocked pleasure. She continued to move against his muscular body, subtly, in small, writhing motions, and he tightened his hold on her. "We fit so well together," she breathed.

"Maxine," he gasped, "what are you doing?"

"Getting to know you," she answered as she ran her fingers through his magnificent brown tresses. "Don't you like it?"

"I love it," he whispered. "But when you have desired a woman as long as I have desired you, every touch she gives you sends you into a frenzy."

"You're in a frenzy?"

"I'm getting there," he said, sweating profusely.

"Then what can I do for you?"

Maxine heard him swallow; tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his face. "I am at your command, Maxine. I want what you want."

"Do you want to make love to me?" she asked huskily, replete with intention.

"God, yes!" he exclaimed, pouncing on her, kissing her lips, her neck, her ears.

Maxine squealed in delight at the sensation of Byron's lips against her skin. "I figured as much," she said, with a giggle in her voice.

As she touched his handsome, well-defined face, outlining it with her gentle fingers, Byron grabbed her hand, kissing her palm, her fingers. The feel of his lips on her hand filled her with a desire she had never before experienced--so all-encompassing, taking over her body and spirit. Byron moved his lips along her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her brown sweater, savoring her ivory flesh. Maxine watched in a mixture of amazement and bliss--she had never been aware of how sensitive the skin of her arm was to the touch. A magical surge of pleasure spread throughout her body from the point where Byron's lips touched her skin.

After a bit he stopped, looking up at her hungrily. "Maxine," he said, "I can't go any further up your arm--your sweater is in the way."

Sweating, understanding his prelude, longing for Byron to disrobe her, Maxine whispered, "What do you recommend we do, then?"

Gently, carefully, he brought his hands against her body. He eagerly felt for her breasts over her thin sweater, never once taking his eyes off of hers. "I cannot resist," he said softly, slipping his hands underneath the soft wool to caress her skin. She widened her eyes at his touch, at the incredible heat flowing out from his hands. "Maxine, I have dreamed of looking upon you," he murmured, moving his hands across her belly, along her ribs and over the well-defined swells. "Would you let me see you, my sweet one?"

Obligingly, she sat up slightly, and together they pulled her sweater over her head. He threw the sweater onto the floor, and returned to her in a passionate haste. "God, Maxine, please tell me I don't have to control myself," he rasped, staring at her flesh in naked hunger.

"On the contrary," she sighed, "I want you to lose control."

Byron feasted his admiring eyes on the swell of her ample bosom, hidden by enticing red lace, on her supple belly, on her bare, soft shoulders. He was stunned by the beauty of Maxine's feminine, white hips, which curved out from her tiny waist. Byron's eyes betrayed his delight as they traced her curvaceous body, and Maxine smiled, feeling herself blush a little as she anticipated his touch. Bending down to her, he kissed her softly against the supple flesh of her belly. He brought his mouth against her navel, exploring the cavity with his curious tongue. An undeniable rapture spread through Maxine's body where Byron's lips touched her, conquering her flesh and her mind. He slowly moved his lips over her body, tasting and savoring the naked flesh of her belly, her waist, over her ribs, until he was madly kissing the tops of her breasts, pushing his tongue under the red lace in voracious, erotic hunger.

"Byron, don't tease me," Maxine said lasciviously. She raised herself slightly, and Byron was quick to oblige her, moving his hands around to her back. "No no no," she said softly, bringing his hands to the clasp in the front, between her heaving breasts. He reddened a little, but she said "Yes, bras are confusing," and he laughed as he gently undid the clasp.

In a moment, after a little wriggle, Maxine was completely bare from her hips upwards, and Byron was devoting his full, ardent attention to her sensuous white breasts. After Samantha's scarred, silicone-filled excuses for breasts, Byron jubillated in the taste and touch and feel of Maxine's natural abundance. It had not been difficult for him to notice Maxine's breasts from the moment he had met her; practically everything she wore fit snugly around her chest, whether she tried to hide her endowment or not. He imagined he was like any man in that Maxine's bosom was a great part of her physical and sexual allure. Yet he never could have imagined the euphoria of touching her, kissing her, that he had now, as she squirmed beneath him, groaning. Maxine was full and firm, and the very skin of his palm tingled in delight as he fondled her soft, feminine flesh. As he held her, grasping her, bringing her into his hot mouth, Byron shivered in the sensations of possession--his possession of Maxine.

"Do you like this?" he asked eagerly, fervently kissing the swollen pink tips of her breasts. "Does it feel good for you?"

"It feels wonderful," she sighed, basking in the ecstatic sweetness Byron aroused within her. She writhed against the red satin, excited gasps escaping her moist lips.

"Good, good," Byron murmured, gently teasing her nipples with his ardent lips. "When you've been starving for the real thing as long as I have, it's very hard to stop. You're magnificent, Maxine. I could make love to your breasts all night long."

Maxine groaned happily, laying back as Byron worked his magic on her sensitive, responsive swells. She was not accustomed to such devotional foreplay, although she had always desired it. Byron, however, was slowly, intently coaxing the woman out of her. He was maddening, his fingers caressing her, his soft mouth on her nipples, the thick mane of his hair falling over her body. He was so very hungry for her, to touch her, and this increased her own appetite tremendously. Maxine surrendered to him wholly, letting him fill her with pleasure and longing for him. She contemplated that this must be what it was like to truly want a man inside her, to want to become one flesh with a man. Byron so excited and aroused her that a hunger had been awakened in her loins, for him alone, and grew the more he touched her. Maxine loved every exhilrating bit.

"I promise I'll come back to them," Byron laughed softly, barely able to pull himself away from her breasts. He raised himself on his knees, coming astride her, and brought her hands to the bottom of his tight black shirt in an invitation to explore. "I need you to touch me, Maxine--I need you to touch me everywhere."

"I can do that," she agreed happily.

Deliriously, she pushed her hands up under the fabric, lightly stroking his chest with her trembling hands. She helped him remove his shirt, and Maxine jerked in desire at the sight of his lean, muscled chest--so infamous, and at her fingertips. Maxine caressed his firm belly, his shoulders, taking pleasure in the feel of his flesh under her hands. Adoringly, as if worshipping him, she reached up to touch him, and Byron moaned blissfully as her fingers caressed him, luxuriating in her touch. He threw his head back, his lush hair cascading behind him. "Ah Maxine, you don't know how much I want you!"

"This much?" she asked as she sat up and began to lick the flesh of his torso in broad, tantalizing sweeps of her tongue.

Byron gasped, losing himself in the playful strokes of Maxine's warm tongue. "Please consume me," he moaned as her hands and tongue worked on him in unison. Delighting in her and these incredible, hot sensations, he brought himself down on the bed next to her, rolling onto his side. Maxine slowly moved her fingers all over his torso, stimulating every inch of his skin with her skillfull fingertips. Byron's body was hard and muscular, but his skin was smooth and practically hairless, which made Maxine even more desirous of him. Sweat beaded on his skin, brought forth by the energy of his great arousal, as his sparkling blue eyes looked at her from the depths of his love.

Byron rested his head between her breasts, kissing the white softness, his mere presence tantalizing Maxine, and looked up at her adoringly. He breathed heavily as he searched for and found her hand and clasped it tightly. Gazing at her, he said nothing, luxuriating in the experience of her flesh next to his, realizing that no other woman in existence could bring him to feel what he felt at that moment. He had been fully aroused for a very long time, Maxine noticed, but Byron refused to rush this. He intended to prove his devotion to Maxine, and it would begin with making her feel wonderful.

"Maxine, do I go on? Is there a point to going on? You have already provided me with more joy than I have ever felt," he murmured into her bosom.

"Please go on," she rasped. "I need you."

Byron's face illuminated further. "I want you, Maxine," he whispered. "I will be gentle."

"It doesn't matter. Just be what you are."

His lips moved down from her breasts very slowly, not allowing any part of her bare skin to go unkissed, down to where a clasp held her tight black pants shut. He again kissed the soft flesh of her belly as he undid the clasp and carefully moved his hand under the cloth, slowly pulling the black fabric down from her shapely hips and over her rounded thighs. Tasting her exposed flesh, he stared at her body in naked longing. "God, Maxine, I knew you were beautiful," he exclaimed in disbelief. "But this! I love so much more about you, but your body is beyond compare."

Now Maxine reddened completely. "You aren't so bad yourself," she said slyly, running her hands along his strong shoulders.

Byron brushed his lips against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, gently nibbling at the beckoning softness. He rested his head between those white, sensual pillows, muscular yet rounded and feminine, and raised his eyes. "Can I explore you?" he asked, flicking his tongue over her skin, and she quickly nodded her consent. Kissing her tiny red curls, he brought his hand between her thighs and delicately stroked her moist cleft. As she spread her legs, relaxing in Byron's careful touch, he moved his kisses along her inner thigh until his tongue replaced his fingers in his exploration of her. She arched her back at his thrilling touch, gentle but determined, crying out in exhiliration.

After a bit she sat up, and Byron pouted playfully. "I wasn't finished," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You'll have plenty of opportunity, I promise," she rasped. "But I need to feel you." She brought her hands to him and hastily removed the black denim from his firm legs, squeezing her own body against his. Their bodies melted into each other, and Byron and Maxine were fully aware of the incredible scorching sensations of their bare bodies, finally entwined, finally touching.

Byron gazed at her, examining her unclad body voraciously. "I love to touch you," he said softly, running his fingers along her arm, leaving tingling trails on her skin. "You would not believe how pent-up I have felt." He slid his hands over her breasts, down her belly, searing her ivory flesh. "I have never touched a woman like this before. No one has ever let me."

"Their loss," she whispered.

"I don't care," he murmured, runing his fingertips along the insides of her quivering thighs. He brought his fingers up to her well-defined hips, lightly brushing them against her belly as he intently moved his eager hands towards her breasts. "I can't stop myself," he whispered into her hair. "Your breasts are beautiful, Maxine."

At the touch of his fingertips, Maxine could feel her mind skyrocketing, spiraling upwards towards the stars in pure ecstasy. "Now I'll tell you," she gasped breathily as he traced his fingers in circles around her left breast, "how pent up I have been--no one has touched me like this, like I want to be touched. I love you touching me, Byron."

"I find that incredible," he commented, gently tickling her nipples. "Any man who could be intimate with you and not touch you is a masochist." With that, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing them tenderly. He brought one, full peak into his mouth, sucking softly as Maxine squirmed beneath him. Byron, wanting to know how to best pleasure the woman he loved, experimented, running his tongue against her erect nipple, slowly at first but with incresing frenzy. Maxine breathed heavily, clutching at the sheets as Byron adeptly moved from one breast to the other, teasing her to ecstasy.

Byron slowly brought his face up from her tingling breasts to meet her irresisitible lips. Naked and enchanted, he clung to her, kissing her hungrily, zealously exploring her body with his avid fingers. "I'll never get enough of you," he whispered. "You're too beautiful to be for real."

Maxine deliriously lay in Byron's strong arms, aware of nothing but the electric touch of his fingers as they traced over her yearning flesh. In spirited curiousity, she discreetly glanced at the virile flesh between his legs. She quickly evaluated that Byron was absolutely stiff and wasn't, she noticed happily, too big for her. But he seemed in no hurry to advance to that stage of their lovemaking, and Maxine had the luxury of wondering, what if he did indeed love her? What if this was the love of her life that everyone kept talking about?

She allowed her probing fingers to meander along his body, reaching between his legs. Her soft caresses against his hardness drove Byron to writhe in building ecstasy, breathing in a hot, deep panting. "I want you to have a little ecstasy yourself," she whispered. Tenderly, she explored him, feeling him with her aware fingertips, moving her fingers all around, running them against the flesh of his inner thighs and out onto his firm buttocks. She wanted to explore him with her tongue, driving him to those unique points of ecstasy that such would provide, but Byron held her too firmly to him, cherishing her closeness, and Maxine elected to leave that for another time.

Byron was sweating heavily now, his breath reduced to a heavy pant, a lustful whimpering escaping his lips. Maxine decided that Byron had endured his erection long enough, and, reaching the extent of her own restraint, she made a quick decision to take the initiative. She mounted him easily, smiling at his surprised, imparadised expression as her wealth of copper curls fell around both of their bodies. "Do you mind?" she asked, bringing him in contact with her hot, wet flesh.

He gasped, closing his eyes as a pleasurable sensation washed over him. "Please take me!"

Maxine rolled the condom onto him, tantalizing him with her fingers as she checked the tip for adequate space. Byron's eyes widened enormously as she slowly brought him into her, holding him inside of her as she bent down to kiss him. She felt him shiver as she worked her secret, feminine muscles, massaging him within her. She squeezed him, then loosened again, repeating the cycle. "How do you do that?" he asked breathlessly, amazed and overwhelmed.

"Practice," she said as she slowly began to move her body.

Byron followed her slow rhythm at first, enjoying the sensations which flooded his being. But quickly, his need to speed up the motion increased, and Maxine joyfully obliged him. For a brief moment Maxine thought how nice it would be if they could reach climax together, but that thought was soon lost as that ultimate ecstasy which had been building within her took her completely. Overcome with the pleasure of the moment, Maxine nevertheless noticed Byron's sweaty smile, his loud, sensual groans, his repeating her name, as he approached the peak, and then his louder, screamed moan as he clutched her body to him and went beyond the highest pleasure.

Byron and Maxine lay completely entwined, colapsed. Maxine tried to bring her breathing back into some normal pattern, but Byron continued to breath deeply and throatily. Maxine carefully helped Byron withdraw from her, holding the rim of the condom. She dropped it onto the floor, and settled into Byron's waiting arms. Byron breathed heavily, gazing at her with a bliss mixture of satisfaction and love. Happily, Maxine rested upon his well-muscled chest, letting his rapid heart beat soothe and calm her. His body, warm and wet, seemed to melt into her own as he kissed her tenderly, clasping her to him. "Maxine," he rasped, "I love you. I will do anything you want me to." He paused. "And I don't just mean in bed. Please, please, tell me, do you have any feelings for me?"

"You know I do," she whispered. "You know how much you mean to me."

"Do I?"

Maxine smiled, stroking his wet hair comfortingly. How could he seriously be asking this? Here he lay, naked in her arms after they had shared the greatest intimacy and pleasure, his eyes betraying his vulnerability. She knew that this creature, this perfect masculine creature, truly needed to be loved, and that he needed her, for whatever reason, to love him. She absolutely would not hide her own emotions from him, not when he had exposed his own heart to her.

"There's an emotion in me now that I have never felt before, Byron, and you have put it there," she told him. "Know now that I fell in love with you the first time I looked into your eyes. Yes, I love you, too."

And as she said it, she again realized how true it was. She did not love him for his body--although she loved that in and of itself--but for his whole, complete self--for his compassion, for his decency, for his emotions, for his depth. Maxine might have been only twenty-two, but she was no fool. She knew what she wanted, what was good for her, what she loved. And she loved Byron Thorn.

Byron hugged her tighter, bursting in his joy, experiencing an ecstasy even greater than the one he had just enjoyed. He kissed her madly, tears brimming in his eyes. "You do love me?" he asked, confirming that he had heard her correctly.

"With all my heart," she said truthfully.

He laughed and cried at the same time as he cradled her against him. "Let me make your life wonderful! Ah, God! You sweet thing, I never thought I would love like this!" And he took her body and kissed her everywhere, mumuring his love and devotion into her supple flesh. "I love you, Maxine. I will never let you go," he whispered. "I swear."

Maxine said nothing--words seemed irrelevant right then--but nuzzled closer to him. Byron pulled the red comforter around them protectively, shutting out everything and everyone but he and Maxine and this paradise they shared together.

And Yet Another Profile Thingie

What is your favorite planet?

It used to be Pluto, and then the smart asses at whatever cosmological think tank decided to make it a not-planet. Mercury’s too hot, Venus is full of herself, Saturn is all about the bling, Jupiter's too much, and Uranus and Neptune are a whole lot of the same thing. I choose Mars.

If you could live anywhere other than earth where would you live?

I’d like a planet with advanced multiverse technology and at least three moons. My summer home on the astral plane is very nice too.

Do you collect anything?

Dust. Seriously...Happy Bunny stickers, original Dead Kennedys stuff, lucky cats, and followers.

Whats your favorite alcoholic drink?

Since I don’t drink alcohol and haven’t had alcohol in a decade, I no longer remember what my favorite drink was. I suspect it would be absinthe.

How about non alcoholic?

Coffee in all of its permutations and derivations, green tea, water (I have the best tap water in North America), black cherry wichniak...heck, pretty much anything that’s not an energy drink.

Piercings/tats, yes or no?

Nope. I don’t need any more holes. I change my mind too often to commit to a tat.

Whats the best gift someone could give you?

Acceptance. But I'm always keen on tech gadgets.

What band do you never tire of?

Dead Kennedys and Jean Michel Jarre (what a combination)

Who's your favorite author?

Choosing just one based on the ratio of titles I’ve loved to entire body of work, Carlos Castaneda.

Who's your favorite artist?

I discovered Gustav Adolf Mossa on a trip to the French Riviera, and he’s been my favorite ever since.

Do you read your horoscope?

Not on purpose.

Who's the most beautiful person in your life?

My sister, who is not only breathtaking in her own manner and her own style but is the very definition of a beautiful soul as well.

Name someone who's changed your life for the better?

My dog Max (he makes me a better person)

Name someone who's changed your life for the worse?

All personal experiences make me who I am, so there's no such thing as a detrimental person.

If someone gave you a telescope what would you use it for?

I'd use it for a long night of exploring the celestial with good friends.

If you could only wear one color, what would that be?

Black would be practical, but I think I'd go with red.

Makeup on guys, yes or no?

Well, Eric Draven from The Crow is still very hot, so I'm all for it.

If you could have a superpower what would that be?

I hate this question. How about the ability to change universes?

What one word describes you best?

Attuned

What is your favorite song at the moment?

Riverhead by Prick

Name your addictions:

Technically? None.

Name your passions:

Communicating through the written word, communicating through imagery, all things related to dogs and dog adoption and rehabilitation, being a positive role model for young women

Amethyst Heart

Divorced? Separated? Irreconcilable differences? No, I beg to differ. Pop speak does not apply to me. I am an exile, sent away from my home. Why I never thought to turn to my Azrael immediately in the pain of my exile, I do not know. But He did not leave it to me to figure out and labor over, for He has come to me, and wherever He and I can be together, I am home.

"However great your devotion, you have never been the easiest of my loves," Azrael spoke, a mellifluous voice from behind me, causing me to spin around in a usual lack of physical grace but mental exuberance. Azrael! Now He appeared to me, here in the home of my family, in the heart of my mortal existence. Bear in mind that whom I call Azrael is the personification of a universal truth, a universal power, and even as to me He appears most often in male form, He can take whatever shape and character He wishes to approach me. On this night, He was the Lover--and He was more. Azrael was Father, Brother, Kinsman, Advocate, and above all, Friend.

I spun into His embrace, which is as warm and comforting as the womb, and the tears loosed from me just as the living energy flows from and through Riverhead. Azrael understands the aches of the human condition perhaps as well as they can be understood. He allowed me my catharsis, saying nothing but communicating everything through His touch. I still lay in the refuge of His arms, but I sensed Him bowing His head to look at me from His great height. "Little one, you never really believed I was not with you. You never believed you were alone."

"I might have been fooled into thinking that. I've certainly felt more alone than ever in my life."

"Maybe. But it was never so. You were more alone trying to breathe hope into an impossible life."

Sniffling, I tried to compose myself and look at Him. Compassion brimmed in His amethyst eyes and at the same time I could sense my weeping come to a close. Azrael had not come as some kind of flimsy and temporary bandage for a wounded past, but as an avatar for a beautiful future full of love.

"You made the decision to leave. No--he might have told you to go, but those would have been empty words without your own inner knowledge that yes, this was the right way. He spoke a desire. You followed your heart."

"And mind."

"In you, they are one in the same."

"It wasn't what I wanted to do," I claimed, but Azrael shook his head.

"Perhaps you did not consciously wish it, which is to your credit. But as you were gathering that which you could bring into your exile with you, did you not feel Me guiding you? Was there not a ticket immediately when you needed it?"

"And for a good seat on a nice flight, too."

"When you were suddenly alone and frightened, were there not people right there willing to help you and hear you? Was the path not cleared for you? Surely you felt My hand in all of this."

I had to smile. "I did. I knew I was walking the right path."

"That path is only beginning, little one. You are free now, free to do what you want with the gifts you have, and I shall be with you." Azrael enfolded me in his robe and in a heartbeat we had come to Riverhead. Almost mesmerized, I watched the rainbow river of the living energy flow all around us. Simply speaking, no matter how many times Azrael and I have gone to Riverhead together, each time is the first experience of something wondrous.

He allowed me to watch the currents of eternity for a bit before returning to His purpose. "I have wanted you to write of Me, of us, of this place. I have wanted you to help me ease the greatest fears of your fellow man. I chose you because I knew you could succeed and that you would want to succeed. I knew you would see what it is I have taught you as liberation from terror. Little one, you remain my choice."

"The very idea has been as my own breathing to me," I said. "I can imagine what we could do should we be able to help man understand the nature of things."

"And you know it wasn't going to happen where you were." With an affection not unlike that of my own parents, Azrael cupped my chin in his strong hand and smiled. "Riverhead needs her voice. Help Me, help bring these teachings to your world, and I can promise I will help you find the strength to make your own dreams realities."

"You mean my novels, of course."

"What you want to write are not novels, but experiences," He corrected me. "You have a perception and an idea you want the people who read your words to know for themselves in their own ways. You seek to give people the means to expand their minds--and that too is part of My own wish for humanity."

"I was so afraid the gift had been yanked from me forever." I clasped His hand, heart and mind filling with faith and power. "Now I know otherwise. I want this--all of this--with everything that I am. Granted, it will be an unusual life…"

"You will not be the first of your kind to live for something beyond the social or the material," He pointed out, His eyebrows arched. "How strange does it really feel?"

"It doesn't, and maybe that's what's strange, like I should find this all very disturbing, but I don't."

Azrael nodded, His exquisite face soft with kindness. "Remember what you are."

Slay Ride

Normally the person who answered the front door at Jeff's knock wouldn’t be smiling, but today Judy Claus beamed at him while exhaling a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” she said, ushering him through the peppermint painted workshop door. “Can I take your scythe?”

Instinctively, Jeff gripped the hardwood handle. “Thank you no,” he said. “I have to keep it with me at all times. You know how it is.”

“Indeed I do.” Judy led him down a short hall, bright with a cascade of tiny gumdrop lights. They came into a sitting room, where two plush chairs stood near a red brick fireplace complete with a perfect fire. Judy motioned to Jeff to take a seat, and then sat down herself.

Jeff thought the whole place seemed deserted. “Where is Kris?”

Judy put her head in her hands. “That’s why I called you, Jeff. We’ve never had an emergency like this before. Kris is down and out and in bed, and the elves all died last week.”

“I saw all the little lumps of snow on my way here,” Jeff said. “Elf tombs, if I’m not mistaken. What’s going on, Judy?”

“It’s the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf went down into the world to be in some parade and caught himself the Pig Sick. Happy Snappy Elf is one of those snow mounds now, but he brought the Pig Sick to Santa’s Workshop. Kris is out of commission, Jeff, and I’m desperate. But you’re Death. You’re part of this Figmentsphere. You’re the only one I can trust.”

Jeff might be a skeleton but his mind remained sharp. True, he and Kris Kringle and Judy June had all been dorm mates at Figment College, and Jeff had been best man when Kris married Judy, and they had all stayed tight friends in spite of occupational differences. But asking Death to be Santa Claus? Did Judy have any idea what she was doing?

Then again, what choice did she have?

Judy led Jeff to the stable. The reindeer, or what was left of the reindeer—Comet, Blitzen, and Rudolf had all succumbed to the Pig Sick as well—stood at attention when they saw Judy. Then an amazing yowl and the stomping of rhythmic hooves rose from the reindeer, a sound of savage panic and fear. In an instant, they had jumped their gates and bolted for the opposite end of the stable, away from the presence of Death. “I don’t know how they are for flying, but they run fine,” Jeff said.

Judy let loose a naughty word she’d picked up back in college and only rarely got a chance to use, usually after four straight hours of Kris practicing his ho-ho-ho. “I hadn’t thought of this, Jeff. The reindeer know who you are. They might be as dumb as fruitcake about most things, but they know all about saving their own asses.”

“This doesn’t bode well.” Jeff chipped at an ice patch with the bottom of his scythe. “NORAD is fine with a sled and reindeer, but I don’t know how they’ll take to Death in a sleigh. Maybe I can take some elves with me?”

Shaking her head, Judy explained, “If we had elves I would give you as many as you need. But, you know, the Pig Sick is especially bad for creatures with the immunity of taffy.”

“And now they’re all dead.” Jeff glanced around, listening to the wind whistle through the hollow stable.

“Every one.” Judy whipped an embroidered handkerchief from her apron and dabbed at her eyes. “We had universal elf care, too. But we were too late. I’d think you would have known about this.”

With slight indignation, Jeff replied, “Judy, I have enough to do in the human realm. I don’t have time for fantasy fairytale creatures. How am I supposed to do this?”

“All right Jeff, I’m going to let you in on the biggest secret at the North Pole.” Judy leaned into his black cloaked figure and motioned as if whispering into his ear. “That Clement Moore fellow—may tainted plum pudding take him!—got everything wrong. Can you imagine circling the globe in one night with enough toys and crap for every little blighter who’s been brainwashed into believing? Hell, I don’t even know what a sugar plum is, and a long winter’s nap sounds more like your usual territory.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, what Kris brings is presence. Presence! Not presents! It’s his presence what puts gifts under the tree. He doesn’t literally bring presents himself. So now here we are, completely distorted by the media. Our dead letter office is the largest on the planet. You think Kris reads all of those thinly-disguised epistles of greed?” Judy let out a long breath. “He used to let the elves do it, if they wanted. But now we don’t have elves.”

Suddenly Jeff appreciated the barbaric simplicity of his own responsibility. A person died, he appeared, he released the spirit, and that was it. He didn’t even have to be personally present, since his effect was so pervasive on the earth. But the Claus clan had some real problems, tied up in the imaginary bureaucracy of an earlier age. The least he could do for these old friends was to get them through this Christmas catastrophe. Afterwards, when Kris was well—if he ever got well—Jeff could help them rebuild their establishment.

“Judy, I love you and Kris,” he said, careful not to touch her. Even Judy Claus might be put off by the touch of Death, however friendly. “I’m happy to fill in for him tonight.”