Paresthesia Pt 07

My bat hits the floor in a fun, jaunty rhythm. I am tired, but a good tired. Joints loose and feet dragging just a bit to give the whole body something more to take with momentum. I bounce on my heels and let it all flow down like it should. The hair is neat and tied. I add lack of appropriate styling and coloring equipment to the list of Captain Solar's many, many, many, many flaws. But I do not hold a grudge. The kit is still stylish and cur. The colors still pop and shine. I am loose and flowing like one moment to the next. I do not stop. I cannot stop. Each foot before me is another second ticking on by with nothing gained by its passage.

"Do you want the goons," Riot Girl says to my left, "Or do you want the technicolor dreamcoat?"

"Oh, why did you have to ruin my moment?" I say, "I was all Zen, thinking about time and its liquid nature. Why must you bring back down the real world and its tactical strategies."

"You're starting to get all pontificatey, Save that for outside. I think you should take Azure Dream. I had him last time. He's not so tough."

"I think that you're just, really, really tough. Baseline is all sqwonked up. Remember, I am a soft and squishy hedgehog."

"Y'know, unconfident men aren't really that attractive. You are a fuck machine that can stop time with a batting average of .700. I want you to say that."

".700 is, like, stupid impossible, just so you know."

"Fine. .750. There. Now say the words and then we go beat some people up."

"Guys," Alizarin calls, "I have the bike ready with the files. I don't know what ritual you all need to get psyched up, but it needs to happen soon. There's just going to be more of them out there when we open the doors. I would like less of them."

"We're not doing anything until Beat Down says the words."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Yes," says Alizarin, "I think it's a lie, but I also want to leave and not be here."

"I am a sex machine that can stop time with a batting average of .750. There. Happy?"

"Extremely. Ok, Allie. We're all set."

The engine roars to life behind us and I take a deep breath. The bat spins and twirls for a moment before landing across my shoulders with the comforting weight. I am solid, still flowing and loose, but solid all around. It is a lovely sound, especially with the pair of thunderclaps by my side. She bounces too, on the balls of her feet, up and down, up and down, swaying side to side, front to back. It is all as it should be. Alizarin revs the engine one last time, just in case we didn't hear it. I do not mind. I wish she would do it a third time, but the rolling shutter does most of the noise work.

So many new friends are waiting outside, pointing guns and knives and all sorts of dangerous things our way. And there's even a wonderful old friend in garish colors and hypnotic patterns. And he is now my duty to take care of. He might want some drinks or snacks and I have to provide. Shame this isn't my house. I might be able to offer him some rather wonderful treats otherwise. But that's life. We are all disappointed with our circumstances and nothing will ever change them. The klaxon goes off one last time in a harsh squawk.

"Lock down has been lifted," says a cheery voice from the nether realm, "Good job, Captain Solar. I bet they're going to feel that in the morning. You really taught them a lesson."

And all the composure I have breaks down in knee slapping laughter. Riot is no better, stamping her feet and trying to find some combination of motion that would ease her transition back to serious.

"That's amazing. That's amazing. We need to get something like that," she giggles.

"I'll look into it. But wow. That's, that's something. Ok. Ok. Business time. Serious time. Got to hurt some people and do bad things. We can't laugh when we do bad things."

Deep breaths, deep breaths and calming motions, the weight on the shoulders from the bent metal with heavy dents. It's calming. It's heavy. It is all that I can be and all that I should. I thunk it against the garage door threshold. Head back in the game, all the thoughts turned to combat and confrontation. Men with guns, a man in garish colors, an all-around good time. Alizarin revs the bike on last time and I still want one more, like a kid behind a truck on the highway.

Together, Riot and I walk up the ramp back to ground level, evil, dark things in our mind and wishes for the option of violence.

"Evil doers," yells the man on the other side of the lawn, "You have trespassed on the sacred sanctum of our illustrious guild. I cannot even imagine what trespasses have transpired inside. Prepare to give yourselves over quietly."

Azure Dream stands proudly, for there is no other way he has learned to stand. Color, the man has color pouring from him in perfect syncopated spirals. It's too noisy. Ultra-Violence goes for a similar psychedelia, but she knows the importance of neutral space. Azure doesn't. It is noise for the sake of noise, stripes clashing against dots, plaid on plaid, all of it colliding with no real artistry.

"We're just house hunting buddy," I say, "Our place is getting a bit too small for us. This just came up for sale, right? With the way the market is, I just thought we'd get a head start. You know how it is."

Riot smiles. I can feel it. The men behind the color cacophony all have guns pointed at us. It makes the whole thing just a bit more exciting. I barely even registered them with the rainbow affliction before us, still pontificating.

"You have entered a sacred place," Azure shouts with dramatic posing, "Your presence is a stain, a mark against the sacred ground of justice."

"You're using sacred too much," Riot says, "Try sanctimonious. Or hallowed. Precious and revered might also work. But get fancy with it. Feel it out."

"Now, would you mind getting out of our way?" I ask, the words dancing through a polite smile, "The meter's running and we got places to be."

I admire the thumbs' ability to remain calm. I would have shot by now, if only to shut me up. Even as the roar of an engine comes from the garage's maw, they remain dead focused on us. That particular threat is something to ignore.

But my admiration runs thin. I was telling the truth. We have places to be, things to do, people to meet, very important errands that mostly involve not being here. They also involve a bed and a nap and maybe something to eat. So, I have to take action and actually do something to remedy my situation.

The thumbs look more or less the same once they are robbed of all the color in the world. White armor helps, melding into wide shoulders and a streamlined physique, gunmetal gray rifles still trained and centered. Azure thankfully does not. He looks like TV static, now that there is no pigment to break up his shape. Smug TV static, full of righteous fury at other people for having the audacity to exist. Or something. His eyes are behind an iridescent oil smear of a mask, so any emotion that requires the eyes is hidden.

I take my leisurely time, strolling up the unkempt grass. I spot another dragonfly frozen to its perch as I walk. I like this bug. I wish him well. May he live the full year and have many tasty trash piles to feast on.

My bat twirls once again in my hands, as I line up the shot. Feet rooted, shoulders back, grip tight, but not too tight, I exhale and the world simply becomes a point in space just beyond the poor sap's noggin.

It's a swing and a miss. One strike down and I have to call a time out.

There is a head. In that head, is a skull. In that skull, is a brain. On the other side of the equation, is a hand. In that hand, is a bat. And when said bat meets said head, the brain, through the transitive property, should be scrambled. But the bat didn't meet the head, despite the both of them occupying the same space at the same time, one of which was traveling at a ludicrous speed.

So, a brain has not been scrambled, no connection was made and my hand can't seem to touch him. It's like poking a cloud, although I would figure a cloud would at least start to morph and shift around an intruding digit. I am confused. I hit the apparition one more time, right between the legs, just to be sure. There is no contact, so I move onto phase two of my plan. Each and every one of the thumbs now has their safeties on. They were pointing guns at me and my girlfriend. I do not think they realize how dangerous that could be. They are not responsible gun owners. Their fingers are even on the triggers. Never held a gun in my life, but I at least understand the concept of trigger discipline.

Riot has me by her side again like nothing ever happened. I am smiling like I was there the whole time. Color comes back with the movement of the second hand, benefiting some more than others.

"So, Azure's a ghost or something," I whisper, "Is there anything he can actually do to us?"

"Oh, I can do plenty, foul villain," says Riot in a surprisingly masculine voice. I like it, oddly enough. It fits her. Something to consider once this is all said and done.

There is a punch to my stomach and I don't like that sort of thing. It hurts, and I don't like things that hurt. But it has happened to me and there is no point in dwelling on the past. It is not a Riot punch though. That would be a smidgen more uncomfortable. I just have to deal with a normal punch from a rather fit man. Who looks like an incredibly attractive woman who I have had relations with. Something else to consider when it is all said and done.

The pull of the gray world does not come to me. It is too far gone. Not enough tribute in the land of color and hue to lend it all the strength it needs. But I have time. Even now, I am a man with a blunt object. That is more than a man without. I hear a series of clicks scatter through the silent grass and I realize my tricks worked after all. I am glad I did that. They really didn't know how dangerous their toys can be.

"Even though I know it's a trick," I cough, "I have to admit it feels bad what I'm about to do. I don't like hitting people I like."

"Congratulations," says the Azure Girl, "Even the lowest of the low has some modicum of chivalry."

"Oh no, I'll hit a woman any day of the week. Just not that one. I like that one."

And hit the woman I like, I do. In theory. Once again, all the various parts do not equal their sum. It is a static cloud and whistling wind that I hit with at least a double, maybe a triple wind assisted.

He laughs. He laughs and I have to admire the moxie. He's fun. I like him. Really needs to loosen up, maybe tone down the pomp and circumstance, but he laughs. That's always a good time.

"That's a good trick man, a really good trick," I sigh, "I like that."

The Riot Dream laughs again and shifts and sways. The pull is back, but I wait. I am a patient boy.

Loud, the world is loud. I cannot see it, but I hear the motorcycle's engine roar up the ramp and take flight. The Riot Dream, Azure Girl flinches and I take another swing. Two strikes now, and I am sure that the thing I am looking at is not real in any sense of the world. So, I simply ignore it. I start edging towards the engine. My eyes glued to the shape, just on the off chance that it might be something tangible and I am being outplayed. Outplayed more than I already am. I tug at my collar. I don't remember the day being so hot.

"Coward," says the mocking voice of no actual throat, "Coward. Coward."

"Weakling. Chicken. Deserter if you want to bring my past into this," I say, "you really need to read more. I have a book list. Have you heard of Kierkegaard? Riot likes him."

"None of that changes what you are," says the ghost, "You are somehow who refused to live up to the mantle of justice. You heard the call and balked at its dulcet tones."

"I don't like the dulcet tones, man. Give me a guitar and drums and a dude who can't sing. That's always so much better."

What little I have of my warrior instincts tells me to duck and I do. And to everyone's surprise, it works. I do not get hit upside the head with a wayward punch. I like that. I like not getting punched in the head.

I follow the motion and push my body in the direction of the blow. From nowhere, it came from nowhere. There is no body there, no other person. I turn and find a ghost of TV static staring back at me for the briefest of seconds. It fades. It all fades and I am looking at nothing. I twirl the bat. It makes me feel better. The sun is beating down on me and I know I am going to burn.

My better half seems to be faring better. I cannot see her, but there is the incessant rolling thunder of her blows. Ducking and weaving, pulling apart the discipline and training with raw strength. She is good at that. She is always good at that. And I still hear that wonderful engine noise roaring in the horizon, circling like a shark in the sea of grass. I would like to ride on said noise, feel the rumble between my thighs. The engine stills and goes down to a low roar.

"Beat," shouts Alizarin over the cracks of the engine, "What are you doing? We got to go. Now."

"I'm doing my best. Our friend's a slippery one."

"What are you talking about? You've been flailing around like a jackass for the past 10 minutes. Get on."

"I can't see the bike, Alizarin."

"Are you high? I just set the entire field on fire. Get on."

A sharp jagged hand hits me in the back and I go tumbling forward. I hang suspended in the air and there is that wonderful purr of engine and metal. I smell smoke for the first time. I smell smoke and my eyes start watering.

The engine revs up again and we all rocket forward. I can't see. I can't see because there are blank walls and swirling colors until I can't see. Spiked jagged hands keep me steady and another body stacks next to me. From above and below, there is soft rumbling. I am dizzy, but the soft press of weigh from above and below brings some clarity.

The bike takes us past the open chain link fence and smashed checkpoint until we are back in the open air. I look back and see the field indeed up in flames, black smoke coiling the sky. Riot is sitting on top of me, arms around Alizarin. She's driving us all away, back to the city. Shame. I actually had the money for a return ticket on the train.

---

We get 20 minutes out before we have to shift positions. I am many things, but I am not a good seat for any extended road trips. Riot takes point. I have my arms around her waist. Alizarin is in a weird makeshift side car made out of her spiky friend. If anything, she seems the most comfortable out of all of us.

But it is a country ride through the mountains on one of the most impressive pieces of machinery I have ever seen. It is smooth, translucent, almost invisible in glass plates angled and slitted together. The pistons rumble and roar with the thought of a twisted wrist. Riot takes to it well. She looks good on a bike. And I look good with my arms around her waist. And Alizarin looks good lounging around and not doing much of anything. The bag of stolen paper files keeps hitting my back when she Riot takes the corners a bit too hard. The more electronic versions are still being siphoned off by a Doppel. The fire should make sure that no one interrupts it. And, if it all works out well, then the house will melt and the natural world can fully claim what it rightfully owns.

I hold on tight and keep my mind calm. We won. But the victory isn't finalized until we are back in the warehouse, out of the kit, comfy clothes on and the exhaustion of the day finally collapsing in on us all.

It's nice, the extended stretch of road ahead of us, the constant noise of the engine, the ever-present press of a body in front of me. It's calming, long roads and fresh air. A little hot for my tastes but nothing is ever perfect. I squeeze her a bit tighter. We are all rocketing forward on a garish space age dream that purrs and roars like a jungle cat. I should get my license. If this is what driving can be like, then we should do it more often. Relaxing, in its own way. At the very least, it seems like a good skill to have. Riot seems to like it. I close my eyes. There is nothing out there for me that can be as accepting as the toned back and thrumming core in front of me.

We must be back in the city by the time I open my eyes. People are honking at us because no one has any patience. I think someone even gives us the finger. Several of them, one after another. We are stopped in the middle of the street, because we are being stopped by someone on the curb. She is shouting at us and I think she is the angriest thing in the entire city.

Alizarin looks like a scared dog, hunched over and small, looking up with big eyes at her mother. The eye trick doesn't work when it's a demon face. I poke Riot a bit, just to get her to move. I don't want to keep the good people of the city still. Things need to hustle and bustle. Reluctantly, she creeps closer to the dressing down. We are now officially in the radius.

I am ashamed to say I understand little to nothing that is being said. It is too fast, too clipped, too incredulous at the stupidity displayed. She is causing a scene, but there is no reason to stop. She wants a scene, just to make this whole thing a bit more painful. Riot and I just have the moment to watch. Part of me wants to leave, but that would be cruel to an excessive degree.

Alessandra tries to get in a few words, but her mother has far too many, enough to blot out the sky with their rapid-fire downpour. I take a few moments to gather myself. I am not done with terrible ideas for the day, it seems.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I say with all the politeness I can scavenge.

It is an odd thing to be sworn at in a language I don't understand. I know she is livid at who I am, what I am, what I did, what I will do, what I could do, every single facet of my being. But I don't get any of the actual meaning. There are words I know and they are not pretty, but I am lost as to the details.

"Ma'am," I say over the tirade, "I don't speak Spanish."

She takes a deep breath, not to calm herself. She needs a moment to draw the extra energy to fully lay into me. I brace myself.

"What the absolute Hell are you doing with my daughter?" she seethes "What gave you the right to take her on this asinine trip? What is your plan? What is your goal? I don't care who you are. I will tan your hide. I will beat you there is not a shred of bone left in your body. You have no idea what you are messing with, young man."

"Ma'am, I- "

"Do not call me ma'am. Just sit there and take this. It is the best thing you're going to get all your life. That's what you needed. Someone to take you down. Oh, I bet that never happened to you before. Spoiled little brat that decided the world was his for the taking. What's in that bag, huh? Money, jewels, silverware. My lord, I let you in my home, my kitchen. I fed you and now you do something like this. I should have made you starve. I should have tossed you to the dogs. I should have carved you and served you for dinner."

She takes a breath and I do not have the audacity to interject.

"We came to this city- "

I take the moment and let it all fade to gray. Her anger is honestly fascinating. It plays with the wrinkles on her face, twirling them, swirling them, gnarling them. I look to her daughter and I can't help but see some similarities start to emerge. Fun things always have a way of making themselves known in the stopped time.

Thoughts, intrusive ones that I am not sure are quite appropriate enter my mind. Mostly of running away and hiding and never coming back out. But I have another person to consider and a shamed demon to think about, so I meet halfway.

I pick up the screaming mom and start carrying her away from the road. I do not appreciate the spotlight for this particular show. I would much prefer my own hidey hole, but the restaurant behind us will work just as well. The red chili lights will not judge me. Alizarin, as well, is carried and placed a respectful distance from her mother and I have to take a break. Alizarin is heavy. There are two things in one body, so I assume most of the weight comes from the sparkling ruby friend. And I wheel in the motorcycle with a Riot Girl on top for good measure. The sign on the door gets flipped to close and I sigh.