Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Faith: The Novel's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, August 24th, 2006
10:02 pm	Chapter 1 of Snapdragon Edwin Howard Armstrong was the inventor of the FM radio. He also invented the regenerative circuit, the super-regenerative circuit, and the super-heterodyne receiver, but FM was his most notable achievement, if only because it was shorter and easier to spell. The Radio Corporation of America, however, fearing the potential threat to their AM Radio empire, conspired to bring down Armstrong’s new FM network and claim the patent on his invention for itself, destroying Armstrong through the courts and leaving him penniless. Brought to utter ruin, Armstrong jumped to his death from the thirteenth floor of his New York City apartment. As the inane cackling of the usual hideous agglomeration of bright young breakfast idiots burst from behind the glowing red 6:30 and hurled Snap McKenzie out of a blissfully dreamless sleep and into the freezing murk of a Melbourne winter morning, it was that last fact that brought her some grimly uncharitable satisfaction. As she bashed blindly at the top of the radio in a frantic search for the kill button, Snap reflected darkly on the flaw in human design that caused people to be dependent either on soul-destroying blather or brain-shredding buzzers to keep them on time. Rolling inelegantly from the mattress, these reflections were quickly replaced by more basic ones on the seeming impossibility of the morning being this cold without actually stopping her heart. In the kitchen, Snap opened the refrigerator and regarded the contents with the bleakness they deserved. The decision that lay before her was not a pleasant one, yet still it had to be made. Pushing aside the unopened four-year-old bottle of absinthe that she kept for when she wanted to appear Bohemian to herself, she withdrew a half-full green plastic vessel and unscrewed the top with a satisfying psssshhhh. She’d had worse breakfasts, she thought philosophically as the sparklingly clear and eye-achingly icy liquid tingled down her throat. Some people, she knew, frowned upon the imbibing of carbonated beverages as one’s sole morning meal. But then, Snap reasoned, some people frowned on young women neglecting to polish their lip plates, so you couldn’t just live your life according to people’s frowns. Besides, if anyone could come up with a more effective pre-dawn sugar delivery system, she’d like to hear about it. Repairing to the bedroom, she yelped as the water struck her skin with Arctic force, yelped again as it turned hot and she realized she’d over-compensated, and finally simply stood there, in the blissful warmth, resisting the urge to collapse against the wall and drool herself to sleep; then whimpered as the hot water ran out and once more her flesh began to goosify, springing forth to apply with some desperation a towel that was threadbare almost to the point of translucency. Ten minutes later, she scurried from her bedroom, neatly attired in a businesslike blue skirt and matching jacket, and flinging back a thick rope of sopping hair to affix a pearl to her earlobe. As she rushed through the bedroom doorway, her lips were moving frantically. A watcher might have concluded that the effects of the shower had not subsided and her teeth were chattering beyond her control; unless they strained their ears and picked up the low stream of ‘buggerbuggercrapcraplatelatelatebuggerlatelatelate’ flowing from her. And so, desperately, flustered, dripping and panicked, Snap sprinted awkwardly to the living room, lunged for the remote, crumpled onto the couch, and as the VCR clock snapped over to 7:32, brought the television to sudden, booming life just in time to hear those beautiful words: ‘…so hands on buzzers, and here is your first question.’ Snap panted in relief. She’d made it. And for the next half hour, that same observer who had speculated on Snaps’ chattering teeth could have watched as the bleary, sleep-deprived eyes burned like hot steel and the timid, downturned mouth transformed into a relentless barking cannon. ‘Belgium.’ ‘Carl Perkins.’ ‘Tungsten.’ ‘Johannesburg.’ ‘Vespasian.’ ‘Orson Welles.’ ‘The okapi.’ At eight, the news was on. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 15th, 2006
9:49 pm	Chapter 1 of Killer Project The guard’s eyes are so heavy, he doesn’t seem to have the strength to keep them up. Black leaden coins, set so far back in his dogged face that I feel I’m being peered at from the other end of a railway tunnel, they raise themselves to squint at me three or four times, only to sink inexorably back each time to the black and white paper in front of him. He seems to have the idea that if he repeats the exercise often enough, eventually the anchor of his eyes will drop his gaze down to a completely different document, one that will allow him to tell me, with a minimum of ceremony, to fuck off. It doesn’t work. Eventually, he has to haul the line back up and fix me with a stare that tells me all I will ever need to know about his opinion of me. ‘A book?’ he grunts, disbelievingly. I resist the squirming instinct fighting for control of my nervous system and try to meet the lead doubloons sizing me up in a manner befitting my professional mission. ‘That’s right,’ I reply, my voice, of its own accord, unnaturally lowering itself to a pitch that my cave-bred hindbrain presumably considers an appropriately masculine way of meeting the guard’s challenge. ‘Why would you want to write a book about something like this?’ he pushes further, his growing distaste evident. I have no idea how to answer this, but stupidly try anyway. ‘I hope it’ll be an insight…into…’ I flounder. ‘I mean, I think learning about things like- about people like this, will…I mean, it’ll tell us something, I think. There’s a lot to be learned about…this.’ The guard is not remotely impressed, and I don’t blame him. His eyes appear to have been agonizingly relieved of their ponderous weight; they stay implacably focused on me as I search for something else to look at. His voice arrives again, a growl in a uniform. ‘You want to keep dredging up this stuff?’ His gaze hammers mine into submission. ‘You want to keep reminding everyone about it?’ It’s an accusation. He knows where he thinks I belong. I search for an answer, and find my spine, abandoning apologetic intellectualism for brusque professionalism. ‘Could you please show me in to Mr Braddock now, if it’s not too much trouble?’ It’s a tone designed to make him feel like a minion. He doesn’t fall for it, but nevertheless he knows his job, and nods grudgingly. ‘Come on, then.’ He vanishes from behind his desk and reappears behind the heavy security door to my right as it swings open with an efficient whoosh. He hands me a lanyard with a pass dangling from it as I step through, and turns his back, leading me at speed up stairs and along corridors, even his walk reinforcing the clear message that if he had his way, he’d leading me in another direction, twisting my arms behind my back and marching me roughly to a cell to keep company with the people I seemed to be so eager to meet. Governor Adrian Rissini of Glenbourne Prison is younger, and smaller, than I had imagined. Somehow expecting a grizzled, battle-worn bear, ruling his max-security fiefdom with an iron fist, I’m confronted instead by a slender, dark man in his mid-thirties sitting behind his desk with a suggestion of contained restlessness and the smell of efficiency. He seems to be in this place by mistake; he belongs in a stockbroker’s office or on the staff of an MP, not in a prison. He’s looking at me, superiority written on his face and a trace of amusement dancing behind his eyes. In front of him sit two fat files. One of them is all about me; the other, all about the man I’m here to see. He’s placed them with perfect symmetry, as if his desk is a set of scales and he has decided to make a judgment based on who outweighs the other. I wonder: which do I want to be, heavier or lighter? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, December 9th, 2005
11:26 am	Yo! (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 14th, 2005
1:42 pm	Television viewers were suddenly treated to the traditional mainstay of live TV, the hasty, clumsy tracking shot that takes in brief and confusing images of walls, ceilings, shoes, cables, and startled sound engineers, as the cameraman spun and frantically tried to focus on whoever it was who had just called across the room, in an echoing, air-splitting voice that demanded immediate attention the same way gravity demands that things go downwards. There was simply no ignoring it. Standing in the great hall, gazing defiantly at Apollo himself, was Loki, displaying both a flair for choosing dramatic moments, and a small rectangular block of gold. It was a perfectly ordinary block of gold. It was quite shiny, and looked to have some weight to it. You could probably heave it through a window with some pleasing results, although one would have to question the cost-effectiveness of such a move. It was small enough to fit easily in one hand, which it was doing at this moment. It was, in fact, a very ordinary, though attractive, bit of precious metal. Certainly not the kind of thing that should be mesmerising everyone present in the way that it was. From all who had sat and stood watching Apollo, gazes of trancelike wonder or naked hunger fixed on the block. Some of the specially invited politicians wiped away flecks of drool that spotted their cheeks. Power has a smell. It’s a smell rarely identified; very few things on earth contain enough of the stuff to produce a noticeable odour. But those who desire power more than anything, who are attuned to the right frequencies, can occasionally catch a whiff, and home in on the sources of the power they seek. When someone really powerful passes by, others notice. They’ll look up from what they’re doing. They’ll feel a mysterious pull, they’ll feel oddly compelled to take notice, without knowing why. The smell is, every now and then, strong enough to be detected. But never strong enough for anyone to know they’re detecting it. Today was an exception. There was so much power glowing within the block of gold that it filled the air, flooded every nostril, curled in invisible tendrils around throats, thrillingly constricting airways, seeped into eyeballs, into pores, electrifying sinews. Apollo was staring in bewilderment at it. His eyes moved upward to meet Loki’s, and his expression changed from bewilderment to hatred. ‘Where did you get it?’ he snarled. Loki smiled in a shockingly unpleasant way. ‘From the same place you left it, Lord Apollo.’ The cameras were having a hard time switching back and forth between the two gods. A global audience was rapidly becoming dizzy. ‘You really should be more discriminating in who you associate with, Your Gloriousness. Some of your friends have the most appallingly loose tongues.’ Apollo’s gaze flashed across to his cabal of gods, and focused in on Dionysus, who froze, cup halfway to lips. The golden god roared. ‘DIONYSUS!’ Against all physical laws except those of Apt Effect, fragments of plaster tumbled from the solid gold ceiling. The god of wine, women and song suddenly found that he had dropped his drink, his girlfriends had very quickly run away, and nobody was singing. He looked, open-mouthed up at Apollo and tried to compose an explanation. ‘Er…you see, Lord, Thor and I were just discussing the Palace and everything, and I just happened to mention the room where—’ Apollo was not interested. ‘Get it!!!!’ he screamed, pointing at Loki, who was still standing, smiling nonchalantly, while all around seemed frozen. ‘Yes, yes, Lord Apollo.’ Dionysus bowed low and turned towards Loki, who uttered one word. ‘Now!’ Next to Dionysus, Thor, who had seemed to be dozing, leaning against the wall, moved like a flash of the lightning he ruled. A huge open hand slammed Dionysus back, and in an instant, the hammer was raised high above him. Dionysus tried to snicker. ‘Come on, Thor,’ he said. ‘I’m a god too. Your hammer can’t—’ The hammer smashed his head clean off. A shocked silence descended as the body slumped to the floor and into the soup of blood, flesh and crushed bone that had been a head a moment ago. A second later, the whole lot shimmered and evaporated. ‘It is amazing, isn’t it,’ called Loki, ‘what can be done with the Ingot.’ He licked his lips and eyed Apollo. ‘And what can’t be done without it.’ Ellis looked in amazement at God. ‘That’s the Ingot?’ ‘Yes,’ said God grimly. ‘Well, that’s pretty unimpressive,’ Ellis said. ‘I was expecting something a bit more spectacular.’ He continued to watch events unfold, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares he was receiving from both God and Satan. Apollo looked wildly around at the guards lined around the entire hall. ‘Kill him! Take it back!’ he screamed. The guards looked reluctant, but several of the braver and more stupid ones rushed at Loki, spears raised. The Norse god lazily drew his broad, businesslike sword and in what seemed like one stroke turned half a dozen guards into fifty-odd ex-guards. The hypnotic draw of power faded somewhat for the honoured guests as they were spattered with blood. The more cautious guards, their circumspection rewarded, dropped their weapons and fled. The studio audience, transfixed, held their breath, not knowing what was to come next, but frightened to move in case they ran into something metallic by accident. ‘It will be no use to you!’ yelled Apollo. ‘I have my followers. I have the power now. I don’t need the Ingot anymore.’ ‘Perhaps not,’ said Loki. ‘But, my Lord, just think what I shall be able to achieve. Power, glory…and, of course, the destruction of those who oppose me.’ Apollo glowered. ‘You can’t destroy me. Earth is mine. These people are mine. I’m not fading away again.’ ‘Of course not,’ Loki replied. ‘Fading away is not what I had in mind. More…extinguishing.’ ‘The other gods are with me,’ said Apollo. ‘You can never win.’ He looked for reassurance to his band of henchgods. They looked at the floor and shuffled their feet. They were loyal to Apollo, naturally, but Thor was still quite close to them, and his hammer was still stained with blood. The world seemed to be in a state of suspended animation. The gods faced each other, and the mortals stayed where they were. Apollo raised his golden sword. ‘Shall it come to this?’ he asked. Loki grinned. ‘That was always the plan, my Lord.’ Apollo seemed to just float down from the platform to the floor. He stepped over a camera cable, and began a slow, steady walk toward Loki, who stood, relaxed, on the other side of the hall, sword in one hand, Ingot in the other. Thor moved across the room and stopped just behind Loki, hammer up. The other gods took this opportunity to slip out the door and start running. Up on the platform, God’s eyes were suddenly sparkling. ‘Ellis!’ he said. Ellis looked over with a start. ‘What?’ ‘See if you can—’ Everyone was interrupted by a loud bang. From an inner door a trail of smoke emanated, followed by a man in black carrying a gun. Followed by some more men in black. Both Apollo and Loki froze in shock. The lead man strode confidently up to the platform, and hauled himself up behind the podium. The others shuffled around the hall and took up positions around the walls. Several of them also had guns, which they pointed at the guests and TV crew. One cameraman stepped gingerly away from his equipment, only to be shoved back behind the lens. ‘Keep shooting!’ barked the hood. The leader of the group looked into camera one, or at least pointed his hood in that direction. “My friends,’ he began. ‘As you have already been told, today is indeed a momentous day. However, the reasons for this are quite different to those which have been told to you. Today is a glorious new beginning, not for a world ruled by false gods, fear, superstition and irrationality, but by reason and the glory of humanity! Today we are all Brethren, and gods perish forever!’ Apollo came to life with a growl. ‘You!’ he snapped. He started walking back toward the platform, still brandishing his sword. ‘How many of you pathetic fools do I have to kill before you get the message?’ Behind him, Loki seemed paralysed for a moment, unsure what to do. Then he sprang forward, raising his own blade. He brought it down on Apollo’s neck— (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 13th, 2005
2:15 pm	It's Not Over Till It's Over While Apollo was making his introductory speech, the eyes of the world on him, behind the temple the Brethren were joined by two of their comrades. ‘Is it done?’ the rearmost brother asked the newcomers. One of them nodded silently, and he turned back to the job at hand. All the palace guards were deep within the golden compound, maintaining security in the temporary television studio. This meant that the small, shady rear courtyard of Apollo’s palace was deserted apart from the band of black-clad zealots, and a long white car sitting fifty feet away. Two of the brothers were working away at an insignificant door with electric drills and crowbars. After a few minutes, there was a soft plink, followed by a loud, vibrato clank. The door had fallen upon the paving stones. When it finished echoing, the back door of the white care opened. The brothers immediately parted into two lines that formed a pathway to the doorway and bowed their heads. The two who had just arrived took a second longer to snap into line than the others, but that was understandable. Assassination could be tiring. Out of the car stepped the most important brother of all, the First Among Equals, the Grand Exalted Master of Rationality, the Mighty and Beloved Leader of the forces of Reason. He wheezed. ‘So here we are.’ He walked between the lines of his underlings. ‘Convenient indeed that our instrument has arranged to broadcast our triumph live around the world. The culture of credulity and fear will this day be struck a cruel blow indeed.’ He turned at the portal. ‘Shall we, gentlemen?’ ********************************************************** As the band struck up and the cameras followed Apollo around the room smiling and shaking the hands of various dignitaries, Ellis raised his head and craned to look at God. ‘What now?’ he hissed. God swung His head sideways. ‘What do you mean, what now?’ He hissed back. ‘What are you going to do?’ ‘I’m not going to do anything! What on earth can I do?’ God snapped irritably. Ellis gaped. ‘What can you do? You’re God! You must be able to do something!’ ‘But I’m not God anymore!’ God retorted. ‘That’s the whole point! That’s why you’re the Messiah, that’s why we’re here. Everyone’s following Apollo now! Even people who followed other gods are following Apollo because the other gods are! I’ve lost my powers. I can’t get back to Heaven, I can’t communicate with my angels. No thunderbolts, no rain of fire, no smiting whatsoever. I’m finished.’ God turned away and stared fiercely at the spectators. Ellis hung from his chains, looking at God. He couldn’t quite process it. An ancient Greek god was going to kill him. This was going to happen. It was going to happen because the Christian god had decided to make him Messiah and then tell him that He couldn’t do anything to help. Once again, Ellis found himself infuriated by the failure of mythical beings to do their jobs. Apollo was just as bad. He had never heard anything about Apollo being a power-hungry psychopath. Apollo was supposed to be gentle and good and encourage music and art. He had read that in a book somewhere. Apollo was not supposed to kill people and try to take over the world. And Satan wasn’t supposed to get drunk in bars and manage an office block. And God wasn’t supposed to have a roller-skating P.A. And he wasn’t supposed to be Messiah, for pity’s sake! It just made him so…and then he felt the fire again. God was looking at him again. Satan was too. ‘You can feel it, can’t you?’ whispered the old man. ‘You can feel the Holy Spirit. I gave it to you, use it! You are the Messiah!’ Ellis looked helplessly back at Him. ‘I have been feeling it,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t…’ ‘Breaking the chains would be favourite,’ said Satan. ‘Vaporising the blonde would be a nice follow-up.’ ‘Use it, Ellis!’ God’s voice was insistent as Apollo turned from his guests and made his way back to the podium. The music changed. Became slower. Steadier. Pounded. Ellis felt that flame coursing through him, clenched his fists…strained…nothing happened…he remembered the pain of Dionysus’s grip. He looked despairingly at God and Satan. He concentrated hard, but on what he didn’t know. He stared at his chains, willing them to crumble, melt, fall away, but they didn’t. The Spirit welled up inside him, and with nowhere to go, no direction to be pointed in…faded. Ellis slumped. The moment passed. Apollo had returned. The music had stopped. ‘Now, friends, the waiting is over,’ Apollo boomed to the world. From beneath the podium, he drew a stunningly beautiful sword. Nearly as long as a man, perfectly straight, and from handle to tip, gleaming gold. A ruby sun glittered in the hilt. He held it aloft, and breathed long and deep, eyes shut. ‘Now it is,’ he murmured. Ellis felt something hard crack against the side of his head. He yelped in pain, and looked to the side of the room. A collection of various gods was there, sniggering. Another rock whizzed past his head and smacked against the backdrop. Dionysus was there, of course, still drinking, still hosting an ever-wispier collection of gauzy fabrics draped over young women. Thor was with him, idly twirling his hammer alongside Ganesh, who was, Ellis saw, firing rocks with his trunk. Some other gods were standing by, to whom Ellis had not been introduced, but he did notice that one of them had a the head of an aged and extremely savage vulture, while another was a stern, statuesque woman with an owl on her shoulder, which, as Ellis watched, took off and flew straight for Satan’s head, which it began pecking. He also noticed a smaller figure, a hint of fur and a flash of red, moving quickly just behind the gods, but his attention was distracted from further examination by the sudden kiss of cold metal on his throat. The sword may have outwardly shone like gold, but there was no doubt that it was very fine and very serious steel. Ellis swallowed, and tried to give up breathing as the edge tickled his flesh. ‘Don’t worry, dear boy,’ Apollo whispered in his ear as he pressed the sword just that little bit harder. ‘I won’t prolong this for any longer than is absolutely necessary to entertain the crowd and cause you unbelievable and unbearable pain.’ To the crowd and the cameras, he yelled, ‘First, the lackey!’ Once more, the earth echoed with cheers. He drew the blade lovingly back across Ellis’s neck like a virtuoso playing the first strains of a violin concerto. A thin line of blood sprang from the skin and dripped down Ellis’s throat. He whimpered, too softly for any but Apollo to hear. The god grinned. ‘Let this be a lesson to you,’ he said. ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of the gods. I now own the world. Everything old is new again. Always remember, those who do not desire power greatly enough—’ the golden eyes flicked contemptuously to God for a moment, ‘—are forever condemned…to lose it.’ The tip of the sword stung Ellis’s cheek, and he felt more blood trickle down his face. Apollo drew back the sword elegantly, preparing for a more dramatic and undoubtedly painful blow, when he was stopped in mid-flourish by a cry from behind the cameras. ‘Apollo!’ (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, September 8th, 2005
2:28 pm	A long one ( Various in Various ) (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 6th, 2005
9:29 am	At the Temple ‘In times gone past,’ Apollo announced, ‘malefactors and enemies of public safety would meet their fate in the public square of the town, where the good citizens could see justice carried out. These days, town squares are less in fashion; however, technology has blessed us today with an even greater ability to demonstrate righteousness to our beloved subjects.’ He gestured to the elaborate television camera set-up behind him. ‘Today, gentlemen, the world is our piazza. The art of public execution is no longer a relic of a distant and happier past. Today, all the good folk of this planet can witness good’s triumph over evil!’ He threw his arms up in a dramatic gesture of victory. His audience, a small and select group of prominent city businessmen and politicians seated in the Great Hall, applauded politely. The Greek god turned and stepped surely through the maze of cables criss-crossing the floor, to the area in front of the cameras. A large platform had been set up, in front of a massive golden backdrop, depicting a glowing lyre on a background of a huge sun. It hurt the eyes to look directly at it. Just underneath the sun and just above the platform, dead centre, manacles hung from four short chains affixed to the backdrop. A long line of stony-faced, spear-wielding guards was standing against the backdrop, from one end of the platform to the other. Apollo surveyed all this with satisfaction. A small man in a maroon turtleneck and headphones scurried up to him. ‘About half an hour, my Lord,’ he said, eyes cast down reverently. Apollo smiled upon him, and tapped the top of his head. ‘Wonderful,’ he murmured. He turned to his esteemed guests. ‘Do feel free to help yourself to refreshments,’ he called. ‘The egg sandwiches, I’m told, are especially divine.’ **************************************************** Out the front of Apollo’s palace, under a bright sun suitable for such a momentous day, a crowd had gathered to watch the proceedings on a big screen set up in the forecourt specially for the occasion. It was a peaceful crowd, love and laughter seemed to be the theme of the day. You wouldn’t have guessed from their merry banter and jovial backslapping that they were all there to watch and celebrate an old man being brutally tortured to death, even less that given the word, any one of them would have cheerfully carried out the deed him or herself. There was more of a tennis final vibe about the place. The jocularity of the gathering was, indeed, grotesque, but the advantage it carried was that the faithful were fairly oblivious to what was going on. Just there to have a good, clean, sadistic time, they paid not much mind to the activities of others, such as the three who had strolled through the crowd, past the screen, and up to the steps of the palace itself Guarding, in a loose sense of the word, the steps was a rather unsteady troupe. They had been drinking for some considerable time now, and although they did possess the capability to absorb massive amounts of alcohol without suffering the usual ill effects, they generally rather preferred to use their powers to enhance them. Ellis recognised one of them as the hedonistic Hellene whom he’d encountered on their last ill-fated visit. Today, his toga was even more precariously attached, and the young women were even more inextricably entangled about his person. He had a large bejewelled golden goblet, which he was alternately swigging from and refilling from a six-pack of beer cans sitting beside him. One of the others was a man who took up so much space he was probably subject to zoning laws. He was, in fact, even larger than the Devil standing alongside Ellis. He was also swathed in heavy, pungent animal skins, and had incredibly perfect blonde hair cascading from beneath his helmet, which sat at an angle that a man as drunk as he was could well have considered jaunty. A hammer so impractically large as to require an entire hardware department to itself lay on the step next to him. He was drinking from a long, curved horn which had presumably once belonged to an ox the size of caravan. The third member of the dubious sentry squad was a quiet-looking, well-groomed man who was drinking steadily from a huge vodka bottle through his trunk. The first two looked up with unfocused eyes as the trio approached them. Dionysus spoke first, as if half-remembering some ancient law. ‘No…’ he furrowed his brow, and turned to Thor. ‘What was it?’ ‘Entry,’ burped the Norseman. Dionysus turned back to the humans. ‘That’s right,’ he nodded, spilling beer down his toga. ‘No entry.’ Satan cleared his throat. ‘We are here,’ he said politely, ‘to pay tribute to our new and glorious lord, Apollo.’ Dionysus tossed another goblet-full down. ‘That’s nice,’ he replied. ‘He likes it when people do that. I’ll pass it on. Goodbye.’ Nothing happened for several seconds, before Dionysus once more peered at them blearily. ‘Are you still here?’ he asked. ‘Or are you somebody else?’ Satan tried again. ‘We are here, to pay tribute to—’ ‘Oh, you’re just the same people,’ said the Greek. ‘How boring.’ He leaned back as one of his entourage began massaging his scalp. Ellis gave it a go, and got as far as, ‘Look.’ Dionysus sat up and examined him. ‘Haven’t I recognised you before?’ he slurred. ‘Thor, do you recognise him?’ He pointed at Ellis. ‘Or him?’ He pointed at Ellis again. The Thunder God leaned forward and nearly fell down the steps as he took a good, hard look at Ellis, who was beginning to feel a touch of nerves. He slumped back again. ‘Nup. Never seen ‘fore in life,’ he said economically. ‘You don’t recognise anyone with…without six dead moose draped around them, hahahaha,’ Dionysus cackled. Thor sighed. ‘I’m sleepy,’ he said, and lay down. Dionysus was closely eyeing the third member of Ellis’s party. The dark-haired young woman in the baggy jeans and man’s shirt looked even more uncomfortable than she had when she arrived. ‘I know I’ve recognised you before,’ the god said, smiling toothily. ‘How would you like to slip into something diaphanous and get religion?’ (Comment on this)
Friday, September 2nd, 2005
10:24 am	Simon ( And Magatha ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, September 1st, 2005
2:09 pm	Nicely, nicely ( Read more... ) (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 22nd, 2005
12:23 pm	And? ( Leaving Hell ) (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 18th, 2005
12:05 pm	More Even ( Running About ) (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 16th, 2005
12:03 pm	More ( The Plot Coagulates ) (Comment on this)
Monday, August 15th, 2005
11:28 am	More ( Hell ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 10th, 2005
1:08 pm	More ( The Messiah At The Temple ) (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 9th, 2005
10:39 am	Continued... Magatha fought the urge to sway back as she met his eyes with hers. The Norse god’s breath was icy and carried the tinge of blood on it. ‘There’s only one Messiah, and you know where he is.’ ‘Really.’ Loki reached out and gripped her shoulder. Magatha gritted her teeth and concentrated on hurling him against a wall. It didn’t work. She knew it wouldn’t. Loki wasn’t your average backstreet assailant. ‘Tell me, then, Magatha. What’s God’s most powerful angel doing on Earth?’ Magatha smiled thinly at him. ‘Do you think God’s most powerful angel has to answer your questions?’ She shrugged significantly, and freed herself from the crushing grip. She stood up and turned to skate away. In a blurred instant, Loki had stood, circled in front of her, grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against a wall. ‘I think,’ he said calmly, ‘that when she’s on Earth, even God’s most powerful angel has her vulnerabilities. And I think, that right now, she’s maybe a little more vulnerable than usual…am I right, Magatha?’ He squeezed harder. ‘You can feel it, can’t you, Magatha? We’re growing while you diminish. You can feel your power ebbing away, all that angelic strength draining…you know you’re done for, you and your touchy feely rabble up there. You know Heaven’s going to crumble, Yahweh will be extinguished, and the old Gods will reign again. Unless…’ Loki showed his teeth. ‘Where is the Messiah?’ Magatha growled and shook her head as best she could. Her plaits, flicked Loki’s face, drawing blood and leaving a fierce red line across one cheek that, as she watched, sealed itself and faded into a frosty blue. Loki shook her and spoke again, cheerful as ever. ‘You will now lead me directly to where you are hiding the new Messiah, and we will OH MY GOD GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME!!!!’ A casual listener, not privy to a bird’s-eye view of the scene, might have been surprised by Loki’s apparent wandering from the topic at the hand here, not to mention the extreme vehemence of his bellowed non sequitur. This is simply because such a hypothetical casual listener would not have seen that the moment at which Loki started shouting was the exact moment that Aafghwia, out of nowhere, hurtled through the air and fastened himself jaws first to Loki’s neck. And that’s unfortunate, because the sight of a Norse deity spinning manically around a city street trying to remove a savage purple talking weasel from his neck is one that can probably be accurately termed ‘once in a lifetime’. Magatha stared in amazement as the god of insects, snarling and hissing viciously, sunk his fangs into Loki’s flesh, even as his body was swung wildly about with his victim’s efforts to shake him off. It was, to say the least, a side of him she had not before seen. Loki threw himself against a wall and should have crushed the weasel painfully between god and bricks, but it had no effect on Brian’s indomitable lord of creepy-crawlies, who simply locked his jaws on tighter. Godly blood sprayed the street. In the recent frenetic sequence of events, Magatha had completely forgotten that Loki was not alone. But now she saw that Thor, who up to now had been standing, still and impassive, like a hairy blonde foothill, gazing stoically into space with a noble expression which suggested that he was thinking about his hair, was making his move. His gigantic hands had moved to his belt and withdrawn the massive hammer that swung there, and slowly but with gathering momentum, he was starting to swing it about his head. Magatha very clearly foresaw her ferret companion being sent into orbit at a great speed, and took action. She put her head down, pushed off, and skated with some force into certain tender portions of the Thunder god. A gasp of Nordic pain made itself heard, and the hammer slammed harmlessly into the brickwork. Harmlessly, at least, to all except the bricks, several of which were instantly reduced to dust. The pain of being struck in the lower regions by the fast-moving plaited head of an angel could never really incapacitate a god of thunder, however. A meaty open palm swatted Magatha sideways, and the hammer came up once more and began rotating. The sun bounced off the silver head and stung the angel’s eyes. Loki had stopped oscillating and was now standing in one place, slapping energetically at Aafghwia, who was still biting with vim and enthusiasm, moving quickly from one portion of the neck to another, staying just out of reach and managing a vice-like grip with every chomp. This, however, could not go on for long. It was only a couple of seconds before the hammer swung again. This time it would not miss. Aafghwia was finished, and shortly afterward, so was Magatha. The grey Volkswagen that suddenly screeched around the corner and clipped Thor’s ankle, sending him sprawling, was completely unexpected. So was the voice that yelled, ‘Get in!’ Not even taking the time to think ‘What have I got to lose?’ Magatha obeyed and dived into the passenger seat. As the car accelerated once more, Aafghwia, finally detached, soared through an open rear window and thudded into the upholstery, picking bits of bloodied skin from between his teeth. The Beetle sped with an unhealthy roar around three corners and onto a main road, where it calmed to a steady chug and melded into the traffic. Magatha saw this as an opportune moment to allow every muscle in her body to relax. She exhaled slowly, for therapeutic purposes, and for the first time glanced sideways. ‘We really must stop meeting like this,’ the man in black said. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 8th, 2005
4:35 pm	Magatha Runs In To Old Friends Magatha was rolling down a peaceful side-street, purple ferret-god trotting at her side, when the smell caught her nostrils. She pulled up abruptly and sniffed the air. Aafghwia looked up at her quizzically. ‘We should be getting on, what?’ he said. Magatha waved a hand at him impatiently. ‘Smell that?’ ‘Smell what?’ The God of Insects raised his own snout and waved it in the air, nostrils twitching. ‘My sense of smell is, I daresay, dashed acute, and I can’t smell anything out of the ordinary. Automobile fumes, cooking, cement, aged animal hides…the usual, don’t you know.’ Aafghwia casually sniffed about on the ground for a few seconds before realising that Magatha was looking at him. ‘What?’ ‘Aged animal hides?’ The angel gazed levelly at the weasel. ‘Well, er, yes. Cowhide, bearskin, beaver, nothing spectacular…why do you keep looking at me like that?’ Magatha sighed. ‘Aafghwia…I am sure things are different on Brian, but here on Earth, it is not usual, while strolling along a dirty back alley in the middle of a major industrialised city, to catch a whiff of wild animal skins on the breeze.’ ‘Oh…isn’t it?’ ‘No.’ ‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, old bean. Still rather getting my bearings, you see. Good Lord, who’s that?’ The weasel was staring past Magatha’s left shoulder. She shut her eyes in an expression of inner pain and anticipation of unpleasantness, and turned. Behind her was a small man covered with fur and wearing a helmet and a friendly smile on his head. The angel rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, it’s just you,’ she said, turning on her heel and skating away for about two feet before she collided with the midriff of Thor, God of Thunder. She sat on the pavement and glowered at the Norsemen. ‘OK, then,’ she muttered, ‘what do you want?’ Loki continued smiling charmingly. ‘Magatha,’ he soothed. ‘So hostile to old comrades.’ Magatha rolled her eyes. ‘We just thought we’d like to say hello. It’s like a big reunion, isn’t it, all the old gang showing up?’ Magatha said nothing. Loki continued. ‘So, my good friend Thor and I were just in the neighbourhood, doing a little job for a friend, and we thought to ourselves: Magatha! Our old pal Magatha, I bet she could help us find what we’re looking for.’ The plaits bobbed as the head snapped up. ‘What?’ Loki crouched on his haunches and put his face very close to hers. ‘We have a very important mission, my angelic friend, and I think you’re going to help us carry it out.’ ‘Oh, do you?’ The tone suggested that the sun spontaneously turning into a ball of fried ice cream was considerably more likely. ‘Yes indeed.’ Loki’s voice was in many ways similar to a carnivorous beetle that lives by burrowing into the human brain. It buzzed infuriatingly in your ears but was impossible to quieten. ‘You see, we are, at the present time, in most desperate need of a Messiah, and I believe you happen to know where one could be found.’ (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 24th, 2005
3:05 am	There's no update to Faith, I'm just paranoid about losing this journal or something if i don't keep it updated. (Comment on this)
Friday, May 27th, 2005
1:41 am	The House of Apollo ( Read more... ) (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 16th, 2005
2:49 am	Gods and Sods ( Read more... ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, April 29th, 2005
3:16 am	Reconnaissance ( Read more... ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)