I called Laura. The moment she heard me voice, she hung up. I put me cell phone back on me bed-side table, and sighed. This wasna' going well. Once me clothes were on, I padded on down to the kitchen. Peter was there, making coffee.

I looked at the thick, black substance, and snorted, "Liquid Satan."

Peter chuckled, "Best damn liquid Satan in the world. Sure you don't want some?"

"Nah, I prefer health. 'Sides, would ya really want to see me on a caffeine buzz?"

"Absolutely not!" proclaimed Aunt May as she sauntered into the kitchen? "Did you have fun at the party."

"Peter did." I responded.

"And isn't that just like him?" May continued. "You always did leave the hosting to other people."

"I had a lot on my mind." Peter defended himself. "A fake Spiderman, in fact. I'm heading over to see Nick Fury this morning to talk to him about it."

Aunt May and I looked at each other, and we both knew what the other was thinking: "Not another one." Peter and I had caught three fake Spiderman's in the last week alone, each being a better fake than the last.

"Where's MJ?" I asked.

"Still sleeping."

Aunt May huffed, "She'll have a hangover, if I know her at all. I'll stay here to watch her while you boys go out and play."

******

With Spiderman gone to see Nick Fury, I was left to deal with daily business. What I didna' understand, is why there was no business. For the first ten minutes, there was nothing. No screams of a woman with her purse stolen. No angry yelling from a bank being robbed.

Then a siren blared.

"That be better." I thought.

The siren came from a modestly sized skyscraper. One that I had, oddly enough, never been inside of. I stopped on the roof of the building, then I jumped off the roof, descending in a wild free fall. When I was past the fortieth, floor, I put me feet on the wall and slowed meself down. At the thirtieth floor I stopped.

From far away, I had noticed a broken window on this floor. I entered through it, and came into a plush office. There wasna' much there, except a few chairs and some people in business suits.

"Welcome, Angus." said one bald, wrinkled man. "I apologize for the... incompetence of my employees. They were not supposed to attack you. But you repaid them well enough for their stupidity. Could we talk?"

"Who be ye?"

"Grelm. Arthur Grelm, High Druid of Fallen Sun."

This entry was posted by Fade, on Monday, November 13, 2006. You can leave your response.