[Hereford Eye]

Evan wanted hot dogs so most everyone received hot dogs. Sandra is not fond of hot dogs so she ordered fish and chips. With an ale, a large one, tasting as if just this moment drawn from the keg, life isn’t so bad when you can eat and drink, sit and raise your feet above your hips, dream that you are anywhere but here.
She approves whole heartedly of the sight of Joe hanging from the ceiling, too bad they don’t have a yardarm, that would be so poetic, but the ceiling will do.
Next to her Matt is chomping hot dogs with a passion not indulged for many years. “What the hell,” he said when he saw her curiosity, “going to die sooner or later. It’s quality of life issues we’re dealing with here and I love hot dogs with mustard and onions and chili and cheese. This kind of food can kill you they say; at this point, so what?” She returned his self-satisfied grin with a lift of her pint. “Hear, hear,” she sang.
“What do you suppose this is all about?” she asks, mostly to herself but loud enough that the others can respond if they wish. Emily sighs agreement that this is the only question worth worrying about. She has a job, you know; her employer is not going to be happy about another day missed. With no one venturing into the unknown she voices her suspicions.
“A support group, Ghanima said. Did any of you need support?”
Matt answers that the world is going to go crazy in a bit, the have-nots furious with the haves. At that point, a support group might come in handy. Sandra doesn’t dismiss the idea but counters with another question: “Then, what about all this?” waving her arm to include the contents of the warehouse. Matt acknowledged he had not worked this into his explanation yet but he was working on it.
“Well, this old woman has an old wife’s hunch that this is about a whole lot more than supporting me and thee.”
“You are not an old woman,” Matt says. “You are not close to me and I am old. So, you are not.”
Emily seems to choke on a bit of stray hot dog, the coughing covered up by a modest hand in front of her face. She quickly recovers: “Matt’s right, Sandra. You are not old” but the social glibness is too late to be totally successful. “Yeah, right!” Sandra responds but Sandra is not in a mood for a quarrel. She is in a mood to solve mysteries but no one else shares seems to share that mood.

[kater]

Joe

Repentance comes at a cost, Joe savours the Hot Dog making sure his enjoyment carries to all the nasty little gnats out there, he sounds like a first class blue flick. But he has an issue needs resolving.
Sneaking away from the group isn't easy, the kid's all over me like a rash, I'm tempted to teach him some new swear words just to piss off that self-righteous bitch of a mother. I send him to eat some elves who are putting up a christmas tree instead, he charges away like a bull in a china shop. Now then, I need a place to stash this loot. There's gotta be a good place in here amongst all this hardwear, it looks like they're building an invasion force - the big budget Hollywood type one where everyone gets killed. Won't be me, soon as I get the chance I'm bailing. Turning a corner I end up facing my 'buddies', but I just left them behind, its a second before my brain thinks about taking a look over my shoulder. Even before I crane my neck its inevitable what I'm going to see, the front entrance looms large in my view, so only one question remains...
"What the f**k is going on?"
A needle pricks my ear, someone's going to get it...........
"Now then Joseph," I hate it when people use my full name, "thats quite enough from your foul tongue."
"Bite me."
The bloody critter does, it feels like a huge chunk being gnawed from my chin. I only manage a yelp as he pulls back. Our group leader comes to the rescue.
"Thats quite enough Michael, I'll take it from here thank you."
I can hear the old faerie chewing on my chin piece as Ghanima ushers me away, I hope he chokes on it the flying facist.
"I'm going to ........"
"Do nothing except listen."
"Yeah soon as you kiss my ......." I know I can speak, I know how to form the words, give the correct intonation for maximum rudeness, but no sound. I've been muted.
"Now that's better. Some faeries, as you may have already noticed after your little ceiling experience don't like humans," No **** lady I already have the war wounds to prove it. Its only a thought but I know she hears. She soldiers on bravely.
"Now I like humans but some of the older faeries don't like your race at all, " My utter contempt for your race lady is unparalleled at this moment. Arrgghh brain freeee.........
"Now you can neither speak nor think so listen up you retarded ignorant prat, I want your help. I want to help you but if you keep up this level of abhorrant behaviour there will be repercussions. Do you understand."
I'm granted motor movement. I nod slowly, testing out the feel.
"I shouldn't have done that but it was necessary, don't make me do it again ok."
"I won't." Its nice to speak again and think even if it is to suck up some pride, again. As I rejoin the group the old man gives me a funny look, winks and goes on stuffing his face. At least someone's enjoying this.

[Holbrook]

"Hell, is that our version of the dirty dozen?" I mutter and glance down from the beam in the roof, where I am sitting.

"Errr yes, your greatness... your.... Errrr there is only four and a half." My aide bows mumbles and flits round me. If I were larger or he smaller I would swat the little blighter, I am tempted to do it magically anyway.

" I can count.."

"Oh course your high and mighty.."

"Can it Joshua..." I retort...

"As you wish...." That was too much I wave my hand and Joshua goes sideways hits the adjoining beams and falls, spat right inthe middle of the old man'd hot dog... One mustard coated sobbing fairy and one pissed off human. Isn't life fun?

I take flight and drop down issuing orders as I go, things begin to move..

One super charged extra large, fairy enhanced, Dodge people carrier is rolled forward. I can see the heat shielding and bullet proof spells still being locked into place. "Get a move on" I call, "Don't forget to protect the tyres and make sure all the computer equipment is up and running, the fifth member will need to "see" " Also who has been assigned Ghanima's weapons officer. Still short listing... move it." I sigh and land gracefully on the table next to Joshua, he bows dropping mustard everyway.

"Stop it you creep courtier and get cleaned up.."

"Yesssss... your..." Joshua begins then changes his mind diving off the table

I turn my attention to Ghanima. "Your fifth element..... you have a plan to break them out?"

"Whoa!" Joe's eyes light up.

"Shite" Matt choaks on his hot dog.

"Double shite..." Sandra splutters beer everywhere.

"Oh No.. I am not I have a child to consider" Emily snaps.

"Calm down you lot...You are not doing anything illegal, well only slightly... It's your bloody govenment that is acting the villian here. All you will be doing is breaking "Eyes" out of that damn lab..."

The humans explode now... seems "Eyes" is known about.

[kater]

That damn lab just happened to be the Fort Knox of the scientific industry and Eyes just happened to be the Kaiser Soze of the magic world, only the real world believed this devil existed.
Eyes, real name Randolph Paine, was the first case of 'magic' awakening within the human body. He was myth. He was legend. He was what reporters dreamed off and 'normal' parents warned their kids about, should they be bad Eyes would get them.
Little is commonly known about Randolph Paine beyond his blindness, rumour and guesswork has clouded the water of truth with too much complexity for us to get a true reflection of the human being inside the riddle within the mystery cosseted by the enigma. What I know through the news sources I consider to be legitimate is that Randolph Paine was one of the foremost inter-disciplinary physicists in the world, his other discipline? Why biology of course. His research was classified, totally top secret but he dropped out of his plushly funded laboratory and then off the face of the planet six months before his new ability was made public. Hysteria and amazement were the mixed reaction he received on going public, he was a freak, alone among billions so they said. Apparently he smiled knowingly whenever his uniqueness was mentioned, he knew more than he was letting on according to the tabloids. In those first few weeks where every news corporation wanted a piece of the next stage in human evolution, Eyes, as he became called by some leftist rag and which subsequently stuck, spoke about a time of fear, a terrible event which would scar human history for millenia if not handled properly. Of course the doomsday, soothsayer 'act' didn't run with the conglomerates whose stock prices would buckle under the strain of legitimate foresight into the future, so favours were called in and Randolph was thrown into a lab for 'study'. He became a talismanic figure for those whose abilities germinated and flourished during his captivitiy, a beacon for what may happen to them as the reaction towards 'magic' flowed down negative avenues. What would happen in the future. The future. Amongst all of those with new abilities Randolph is, this being now purely supposition, unique. Whilst each new power catalogued and professionally announced thanks to the daily papers has had effect purely in the physical realm Eyes ability is to see a brief few moments into the future, he lives ahead of the world. A Paul Atreides/ Muad'dib figure for the real world, perhaps we then are the crys knife of his fremen armies, I do not know - but I think two old age pensioners, a single mother and a petty thief a poor army by anyone's standards.

[Hereford Eye]

Evan sits in a car seat in the Durango’s third seat having the time of his life. There is a flat panel display hanging from the roof showing his favorite movies. Difficult to believe a four year old can be wrapped up in Lord of the Rings but Evan loves that movie and does not tolerate interruptions lightly.
Emily sits in the second seat as far as possible from Joe, also in the second seat. She is confused. Whatever is happening to her involves the entire faerie realm as well as all the human realm, that much she can see plainly. What she does not understand is how she fits in, what is it that is expected of her. She can cause skin to repair itself; big deal! What has that got to do with anything earth shaking? She listens to the briefing Ghanima is attempting not understanding a lot but becoming more and more certain she doesn’t belong here.
From her perch on the rear view mirror, Ghanima flits from one side to the other, standing, sitting, gesturing with her entire body, endless energy confined to 12 centimeter length of the universe. “Eyes” she says is crucial. His talent will bring them all together, enable a remote chance the real job can be completed successfully. She avoids further mention of a real job, answering a single question from Sandra with that they will be a support group and she will be the moderator. Answer nothing whatsoever as far as Emily is concerned.
But, rescuing Eyes is going to be straightforward. The authorities have bottled him up at Langley; where else would you put someone you didn’t want anyone else to find? Matt mutters under his breath his distate for involvement with the CIA but Ghanima is even more demonstrative in her denial. “Not that Langley,” she says, “Langley Field, down state Virginia, US Air Force Base.”
“Oh,” Matt exclaims, “the wind tunnel place.” Ghanima beams proudly at her student’s success. “That’s the one.”
They have him there in a non-descript q-hut, used to be a laboratory but reconditioned to his home. Surrounded by 8-foot chain-link fence, Air Force Special ops guys doing the guarding. Covers no more than two acres. Rescue is simple: the faeries move the Durango into the compound, Matt opens the Quonset hut door backed by Sandra. Joe disappears the manacles on the Eye’s legs – the authorities aren’t taking chances on where Eyes may want to go – we load our soon-to-be groupie into the Durango and the faeiries deposit us outside the main gate to Langley Field. Then, we’re on our own.
Joe wants to know why he doesn’t just pick the lock? Ghanima says it will take too much time. Matt can’t understand how his dehydrating power will open the door but Ghanima dismisses him with the statement the door and its jam are wood and Langley Field sits between Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Sandra doesn’t get to ask her question because Ghanima anticipates it with “you’ll see.” And Emily still has no role unless this “Eyes” person needs some skin mending.
The plan goes swimmingly. The faeries materialize the Durango inside the fence; the walking guard is on the other side of the q-hut at the instant they arrive. When the guard gets around to their side, the area is in shadow and the guards are watching outwards, not inward. Ghanima has Sandra hold Matt’s hand, the two exchanging glances at this unexpected familiarity. Matt draws the water from the wood so the door falls forward, Matt and Sandra catching it before it slams to the ground. Eyes is waiting at the door, excited. He saw them coming.
Joe does his thing, unlocking manacles, teleporting them to the bed, assisting Eyes into the seat beside me. Ghanima calls Emily out of the car, tells Matt and Sandra to lift the door, commands Sandra to take Emily's hand and orders Emily to seal the door. Evidently, she knows something Emily doesn’t.
Sandra’s hand feels like one of those machines in a children’s science zoo where static electricity is passed into your body. Emily feels the tiny sparking jump from Sandra's skin to hers and suddenly, Emily feels good, strong, healthy, powerful. Matt holds the door so that she can run her other hand along the seam and meld to the door fixture. Melds just like Evan’s skin when Emily treated his leg that time, looks to Emily’s uncritical eye as if it’s been soldered.
Everyone gets back in the car; the faeries pop them out of existence and back into existence outside Langley. Ghanima starts the introductions.

[Holbrook]

Randolph Paine, "Eyes" gently tilts his head as his companions are introduced and smiles softly. Matt notices there seem more in the Dodge than previous. A number of small winged hitchhickers had joined them.

The backing group were sitting on Eyes' shoulders, fingers clicking as the rhythm section hovered close to Joe, the bass drummer using the thief's right ear as his cymbal. "Ouch, you "f ***ing fairy" Joe tries to grab the musician as the brass section starts up. Sandra jumps and half screams, they were sitting on the rear of her seat. Evan claps his hands as the arial display team begin.

Matt sighs and puts the vechicle into gear, asking which way... "West...." Eyes says then his voice drops an octave, as he begins a duet with Ghanima, she is hovering a few inches from Eyes' nose.

When the going gets tough
The tough get going, tough, tough, huh, huh, huh
When the going gets tough, the tough get ready

Yeah, ooooh, du da do da

I got something to tell you
I got something to say
I'm gonna put this dream in motion
Never let nothing stand in my way
When the going gets touch
The tough get going

I'm gonna get myself 'cross the river
That's the price I'm willing to pay
I'm gonna make you stand and deliver
And give me love in the old-fashion way

Woooh

The dodge is powering down a freeway, Matt knows it is doing far beyond the speed limit. The vista either side is just a blur and each vehicle he overtakes seems to be standing still.

"Damn me. " Sandra remarks as she notices that the passengers in the other vehicles seem to be frozen in time. mouths open, eyes wide, staring.

"Can the see us?" Emily asked.

Eyes, broke off singing, the band marking time with a instrumental section. "Yes dear lady, sort of.. I suspect there will be a UFO report being filed round about now...

"UFO" Evan bellowed.

"Indeed," Eyes laughed and started to sing again.

Darlin', I'll climb any mountain
Darlin', I'll do anything

Ooh, can I touch you (can I touch you)
And do the things that lovers do
Ooh, wanna hold you (wanna hold you)
I gotta get it through to you, oooh

When the going gets tough
The tough get going
When the going gets rough
The tough get rough
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Ooooh baby

I'm gonna buy me a one-way ticket
Nothin's gonna hold me back
Your love's like a slow train coming (slow train coming)
And I feel it coming down the track (woh)

Darlin', I'll climb any mountain
Darlin', I'll do anything
Ooh (ooh) can I touch you (can I touch you)
And do the things that lovers do
Ooh, (ooh) wanna hold you (wanna hold you)
I gotta get it through to you (ooh)
'Cos when the going gets tough
The tough get going
When the going gets rough
The tough get rough

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Wooh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Darlin', I'll climb any mountain
Darlin', I'll swim any sea
Darlin', I'll reach for the heaven
Darlin', with you lovin' me
Oooh (oooh)

Oooh, can I touch you (can I touch you)
And do the things that lovers do (can I touch you)
Oooh, wanna hold you (wanna hold you)
I gotta get it through to you

When the going gets tough
Going gets tough
Going gets rough
Going gets rough...

[Hereford Eye]

Emily sits to the left of Paine, listening to Evan laugh, trying to not let the pandemonium impact her thinking upon the things that just happened. There is more to her power than she realized and more to this group than she supposed. Sandra’s little trick with energy, boosting everyone’s power by contact is an eye opener. Gives a young mind much to contemplate. Here they are, heading west on I-64 looking for all the world as if St. Louis is their obvious target but than it could be anywhere between here and there and points further west. No conclusions to be drawn there.
The whole mess reminds her of a song from her youth, seems so long ago with Mother and Da’, her sitting on Da’s lap and the three of them trying to harmonize but getting nowhere close. Still, in her memory they sang well together, were happy to be doing it. What was the name of it? The Cutty Sark? No, a sark is no bird and this was a bird or what seemed a bird. The Cutty Wren, that's it. The opening verses fit Emily’s mood. Without conscious thought she starts singing, expecting to be drowned out by the faerie band but, surprisingly, her voice cuts through the din.

"Where are we going?" says Milder to Melder.
"Where are we going?" says the younger to the elder.
"We may not tell you," says vassal to foe.
"Away to the green wood!" says John the Red Nose.

"What shall we do there?" says Milder to Melder.
"What shall we do there?" says the younger to the elder.
"We may not tell you," says vassal to foe.
"Hunt for the Cutty Wren!" says John the Red Nose.

"How shall we shoot her?" says Milder to Melder.
"With bows and with arrows," says the younger to the elder.
"That will not do, then," says vassal to foe.
"With big guns and with cannon!" says John the Red Nose.

“Precisely!” says Matt and all eyes turn to Ghanima.
“No more stalling, if you please,” Sandra says.

[kater]

But it isn't Ghanima that replies, the answer, when it comes, falls languidly from the lips of Randolph, falling to the very core of all inside the Dodge.

It seems strange after the mystery that surrounded Randolph to find him utterly unexciting, he is for all intents and purposes average. Average height, weight, dull brown hair, clean-shaven, no signifying marks, nothing. Until he began to speak. It was like listening to a radio broadcast from a great distance, the signal was strong but faint and you always got the feeling like War of the Worlds someone was having you on. It was nothing short of mesmeric. Matt had to struggle to keep focused on the road, though whether he was technically in control was something not worth mentioning at the moment, whilst straining to hear Eyes speak.
"Life is all about cycles, a time to reap, a time to sow. But we lack the ability to see this because our lives, in comparison with that of our world's, are infinitesimal. As we rush around searching to prove Freud's theory of constant gratification wrong, we, as a race, lose track of history. The history not of mankind but of the world, we are the world's forgetful dream and we have forgotten. You are all here for a reason, at this moment, in this time when we are once again balanced on the cusp of a cycle. You stand on a precipice which may topple mankind for thousands of years, if not forever."
"Your a bloody fruit loop, you sound like that Architect fella off Matrix, he got right on my tit."
Joe's subtlty is right up there with a ten pound sledgehammer. Though I think if he wasn't, I'd be swinging it for him.
"As I said, we have forgotten. You, Joe, you were gifted a powerful talent and used it to steal, to save your own skin and with no thought of the responsibility such an ability comes with. Now unless you show greater awareness and culpability for your own and other people's actions you wil die along with everyone you know and love."
The irresistable force met the immovable object and won, Joe shut up.
"There have been many valid theories about how the world may end, doomsday, armageddon, ragnarok call it what you will, asteroids, nuclear war followed by devastating fallout but no-one has really given high priority to the world which we inhabit. It of itself is also a being, its moods are measured in decades not seconds but it still exists as an entity however unfathomable to our ADD driven species. Magic reappeared because of a cycle, it is random so you are told, the have's and have not's, chance, coincedence, nothing more. They are wrong. The faeries know this, they know this because they are aware of the world's dream. It is time they tell you of the world's dream."

[Hereford Eye]

When a world dreams, archetypes float about on the music of the spheres resembling little that we might recognize. Health is an archetype but what it is health to a world? Companionship, as well, but what makes a world feel at home?
This world, spinning for eons through the lonely void, this world, like all words feels alone yet connected. ties binding her to the sun, ties bonding her to Mars and Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, all the planets, the moonlets of the belt, her own daughter the moon, all these ties she knows and treasures yet she feels incomplete. She yearns for more.
She goes through the motions, as do all of you. She takes fuel in, she digests, she eliminates. Her system, like yours, regular. Some things she must do, some things just feel good to do.
Think of the great sperm whales singing in the depths. This is earth's song.
Her skin, the very smallest part of who she is, like your own skin, supportive of billions of life forms. She doesn't care. She is no more aware of us than we are of the bacteria that surround us in their billions. Maybe we reach her dream in subtle, subconsious fashion, an irritation, a rash, but more she reaches our dreams, her brooding presence always there, always sensed but never seen, observing our foolishness.
Her skin........itches, as if she has lain too long in one position and her skin tingles from the loss of circulation. She needs to scratch.
Or maybe it's a cleansing, an ashy bath to ease the irritations. Or maybe it's a movement from the depths, what we all too unkowingly but perhaps accurately refer to as the bowels of the earth.
However we choose to picture them, her dreams recur, on schedule, like a summer re-run. Krakatoa, Toba, Mount St. Helen and others.
The dreams foreshadow themselves, sending tendrils of awareness through her skin. Sensations, emotions, feelings, awareness........magic. The magic intensifies...to make her dream more powerful? to avoid dreaming? because color is intrinsic to the light spectrum? Pointless questions, maybe, or the key to everything. Simple fact: the magic returned. She is ready to dream again.
This time it's the specific dream on a 300,000 year schedule. The last time she dreamed this dream, our species, yours and mine, were reduced to a matter of thousands. We almost endured the extinction you love to worry over. In the process, you lost the magic; you're ability to interact directly with us. We didn't go anywhere; you were simply oblivious of us. Except for your dreamers.
We know this dream; we know where it will manifest; we are going to try to ease earth's itch without sterilizing her skin.

[kater]

Its quite impressive the way people cloud subjects, divulge secrets in such a way that the true meaning is hidden. Joe looks quizzically at me from his seat, his abuse at the hands of the faeries has opened him to a little affinity. I smile at him, not really a smiling matter but I can't help it:
"She means there's going to be a big f**king earthquake."
It was too easy, Randolph chuckles whilst the rest spring alive as if from a dream. Bad metaphor considering but appropriate, after all this is one bad dream. I seek comfort in the hunting of revelation again.
"So why not Mt St Helens, I mean if you had a 'group' there they hardly did a bang up job." Ouch two for two.
"You don't understand Matt.........."
"Not to belabour the point but I believe I said not so long ago something along the lines of 'we'll get to the end and then you'll say 'oh by the way' and thats when its too late.' Is this 'oh by the way'?"
"No."
Too emphatic. I was looking for sincerity.
"What it is Matt, is that now we have the four people necessary to help save the world in one place, I can convince you of what you are doing and the full extent of that which you face."
Too much use of the 'you', what ever happened to all for one and one for all.
"So we get our 'ahem' mission briefing which is an oscar winning performance from yourself, we then go save the world while you ...watch?"
She was stuck, I never let the wind get in her sails, we were all set up for the driving 'save the world' rhetoric but she slipped. Being short in foresight, so did I.
"Turn this bloody future scooter around." Joe was first in.
"How could you bring Evan into this." Emily made it a sharp one-two.
There was mutiny in the air.
Luckily Sandra stopped the slide with a world-saving performance, supposedly.
"Well I'll help, I've seen enough to believe for the time being but some more information would be nice."
Three down, one to go. As I look in the rear view mirror I swear Randolph winks at me. I guess all revelations aren't external.
"I'm in." The **** I think.