Steady Systematic Decline

I have been gone quite some time now, there has been much to write of, however I feel as though it would be falling on deaf ears which long since lost interest in anything which may have happened in the middleworld.

Old friends are lost or mindless, new faces are disturbing and harsh...

I can only hope that someday soon we can all find synchronicity in our appearances

A beautiful mess

It had been a while since my last visit to Paris. I was never all that interested in Zillah's villa, besides its architecture. All the intricacies and decorations made me just want to tear something up. Sort of the chaotic, and dominant, side of my father that I picked up.

I walked through the house. I wasn't sure why I was here in the first place, besides the fact that I had a killer thirst. A quick stint under the bathroom faucet was enough to cool my throat and make me sigh with satisfaction.

I glanced up into the mirror. Running down between my vibrant eyes was equally vibrant hair. I thought back to the day it happened...

---

I came to the villa that day with one purpose in mind: to color my hair. I was through with people mistaking me for my father. I was different, though similar. I thought first of a sort of cyan, and then maybe red, like Sanguine's. Shuffling through the dyes, paints, and highlights, I finally found a few colors I was interested in.

Then, I heard it. That strange, squealing, excited sound that my baby sister Ameera makes when she sees me. Ameera. That sinfully spawned product of my father's insatiable lust for gorgeous women and a whore's desire to be held and treated as if she meant something to someone.
Surely enough, she was standing in her pajamas at the bathroom door frame. Within two seconds she had bolted across the bathroom floor and now had a firm grip on my legs.

Several grunting sounds ensued, and it was obvious that she wanted me to follow her. Knowing that refusal to play along with Ameera often results in kicked shins, and also knowing that Zillah finding out that Ameera was refused often ends up with a good scolding, I followed her a few rooms back into the den.

To my surprise, the exquisite layout of the den was now a rainbow of colors. Ameera had her paint palette out in the middle of the floor, and she had made sure every piece of furniture had an ample display of color. I wasn't sure if I should grin or yell at her. I sort of did both. With a grin, I told her, "Zillah is going to kill me for this." She just smiled and held up her paint-covered hands, trying to touch me.

I backed away, and walked back to the bathroom. It was time to color this hair. Ameera can be dealt with later. As I took my place at the mirror, she squealed again. Turning, I saw her against the bath, arms crossed over her tiny chest. I knew this stance. It meant she wanted something else, and she was going to get it.

Mentally, I had suffered enough of this. I wanted to kick her across the room, but I knew the penalties of that. "What, Ameera?" I shot at her, coldly. She could tell, too. Her stance didn't change. I sighed. "Would you like to help me color my hair?" That was the ticket. She squealed with glee and jumped over to the barstool near me. I helped her up to it and she shuffled through the colors.

Apparently, they displeased her. She jumped down and went to get her paints. Coming back with an armful, (and a shirtful,) of paints, she threw then down on the floor and pointed for me to sit. I did, and she beamed at me. I looked down as she started painting. I knew that the paint would easily come out before it dried, so no harm would be done.

She stood at one point, reaching for a brush. Doing so, she knocked numerous tubes of hair dye into the floor. She grinned, and carried a few of them over to her. "Ameera, if you're using the hair dye, only use the red." By that point, I had decided to match Sanguine. I liked her hair. Ameera nodded, and reached for the red. Who cares if she messes it up? Another 'hawk won't take long to grow. Splattering the red dye into her hands, she went at my deathhawk like it was candy. Pulling, shoving, matting, twisting, hardly a professional job.

I let her continue to use some of the paints. However, with her palette involved, it was hard to tell which was dye and which was paint. I stopped caring, focused more on the intense pain that constant hair-pulling invoked. Not even ten minutes later, she stepped back, looked at my hair, and nodded. I rose to my feet and looked in the mirror.

A disaster. What a terrible mess! The colors all seemed to form one ugly sienna. I shrugged it off and went to clean up some of the mess the little devil had created. It took much longer than I thought, and I figured it was nearly time to wash the paint out of my hair.

Bending over the tub, I let the warm water course over my scalp. I witnessed a small strain of yellow and a little green bleed into the water that was doomed to the drain. I scratched furiously at my hair. Barely anything. "Ameera!" She watched the whole thing from the door, giggling.

I reached for a towel, dried my hair and looked into the mirror. The colors now shined brightly, no longer sienna. Ameera climbed the stool on her own this time, and looked into the mirror. Her mouth opened and then she clapped. She was obviously proud of her work.

Looking at it now, it began to grow on me. I turned my head side to side, looking at it from all angles. Yes, this was different. I could get used to this.

---

That was almost a month ago. Now that I had drank my fill, I was ready to head back to London. This place gave me the creeps. Especially Zillah's little shrine to Lime. I gathered my jacket and walked out into a brisk wind.

Sometimes, I missed Lime, too.

A Leave of Absence

Much has gone on in recent weeks and months, and as I am sure a great many people may have asked where has Mr Xylander gone?

The answer to this question can be as short or as long as you would prefer, the short answer of course is that I have been unlawfully detained in the middle world for extended conference with my previous employer and co-worker.

The long answer is that whilst co-ordinating various training seminars for the party (including revisions to fire conjuring and kitten implosion as per Zillah's requests) I was wrenched from our realm and found myself once again in the court of Lucifer.

Apparently from out of the blue my old friend Jack decided to put a good word in for me and have the contract on my life revoked, I have no idea why this has happened but it is reassuring to know that I will no longer be hunted recklessly.

However negotiations continue in the middle world and I had to smuggle this message out through a soul being reborn, expect another within a few months, I miss you all dearly.

Gentlemen,

The other day, shortly after Mistress Nadia's masquerade ball, I found the demon Shivan and, with the Mistress' assistance, delivered to him the punishment he so richly deserves.

He has paid for his crimes, and I consider our duty to Mistress Nadia's contract, and to our alliance with Lord Joel Alexander's people, to be fulfilled -- however, do not be surprised if when he has finished licking his wounds, the Grendel returns for more. Do not let down your guard.

:: z ::

"When you walk the streets which I walk every night you are often accompanied by your shadow; some people think this shadow is just a fabrication of light source and object projected onto a surface, and those people at least scientifically are right. But what of the more abject purposes for the shadow, your dark reflection, the reminder of your most miserable hours, your darkest thoughts.
The Greeks had a word for this, and that word was Eidolon, the phantom of our natural form.
They believed in a type of duality which exists in man, and which has been discussed in length in times since then by people more scholarly than myself.
But walking alone at night, often times my thoughts drift back to the nightmare days of hunting and murdering, of blood washing down through the cobble cracks.
Never again will I walk alone, however, the time for stepping quietly through the politics and dramas of the world are over, it is time to take up my knife hand and stake my place.
And this is alongside the people who have shared the most with me, both blood and tears.
These people you could say are just like shadowy aspects of myself, and me of them, so of course it makes sense that we work together for our mutual good since we are one in the same.
All shattered pieces of some larger process, or being, or ideal.
But even shattered pieces of glass can stab at the hearts of those who seek to enslave and oppress my brothers.

And the middle world will be filled with their screams."


-- Holzt Xylander
of the International Eidolon Party