Jetmode plays the main characters of Wraith and Douglas at the RPG, Freelance Reploids: Mercs for Hire, as well as Tycho and Challi as side characters. Jetmode is considered the on of best story writers in the group, so I jumped at the chance to do a trade with her. So, I nagged her constantly to write a story of her choosing about my side-character Dan Crasher, a teenish-looking 800 year old mage, who just happened to be the creator of my main character, Maq. I absolutly adore this story, since she played Dan and Munchie ((another character of mine)) so well. I'll have to get her to do this again sometime ^_^

the absent-minded magician
by Jetmode
for Maq

Dan Crasher, the world's most powerful mage (probably), woke with a violent start to the sound of crashing glass and enthusiastic cursing. He flirted briefly with the idea of ignoring the intruder and drifting back into the pleasant dream he'd been dragged so rudely out of, but on reflection, he decided it might be wiser to see exactly what had been broken. With a much put-upon sigh, he slumped to his feet and pulled a robe on, stumbling blearily out into the open.

To his surprise, the culprits were still present -- and still swearing. They also failed to notice his arrival, hurriedly scrabbling at the mess they'd made and thinking up exciting new things to call each other. A long moment passed in which they continued not to notice him, until he threw his head back in an explosive yawn and scratched the back of his head.

"Look, if you two wouldn't mind --"

The pair froze, staring at him. Oddly, he didn't recognize either one as denizens of the Stomping Grounds. Maybe they were new.

"-- I'd like to get back to sleep."

They stood frozen in their tracks, evidently unsure of his intentions. He grimaced, then yawned again, flapping his hands dismissively at them. "Shoo."

This was evidently hint enough, and Dan watched with somewhat foggy amusement as they tripped over each other in their mad attempts to get out the door. Whoever they were, they hadn't managed to take anything. All his wards were intact (which was odd and left him wondering how they'd gotten in the door) and nothing was disturbed -- except for that one thing he'd heard shatter.

He eyed the floor where the would-be thieves had been standing and blinked in puzzlement. "Nothing?" His voice sounded gummy in his own ears. "Bleah." Further investigation turned up no shards of glass or pottery, nor was there a spill or heap anywhere that would explain what he knew he had heard. With a slight grumble, he went back to bed, leaving the mystery until morning.

The following morning found Dan still curled up in bed, attempting to block out the intrusive rays of sunlight that filtered in through the pale shades. It made him wish he'd chosen a lower floor with trees in front of the window. Admittedly, there was probably a spell for the occasion, but he was feeling entirely too lazy to bother with it. What finally roused him from his languidly comfortable rest was the sound of someone puttering around the kitchen -- and even that wouldn't have moved him, except that she poked her head in the door, arched an eyebrow, and informed him that he had a customer.

He uttered a small groan, nuzzling into the covers. "Tell him to come back later," he suggested, trying to remember whether he had anyone coming to pick up a potion today.

"It's Munchie," his daughter's voice chirped from the kitchen, and he heard the sound of his microwave ping.

"Wonderful," he sighed. "And I still owe her for ruining my date."

"Knowing you," Maq remarked, "you were well on the road to ruining it all by yourself."

Dan swung his legs over the side of the bed and fixed the wall between his room and the kitchen with a glare. "I'll have you know, I --"

"Get some clothes on and get to the door!" She poked her head around the corner and grinned at him. "I had to pick a couple things up, so I made you breakfast while I was here."

"But I --"

"Got some things to do, so I'll see you later!" With that and a quick wave, she was gone, and he heard her telling Munchie he'd be right with her on the way out.

"... Thanks."

Not at all to his surprise, he had barely settled himself in his chair to eat when the young felinoid trotted around the corner into his kitchen, ears pricked and eyes attentive.

"Good morning," he remarked, mouth full, and she mewed dismissively, hopping onto the table. "What exactly do you want, then?"

She swished her tail, frowning at him, then sat down and began to lap at her paw sedately. Despite this show of contentment, something was bothering her, but Dan decided not to press the issue, waiting patiently until Munchie burst out with an unhappy meow that gave him almost more information than he wanted.

"Well," he said weakly, "if they're that stubborn about it, then maybe you should just leave them alone ..." His suggestion was rewarded with a chilling stare. "Right, right.." He stirred his meager meal around the plastic plate for a moment, then peered at her. "That's not all you're worried about, is it?"

Her tail flipped, and she mewed again.

"Weird vibes? Well, nothing's really happened around here ..." He picked the plate up and shoveled the lot into his mouth. "Except a couple of kids breaking in last night.. they didn't manage to steal anything, though." He stood up. "Anything else?"

She rolled her eyes and gave a kittenish sigh, hopping to the floor.

"Later, then." Leaving her to find the door for herself, he ambled to his closet and snagged the nearest set of clothes he could find. He was just putting his shirt on when a heavy pounding sounded at the door. "Aren't I popular today," he mumbled through the fabric, trotting barefoot to the door as he tugged it over his head.

"It's not locked," he called as pleasantly as he could manage, pulling the door open. Most of his customers already knew that, so it was probably someone else -- there were all kinds of unpleasant possibilities. He hadn't, however, expected one of them to manifest itself in the form of an athletic female Reploid in remarkably grimy overalls.

"Crasher?" she said without preamble, gazing at him from behind an imposing pair of sunglasses.

"That's me, all right," he replied drily, "so how can I he--"

"We need you down in the garage," she chirped, cheerful and abrupt all at once. "He's having screaming hysterics, and he seems to think it's all your fault." She turned to walk off down the hall without waiting for him to reply, and he followed her, dragged out by a tide of confusion.

"Errm.. who's he?" Dan asked, having a vague and sinking feeling that he already knew.

"Glitch!" in that same, upbeat voice. She sounded amused more than anything else.

"Something.. happened to the.. cycles?" This did not bode well in the least.

"Yep!" She broke into a trot. "We'd better hurry before he puts someone's eye out."

With a heavy sigh, he fell into step behind her.

The first sound he heard upon reaching the garage was a thin shriek of "My babies!" At that, his companion mumbled something -- probably profane -- and darted ahead of him into the garage. Dan himself stood at the threshold for a few moments, bracing for the worst.

The worst, however, was far beyond his imagination. What had once been the motorpool now looked something like a scrapyard. Bits and pieces of hoverbikes lay in heaps and piles, and the mechanics who weren't holding Glitch down to keep him from doing something drastic were standing around looking exceptionally puzzled. The girl who had fetched him was arguing crossly with one of the other mechanics.

"Well, we tried to keep him away until you got back, but he knew something was up when he saw the tarp.."

"Oh, for criminy's sake.."

Attempting to be unobtrusive, Dan slipped over to the nearest pile and began to examine it. On reexamination, the piles themselves were fairly small and evenly spaced, almost as if they'd been parked, and -- He knelt swiftly. "That's insane." It appeared to be true, despite his better reasoning. Each pile was composed of the components of the bikes and vehicles, all the parts in perfect condition -- except for the fact that they weren't put together. Even better, he could almost smell the taint of energy circling the room, wending its way contentedly between the piles of parts.

Magic. And not his, as much as he wished it was. If it was his, he could undo it easily, but at this rate ...

"Any ideas, Mr. Crasher?" He glanced over his shoulder to see the girl from earlier -- who had bemusingly remembered the honorific this time.

"Well --"

Before he could say much more, a series of shouts erupted across the room, and several mechanics dog-piled their chief in an attempt to keep him from doing -- something. With a curse, the girl ran away again to referee. What followed was a confused melee that ended with Glitch unconscious and carried off to the med lab. Even more to Dan's consternation, the girl never returned, apparently having found something much better to do. He scratched his head and sighed.

"Well, it was magic," he informed no one in particular as he sidled quietly out of the room, "but I'll be darned if there's anything I can do about it."

He was waylaid in the hall once by a pair of screaming children who wanted to play tag, but he managed to be rid of them by suggesting the drones in the simulator might be more fun. They laughed at the suggestion, but in the end they left him alone, so he chose not to pursue the matter.

Sev Anderson and his long-time friend Roadkill were on a rampage. Their hand-programmed post-apocalyptic simulation was working even better than they'd expected. The setting was perfect -- word for word out of whatever book it was they'd seen -- and the blood and gore splashed and splatted very realistically.

"We'll have to contract that guy again sometime!" Sev called from a rotted-out apartment building.

"Yeah, this is great," his friend responded from the street. "Look out, here comes another --"

The ground quivered under them as a large something-or-other approached, towering ten stories above them like an oozing, half-decomposed Godzilla. It bellowed, spreading what one could suppose were arms wide and spraying everything within a 300-foot radius with saliva, among other things.

The slim sniper whistled appreciatively, wiping his face with his shirt. "And it's big, too."

"Gimme some cover fire, I'll take 'im," Roadkill grunted, dropping his rocket launcher back over his shoulder in favor of a thick-bladed plasma scythe.

Sev shrugged eloquently. "If you say so." Without further comment, he drew his rifle up and fired off a couple of shots at the decomposing behemoth. The plasma sizzled into the monster's not-exactly-flesh so quickly that he wondered if he shouldn't turn the level down a notch so Roadkill would have a chance, but his concerns were almost immediately allayed when the beast bellowed furiously and charged the building.

"Friendly, isn't he?" Sev called, and Roadkill laughed, jogging forward to meet the monster's charge. When they were about a hundred feet apart, he kicked off the ground toward the building (which his partner was abandoning with cheerful alacrity), then bounced off the tumbled concrete structure to fly almost directly at Zombie-Godzilla's face.

He narrowly missed being flattened by an enormous paw as he flew, then barely avoided a shot from the sniper that sizzled past his ear. Between the dodging and the speed he was flying at, he had almost no time to correct his course.

"Watch it," he barked, swinging the plasma blade out as he sailed past the monster's neck.

"Sorry!"

Roadkill landed a little clumsily on Zombie-Godzilla's shoulder, skidding in the slickness of its liquefying skin. "Eugh," he commented, just in time to get sprayed with blood and miscellaneous goop from the deep cut he'd made in its throat.

"Nice shot!" Sev cheered from below, watching the behemoth's head tilt away from its nearly-severed neck. "I get the next one, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll take tur--" The thick-bodied Reploid broke off with a yell as his staggering platform exploded.

"That wasn't in the program!" Sev yelped. "Computer --" His truncated command hung forgotten in the air, watching Roadkill stumble free from the heap.

"Hey, it didn't mark that a death, did it?" When his companion didn't respond, he looked up. "Sev?"

Sev giggled strangely. "Hey, Roadie, look at what you're standing in."

"Eh?" Wondering if his companion had totally snapped, he glanced down. "What the hell?!"

Zombie-Godzilla had exploded into a shower of daisies.

Gizzer was treating himself to a home-cooked meal. Not one he'd cooked -- that wouldn't be a treat at all -- but as it was his birthday, his dear old mum had sent him a piping hot basket full of all his favorites: savory beef stew, gravy-soaked biscuits, and even a couple of those cute little cupcakes she'd always made for him when he was little. Adding a tall, iced mug of his favorite (and sadly expensive) beer made the meal a veritable feast. The only thing that could possibly make it more perfect would be if his girlfriend hadn't dumped him the week before.

The memory made him grumble a little, and he pushed it away savagely before folding his meaty hands proper like his mother'd always taught him and saying a brief prayer. That formality aside, he dug in, making appreciative noises as he devoured the food.

For a mercenary, Gizzer was a man of culture. He had been to the theatre before, and he'd even seen a play by Shakespeare once. His girlfriend was the one who'd made him go, but that didn't change the fact that he had.

Smiling reminiscently, he patted his mouth with a much-used handkerchief and rose, meal finished.

Then he froze. He craned his head curiously over his shoulder, but the sound didn't repeat itself. He shook his head and frowned, heading for the door. After his private meal, his friends had promised him a round of drinks at every bar they could get to before they collapsed. Bolstering his alcoholism, he reached for the door, when a sudden frenzy of violent sound made him spin in his tracks to face his empty (he thought) room.

His jaw hung open at the sight that greeted his eyes. Until just that moment, his room had been, if not pristine, somewhat organized; he made a point of keeping his laundry and food piles separate from the rest of his belongings. Now it was as though a miniature tornado had spun through, flinging furniture, clothing, food, and crockery in every possible direction. To his utter horror and outrage, even his treasured photo of him and his mum from when he was fifteen had been broken, the shards of glass from the frame scratching the aging photograph.

He lunged for the door, flinging it open in time with almost every other door in the barracks.

To his consternation, various shouts, curses, and accusations echoed up the hallway.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded of Blanca, who had the room next to him.

The younger merc shook his pale head grimly, eyeing the chaos. "I take it your room got the same treatment?"

"Everything flung everywhere."

"Yeah."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it was magic."

"Well, what else could it be?" His eyes darkened. "What it needs to be is stopped. This ain't funny anymore."

In Maq's opinion, it hadn't been very funny to begin with, but now, of course, it was completely out of control.

Random rewriting of simulations could be ascribed to hacking, but the whirlwind ransacking of the barracks and complete dismemberment of the vehicles in the garage were harder to explain. Her brow furrowed in a scowl, remembering the motorpool. Her bike had been a victim to the massacre, as well, solidifying her intention to find and brutalize whoever was responsible. Even Giles had fallen victim, when his paperwork had transformed itself into paper birds that flew around the room chirping at him until he fled in distress. The bar had seen an incident as well, but it was less traumatizing than the others -- the bottles, mugs, and glasses had suddenly begun to ring with sound, playing popular showtunes and cartoon classics for about two hours.

And she hadn't seen her father for the entire day, which meant he was either responsible for the situation or ignoring it. As she rapped on his door, pushing it open a moment later, she dismissed both possibilities in favor of a new theory that he was completely oblivious -- a theory confirmed when she saw that he was working on a mixture of some kind with a customer.

He caught her eye as she entered, then his gaze flicked down to the pile of incident reports she held under her arm and he gave a faint twitch.

"You just take a drop in your food every meal and it should clear right up," he said quickly, handing a vial to the woman. "Be sure to let me know if anything goes wrong."

He didn't seem to notice the exceptionally worried look she gave him as she hurried past Maq out the door.

"We've got a problem," Maq announced.

He eyed the reports. "Anything to do with the garage incident this morning?"

"How'd you guess?" She kept the sarcasm to a minimum, dropping the stack of paper on a table. "Do you know anything about it?"

"Not really," he leaned over and carefully began to thumb through the stack, aware she'd take that as an offer to help. The expected demand didn't come, however, and he glanced up to see her sink wearily into a chair.

"Has anything weird happened lately? Anything at all?"

"Nothing, nothing! At least, not that I can remember ..." he sighed, taking the seat across from her. "Although.."

"Although?"

"Well, I had a couple of would-be burglars.. but they didn't take anything that I saw."

"Burglars?" She gave him a puzzled look. "What would they steal?"

He shrugged. "Well, there are some powerful artifacts around.." He paused, rubbing his chin. "Come to think of it ... I could almost swear I heard something break, but when I looked, there was nothing around."

Maq sprawled back in the chair, staring at the somewhat shabby ceiling. "Well, that's weird enough, but it doesn't really help ..."

Dan shrugged, and she sat up straight again, gathering her papers.

"Let me know if anything else happens. I've got to get these finished."

Her father watched her go, breathing a silent sigh of relief as the door swung shut behind her. She wasn't angry at him, she didn't think he was responsible, and best of all -- he hadn't been roped into helping with the search. He dusted his hands off, favoring the room with a self-satisfied grin. To top it off, business was booming, and he wasn't behind on his orders.

It seemed things were going well for him -- for a moment, in any case. He had just settled down to partake of a celebratory vodka when he heard the sound of a small, insistent fist hammering at his door. Munchie again. He drooped, eyeing his drink dolefully. He took a good, long swig of it before calling out, "Come in!" Really, most of the time the little cat-girl just walked in without asking. He couldn't fathom why she was being so polite today.

She burst in breathless, pigtails flying behind her.

"I know all about it," he said a little sulkily, "Maq was just here."

She huffed and gave him an indignant look, shaking her small head.

"Then what's it about?"

With a soft snort-the purple-haired girl tossed an object on the table. Dan glanced down at it curiously, then blinked. "Where on earth.." He picked it up cautiously, careful not to cut himself on the sharp edges. At first glance, it was a dull gray, but further examination found soft sparkles of light glinting from within, as if off planes of crystal.

Munchie placed her hands flat on the table, yawning a little.

"The garage, huh?" He grinned, still looking at it with fascination. It was ugly and half-melted, but it had once been something very pretty, he was certain. "Do you know what it used to be?"

This garnered a level look.

"Right, right. That's my job." He got to his feet, ambling over to one of his neater piles of equipment, then returned with a disappointingly mundane-looking magnifying lens. The mage winked at Munchie's skeptical look, then put it up to one eye and started his examination. The tool, though it looked like nothing more than a three-lens magnifier, actually peeled inanimate objects down to their core aura, making it possible to repair damage to even the most finicky of magical artifacts. After a few moments, Dan pulled away in surprise, looking over at his young companion, who was eyeing him boredly.

"Looks like this lump of whatever used to be a container of some kind."

Her ears pricked.

"There's a slight magical residue, but it's been thoroughly drained of any properties it once had." He turned it over thoughtfully. "Whoever did this definitely didn't want it returning to its true shape and form."

The kitten cupped her hands around her face, legs swinging.

"It could be something of mine -- it's hard to keep track of everything around here." He offered a weak smile, which she regally ignored. Maq had been harassing him to organize for years. "I don't really know of anything.." The man paused suddenly, something tickling the very back of his memory.

Munchie shrugged, pushing herself away from the table and dropping to the floor. She evidently had more important things to attend to.

"I'm telling you, that's a lost cause," he called after her, and she shot a dirty look over her shoulder before letting herself out. He grinned at the door's vicious slam, then returned his attention to the spiky glob of crystal in his hands. He hadn't trapped any demons or fae in years, and this container could hardly have held anything of any great size or power. With a sigh, he scratched his head. If this was what had broken in the burglars' ill-fated attempt, the creature inside might have bolted with the container before he'd arrived.

But right after however-many years in limbo? A surprisingly resilient sprite.

He yawned, glancing at the clock, which displayed a depressingly early hour. Where was his stamina lately? Going to bed before ten, sleeping until all hours -- there'd been days he could recall staying up past three and bouncing out of bed at six o'clock. "Guess I'm getting old." He stumbled to bed, barely giving himself time to change, and sank into a dreamless slumber.

He was rousted from it excessively early the following morning by the sound of a small explosion from the front room. In spite of his earlier complains of age, Dan was on his feet in a flash, stumbling hurriedly out to his workroom, a spell at the ready. Upon entering the room, he released it with a low sigh. The heavy feeling of animosity and live magic had already faded, and there was no sign that anyone had been in the room -- except for the undeniable evidence of his table, which was lying in a scorched and splintered heap on the rug. The melted crystal was gone, as well, probably used as the explosive itself.

The world's most powerful mage crouched beside his table's remains, picking up a splinter and gazing at it petulantly. "And now I need a new table."

"Table en't only thing you need new, mage-man!"

Dan startled half to his feet, nearly dropping the sliver of wood, but he snatched his composure back quickly, hoping he hadn't given the enemy too much of an advantage. He finished rising to his feet idly, as if that had been his intention all along. "I suppose you're the one responsible for this mess, then?" Voice nonchalant, he eyed the splinter lazily before dropping it back into the smoldering wreck.

The voice gave a shrill, gleeful chuckle. "You catch on slow, eh? Mage-man not so smart now."

The magician was somewhat affronted, but he retained his careless attitude. "Oh, I've just been biding my time until now, my dear little beast." He paused, wagging his finger in a random direction. "You do realize how much that table cost, don't you?" It was a pointless jab, as Dan hadn't any idea himself. The table had been a gift from an over-enthusiastic customer, graced with a pattern so spectacularly hideous he had kept it covered with a plain cloth and used it for his more dangerous work in the hopes of destroying it himself.

"Table nothin', mage-man," the voice snarled. "Next your head."

"I really wouldn't appreciate that," Dan murmured, half to himself, then spoke louder. "But I would like to know exactly what I've done that you want to blow my head right off my shoulders."

"Beh." There was a surprisingly long pause. The mage was about to attribute it to confusion, when the voice spoke again, tone incredulous bordering on infuriated. "Mage-man say he no remember?"

It was at this point that Dan began to really get cross. "What's there to remember? This is the first time I can recall ever meeting you! And blowing up a man's table is hardly the best way to introduce yourself."

The creature, wherever it was, fell silent, save for the increasingly rapid hissing of its breath. When it finally spoke again, its voice was trembling with a surprisingly intimidating fury. "If mage-man no remember, maybe this remind him!"

Dan sucked in a sudden breath as the air around him began to tingle with magical energy. Though none of it was directed at him, he wove a quick, easily reinforceable ward around himself and watched the dim room grimly. Abruptly, the prickling air focused itself into a rough shove against his mind and barrier, and the darkness exploded into multi-colored light.

"How pretty," he commented, watching strands of color dance and weave, much as if the aurora borealis had localized and become sentient. "But it isn't ringing any bells."

The creature spat at him, still hidden in the shadows. "You no remember by morning, Schlee kill you anyway. You break contract, Schlee kill! Liar-mage, you die worse than locked in a cage for so many years!" In a final blaze of light, the creature's presence was gone, and only faint shivers of light hung in the air.

The sorcerer sighed, shaking his head a little. It appeared that sleep would be denied him once again.

Morning dawned, pale and cold, to see Dan Crasher finishing off the replacement and reinforcement of the magical wards he'd placed around his apartment. His work nearly complete, he was entertaining a pleasant daydream about sleeping for two days straight, when his door swung open, and a familiar voice called, "Hey, Dad! Time to get up --"

Maq froze in astonishment when she saw that her father was already awake and fully clothed.

"Good morning," Dan smiled mock-pleasantly, flicking his fingers to finish the last of his wards.

His daughter's gaze flicked curiously about the apartment, finally settling on the now-cold heap of kindling that still lay in the middle of the room. "What happened to your table?"

"It blew up," he answered her, maintaining his cheerful facade.

"Blew up." She looked at him sharply. "Have you been playing with live plasma again?!"

An injured and indignant expression flashed across his face. "For heaven's sake, Maquestan, I haven't touched live plasmas since the cafeteria incident, you know that."

"Good," she huffed, "because you know it's grounds for immediate relocation."

He frowned at her. "If you must know, I had a visitor last night."

"Visitor? As in --"

"Yes, the same one that's been wreaking havoc all over the grounds." Dan grumpily began to sweep up the bits of table. "He's given me until today to remember who he is, and he's planning to kill me whether I figure it out or not."

Glancing up, he discovered that Maq had lifted her hands to her face and was busy tangling her fingers through her hair in frustration. "How did I know this was all going to wind up being your fault?!"

"My fault!" Dan protested. "I don't see how this is my fault -- if those burglars hadn't broken in, the whatever-he-is wouldn't even be loose!"

She threw her head back, dropping her hands to her sides, then spun on her heel and stalked from the room, turning once to snap, "Find it and

get rid of it." She then slammed the door viciously behind her, leaving her father standing blankly in the middle of the room, looking every inch the injured innocent.

"Little snip," he mumbled, dumping the former table into a box, "can you imagine, putting all of it on her own father like that.. what are young people coming to?"

To the casual observer, it probably seemed as if Dan was avoiding the subject of his midnight visitor entirely in favor of a nice, long nap, but -- though he probably would have admitted to dozing off once or twice -- the man was actually engaged in a full-force examination of his memories. It was an embarrassing number of years he had to search through, though he wore them well, he flattered himself -- which was completely off the subject. He scrubbed at his eyes with a small grumble and sat up. The timeline of his life was very scattered, and he'd never had a need to collect magical beasts -- the only reason he could fathom to do so was experimention, and that was hardly ethical on another thinking being.

Unless, of course, they agreed to it, which was rare enough.

He paused, rubbing drowsily at one temple. The beast had mentioned a contract, hadn't it? But what? And those lights that were supposed to signify something. Such lovely lights.. his wife would have loved them. Then he froze, only to throw his head back with nigh-hysterical laughter moments later.

When the fit had passed, he trotted over to the low shelf his burglars had been arguing about and pushed aside the small heap of artifacts that he'd been meaning to organize for several decades. It was the work of moments to find what he was looking for, a slender, glass-like container that held a glimmering light. He frowned a little, resisting the blind impulse to shake it, then settled down cross-legged on the floor. He had the other piece of the puzzle, but he wasn't completely sure what to do about it.

So, for lack of any better idea, he gambled.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he remarked casually, turning the crystal-shaped box around in the light. A sudden heaviness in the air told him he'd guessed correctly. "I remember when I first met her -- and her mate, of course."

It had been an absolutely flawless winter morning, pale sun splashing over the pristine snow that covered the entire world like a blanket. Like something out of a greeting card. They'd been entranced by the lights, too close to be the aurora, weaving in and out of the trees and promptly engaged in a lively debate over whether they were some relation to will o' the wisps, when the lights themselves answered the question themselves.

Well, the beings creating the lights had, anyway. And he wasn't really sure what they actually were, even now, since he'd completely forgotten them and left them bound by magic for a century or two. He hadn't realized the stasis spell would deteriorate so badly.

"She's gone, isn't she?" he sighed, setting the capsule down in front of him.

The pressure in the air intensified wildly for a moment, then faded away almost immediately as the small creature appeared in front of the mage, resting one small, clawed hand on the magic cage.

"Martje gone three year, now," it replied, flicking its wide, yellow-eyed glance briefly upward. "Schlee try, but.." A small shrug rippled its shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Dan offered sincerely, but Schlee didn't even look up. He leaned his chin thoughfully into the palm of his hand. "You brought those burglars in, didn't you?"

"Schlee want out, Schlee call." The little creature gave him a very bland stare.

"Always thought they oughta be made out of something sturdier," the mage mused in reference to the cages, though he privately admitted there were things he could have done to prevent them from shattering. When he looked back down, Schlee had resumed stroking the cage's glassy surface, eyes distant. A strange sympathy tightened Dan's gut. He knew the pain of losing a mate all too personally, but having to live next to her corpse for three years ... It was quite beyond his experience.

"Do you want me to open it?" he asked softly.

"Why did mage-man forget?" Schlee demanded in answer. "Schlee waited, Martje waited. Kept the contract."

Dan's eyes dimmed momentarily. "Things got.. complicated." More complicated than he could easily explain. "I didn't want to forget. I didn't leave you on purpose."

A spark of rage lit in the sprite-like creature's eye, but it died quickly, as if he was too weary to maintain it.

"We wanted to learn how to make the lights," he recalled dimly, "It wouldn't have taken long."

Schlee frowned, realizing that a piece of his small puzzle was missing. "Where is mage-man's mate?"

"Gone," Dan answered, gaze still drifting. "Like Martje."

A gloomy silence of two men in mutual self-pity filled the room, broken only when Dan noted that the day had passed them both by and the setting sun had them framed in his window. The light also caught the cage, splashing a prism dance of color on the wall. Schlee watched it for a moment, then turned back to the mage, patting his hand on the glass chamber.

"Open cage, mage-man," he requested. "Let Martje go."

Dan snapped back to reality. "Right. Of course." He picked the cage up, murmuring the charm to unlock it, then looked at his companion curiously. "Why did she die, Schlee?" he asked. By default, cages such as this one had spells to keep the occupants in a state of suspended animation, and he was concerned at a fault in the spell.

The sprite's shrug confirmed his fears. "Martje grow old, sleep with time." His shoulders slumped slightly. "Schlee is very old. Very tired."

"I'm sorry," the mage reiterated, puzzled at his own incompetence. His skills had been at their peak back then, but even the best made mistakes.

Schlee bared small fangs in an amused grin. "Schlee feel the flow of time. Always moving ahead, moving on. Schlee move with it."

"Oh." Well, if it was impossible to remove them from the timestream, there wasn't much he could have done. "Sorry anyway." He tapped one finger on the cage, and the reflective panes faded away, releasing what remained of its occupant, a small burst of bubbling light.

The glow flickered in the sun's dying rays, then faded entirely. Dan maintained a respectful silence while Schlee paid his last respects -- or whatever the creature was doing, then cleared his throat.

"So. Er.. what are you going to do now?"

Schlee fixed him with a beady glare. "Kill mage-man," he answered pleasantly, eliciting a choke from his companion.

"I beg your pardon." He couldn't help but feel a little indignant. After all, he had apologized -- and even meant it. He was mustering up another defense when the sprite rolled his yellow eyes.

"Beh." He hopped slightly, hovering in the air. "Schlee go soon, rest with Martje. Until then.." He shrugged eloquently.

"Er.. well.." Dan eyed him cautiously, still unsure as to whether the death threat had been rescinded. "No offense intended, but if your last days are going to involve any pranks, we'd rather you pulled them somewhere other than here."

"Schlee owe mage-man no favors," the creature grumbled.

"But you have the whole wide world to play in, don't you know?" Dan attempted to keep the strain out of his voice, thinking of the thousand ways Maq would kill him if the sprite stayed in the vicinity. "There's a place a lot like this just halfway across the city -- with lots more people in it!"

Schlee gave him a long look, plainly seeing right through him. "Schlee bored here anyway," he said agreeably. "Find somewhere better, quieter. Rest with Martje." It was clearly amused when Dan relaxed visibly. "Mage-man rest well too, someday." He stretched his thin arms lazily, preparing to leave.

"Er.. yes." He felt he should say something more, but the only thing that sprang to his lips was "Good luck." The little man didn't answer him, vanishing in the same breath he spoke and leaving him alone again.

With his table still broken.

Dan sighed.

He was going to organize his artifacts starting tomorrow.

postscript

"ZERO!"

Two syllables of pure outrage echoed up the hallway to the red-armored Maverick Hunter's startled ears. He turned in surprise to see his friend charging up the hallway in as close as he'd ever seen him come to a blue tizzy.

"What's the matter, X?" he asked curiously when the other Reploid came abreast of him.

"Don't play innocent with me!" X snapped, grabbing him in an uncharacteristic headlock and dragging him back the way he'd came. "I don't know how you did it, but you're damn well going to undo it."

"Do what?" Zero yelped, racking his brain for a memory of his most recent prank. It hadn't been anything that would garner a reaction of this magnitude -- at least not that he recalled. And hadn't X already gotten him back for it? The blond Reploid sighed his resignation and permitted his friend to drag him on to his destination -- which turned out to be X's own quarters.

The blue-armored Hunter tapped in his access code and released him, and he stood up, only to nearly lose his balance in shock at what greeted him through the open doorway. "What the.."

Every scrap of the heroic Hunter's furniture was upside-down on the ceiling, politely defying gravity, even the book he'd left on the table, open to what he'd last been reading.

"Well?" X demanded indignantly.

"I didn't do it!" Zero came out of his slack-jawed stare long enough to defend himself. "I swear! I mean.. how'd it get up there, anyway, magic?"

"You tell me," his friend growled.

"It wasn't me, honest!"

He threw up his arms in disgust. "So who did it?! And how? And WHY?!"

"Well, the why is easy," Zero muttered, having observed several amused (and puzzled) stares in their direction on the way over.

X called him something fairly rude, garnering a grin from the red Hunter. He hadn't seen his friend this irritated in quite a while and discovered that he was enjoying it immensely.

"Have you tried going in?" he asked, attempting unsuccessfully to keep an impish grin off his face.

X gave him a flat stare.

"Well, it's one way to find out if it's real," he offered up weakly, quashing a fit of giggles.

"Then why don't you go?"

"It's your room."

The scowling Hunter spent several minutes attempting to formulate an absolutely crushing rejoinder, but in the end was forced to concede the point (not aloud, of course -- he'd sooner bite out his tongue than give Zero that particular satisfaction) by taking a step into his room. An unseen force propelled him promptly to the ceiling. He bit down on a shriek -- it came out a strangled squeak instead but was immediately drowned out by his companion's howl of laughter.

"I hate you."

Zero stuck his head in the door, still giggling at his friend, who was now standing with his furniture on the wrong side of the ceiling. "I'll, um, go get Doc Cain and see about getting you down, shall I?" He blithely ignored his companion's instructions about what he could do with Dr. Cain once he found him. "Or maybe not? Heck, we could probably pull in a lot of money using you as a sideshow." He spread his hands out as if spacing text on a poster. "I can see it now -- X in Wonderland: The Mystical Upside-down Maverick Hunter!"

X heaved the book at him.

~ fin