El-Ahrairah was dancing when the sun went dark.

I will miss you.

He stopped dead, quite startling the woman he was dancing with. The sudden lack of a partner to steady her sent her sprawling into a minibar, and she reappeared with several pretzels stuck to her face. The god didn't notice. The sun was going dark.

What do you mean?, he thought as he sprinted out of the room, the corridors a blur. What's happening?

Your time is ending, El-Ahrairah, said the blue eyes in his head, ice-cold and ancient. Your dance is done.

And who precisely are you to decide that? You have never told us a d*mned thing about who you really are! The sun was getting darker and the lights were going out, one by one, his children were disappearing and there was a sad old woman in his head.

I am your herald-

Then you are a "servant!" El-Ahrairah was running as fast as he could, his children vanishing from his sight with every beat of his heart. "And yet you serve none but yourself! You tell us we are gods for two years, and yet a month passes and you rip it away yourself! What, Ananke, O great inevitability, is the source of this? Was there perhaps some sort of clerical error? Did you deliver godhood to the wrong address?"

You will be silent!

"I will not!" More lights went out, more darkness, his legs were slowing and he couldn't feel with his feet properly. "You say one thing and do another! We were never anything to you! I was never-"

SILENCE.

The First Rabbit loped round a corner, looking old, so old, and its eyes were wrong. El-Ahrairah stopped, panting, and bent to pick the rabbit up and found he couldn't straighten his back again, he felt like he was made of lead and he couldn't focus on anything beyond the glowing blue eyes in the First Rabbit's human face.

You will listen, now, El-Ahrairah, beloved of Frith, beloved of me. I am your humble servant. I love you as I always have, perhaps cooler than your vivacity but no less keenly felt. Your presence in the cycle is a blessing. You bring such life. You sing without voice. You run, and change is ever in your wake, and I am always sad when you depart. The Rabbit's eyes were blue, so very blue, and its face was old, and its voice was soft and breaking. The sun was setting. There is much you can do. Much left undone. But when you return, and you will, you will do it again. You will keep me honest, and keep the mortal world in thrall to your passions. And you, I shall dearly miss.

There was a stick in El-Ahrairah's hand, and he knew it, and he knew what to do with it. With the last of his strength, he drew the sword, swung it hard-

But you... you were never a god.

Agamemnon's blade slashed through the empty air. He looked around him. DAS-SWEAR's airy corridors were all about. He was dressed well - immodestly, perhaps, but such was the present fashion. He was as he had been before the blue, blue eyes. He looked around him again.

The rabbit was gone.

Mary Poppins found himself waking up earlier every morning to prepare his performances.

He felt he should have spent more time sleeping with the amount of songs he had been pumping out as of late, but hey. He was a god, and one of the more performance-themed ones at that, so he felt obliged to put a good number of them out there, sleep schedule or no.

He traced chalk along the ground, marking here, blending lines there, adding the subtle touch of magic to make the image just a little more real. Making buildings more solid and dark, the stars littering the sky slightly brighter, the grass thinner and almost alive. Mary Poppins was never an artist before the ascension, but it just came to him naturally now. It was something he tried to use to the fullest in his performances, bringing his audience on a tour through a world of chalk and stars and the beauty of life.

A dozen or so scattered Agents and Nursery kids, having gathered to watch during the hours Mary Poppins had spent drawing with chalk, milled about the Nursery foyer. A few of them were arranging chairs while they waited. One Agent was a chair, and a Nursery kid sat on top of it, and neither party seemed to mind.

Mary Poppins stood up and stepped back from the chalk drawing, looking over it and lightly tapping his signature umbrella on the floor. It was just about finished, but he wondered if he should have added something more to it. The city scene looked a bit standard at the moment, and he wanted to vary his songs every once in a while, give his audience new experiences with every journey.

He paused to take a quick glance at the milling group of Agents behind him. Then he did a double-take; the old woman he had met on his ascension day - Ananke, he thought - was standing near the front of the crowd, arms folded and eyes shadowed by her veil.

Mary Poppins turned to face Ananke and, for the sake of politeness, folded his hands together and bowed to her.

“Ahem,” he started once he had straightened back upright. “Hello again, ma’am. Um, so what brings you here?” He did his best to keep his face composed, even as his mind tensed up ever-so-slightly.

Ananke said nothing for a while. Then she gestured with a wrinkled hand towards the umbrella dangling at his side.

"May I?" she mouthed, voice barely audible over the noise of the Agents behind her.

“Oh.” Mary Poppins hesitated for a second, before nodding and letting her take it. “Sure, I suppose.”

Ananke opened the umbrella and lifted it over her head, gently waving it back and forth as if testing for something.

“The wind’s changed,” she said after a few seconds, voice clear this time, dry and hoarse and almost crackling.

Mary Poppins tilted his head slightly, and one of his fox ears twitched. He was pretty sure he knew the implication behind that statement, but he wanted to make sure he had heard correctly.

“Pardon?” he asked, sweeping his bushy tail across the chalk drawing behind him. Bits of chalk dust got caught in his fur, but he didn't notice.

Ananke didn’t respond but raised her head slightly, and Mary Poppins noticed a small stream of tears running down her face.

He blinked. “Are you, um... Are you okay?”

Ananke shook her head with a rueful smile. "I'll miss you,” she whispered.

Then she lowered the opened umbrella, separating Mary Poppins and herself. In a moment and a half, a wind somehow managed to pick up, catching the umbrella and pulling it out of the room, sweeping towards the exit and gliding out into the halls.

And in the space she used to be, Ananke was gone, and with her went Mary Poppins, leaving behind just Jiwon - stunned, lacking of godhood, and light-headed as the last few weeks of very little sleep began to finally catch up to him.

He was left standing in front of a chalk drawing he had no idea how to finish anymore and an audience he couldn’t entertain. He blinked a few times, both to comprehend what had just happened and to clear the tired haze that had set over his vision. Despite the suddenness of it all, Jiwon felt a combination of emptiness and the smallest twinge of relief.

He looked up at the Agents in the early audience, most of them having gathered to watch the exchange, and he felt his ears fold back against his head. He grinned nervously at them, even as he found himself leaning against a wall for support.

“Um… performance canceled?”

Before anyone could reply, Jiwon shifted into fox form and stumbled out of the room without another word.

---

“Hey, Jiwon?”

Charlie wandered around RC #724, mandola swinging at their side and tail flicking in agitation.

They wondered if all that “godhood” stuff was really getting to their partner’s head. He’d been waking up earlier and earlier every morning since that Party in the Parc thing to perform alongside all the other singer folk, and it was a tad concerning. Sure he was enjoying himself and presumably entertaining others with his fancy reality-shifting chalkland tours, but they were really getting worried for his health.

As a bard, Charlie knew a good amount about performance - and sleep was an important part of that. Even if Jiwon didn’t show it at first, they knew those all-nighters weren’t doing anything good for him. Even if he was actually a British umbrella pseudo-god or whatever, sleep deprivation was eventually gonna grab him from behind and suplex him into the ground.

They checked Jiwon’s room - empty. Charlie sighed. They wondered if a call to Medical was justified now.

They walked over to the RC door, fastening the strap on their mandola. Maybe it was time to find him and just cast a Sleep spell or something, give him a minute of shut-eye, at least.

They shook out their shoulders, flicked back their ears, and pulled open the door-

Jiwon was standing in front of the doorway, fancy British clothes and matching umbrella gone and replaced by the fancy Korean garb he had worn before his ascension. His hair, once parted, was now tousled and messy, he had bags under his eyes, and he was leaning against the door frame to stay upright, but he looked… back to normal? Mostly back to normal. He still looked sleep-deprived, in Charlie’s opinion, but he also looked relieved under the tiredness.

"Oh, hi!" said Charlie, thoughts of worry and frustration gone in an instant. "You're looking less god-ish today. How'd the day go?"

Jiwon staggered through the door and past his partner, heading over to the couch without saying anything. From behind, Charlie noticed his tail fur looked dusty and pastel-colored, and they had no idea why.

Settling down on the couch, Jiwon folded his bushy tail over his lap, visibly struggling to remain upright. He blinked a few times, swaying in his spot.

“No more performances,” he muttered, staring at his lap. "It's over." Then he shifted into fox form and promptly collapsed onto the cushions.

---

((Alrighty, finally got an ending typed up! Not gonna lie, I feel a bit disappointed in this one, I feel like there’s probably grammar errors and clumps of clunky writing lying around the cracks of it unnoticed and whatnot. And I’m kinda worried the story-ish thing doesn’t fit with the tone of the other three endings, since more emotional-type writing’s not really my strong suit. But at least it’s done!

Anyways, thanks for setting up the last bit of this event! I’ve been thinking about it on occasion in the past (mostly because my Agent’s personalities back then were written before I got them more settled for my second mission and so on), and it was real nice participating in it again and reading everyone else’s stuff and whatnot.

So, um. At the risk of invoking the Department of Redundancy Department, thanks again! And whatnot.

-OrangeFox))

((Okay, so this got away from me in a massive way. hS, feel free to cut some of this out of your final doc collection if you think my characters would end up dominating too much of the event. I can just post my overall story separately on my dreamwidth. And Iximaz, I hope you don't mind me describing the audience at a Kord concert. Hyenas live in matriarchal societies, so I think any god who is either bio-female or god-aspect-female would have been able to sway Alfajiri. Kord and the Ellimist were the only gods he could listen to without derailing the plot. But I can change anything about that scene you feel is inaccurate; just let me know.))

((Let's see if this all fits in one post . . .))

---

4?

Alfajiri padded around the corner. “Laquisha, we have a problem . . .”

“Okay, Alfa, I know you’re literally a hyena, but you still shouldn’t just walk into girls’ dorm rooms. That is a no-kay thing in human society!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, “but Anne and Numbuh 3721 and I went to the cafeteria like we had planned, and we overheard that there’s a bunch of kids who have started calling themselves gods.”

“Uh. Wow.” Laquisha got up from where she had been laying on the floor. She and Wilma had been working on wanted posters of Ilcharheen to plaster around Headquarters. “My kneejerk thought would be to call that a prank, but . . . it’s hard to picture Ilcharheen going along with something like that, huh?”

“Right.” Alfajiri let his head droop, eyebrows furrowed. “That, plus the fact that the gods are putting on magical concerts.”

A snap cracked through the room. Wilma let the destroyed marker drop to the now-ruined poster and wiped her inky hand on her shorts. “Well,” she said, standing up. “Well, well, well,” and she tilted her head back and forth each time as she said it.

Laquisha huffed. “Wilma, please, this is not the time. This is serious!”

“Oh, I think this is the perfect time!” snapped Wilma. Her constant t-shirt—showing a targeting reticle hovering over paired eighth notes—was on full display. “This is exactly what I’ve been warning you idiots about. Music is evil!”

“I think she’s right, Laquisha! After we found out about the concerts, we went to spy on one that the time guy was putting on. And after it was over, Anne and Numbuh 3721 didn’t even want to help find Ilcharheen any more! They were kind of babbling about how time is too precious to lose, and they had to go live in the moment, and they wouldn’t even listen to me. They just wandered off without me!”

Wilma was nodding sagely. “Yes, obviously, music is corrupting. This is old news. The question is, how do we stop these so-called gods from polluting HQ?”

“This is way beyond, guys,” Laquisha said. “We need to go tell Miss MacKinnon . . .”

“Wrong.” Wilma gazed smugly at her fingernails.

“. . . and find Mollie and Ollie, they can get Vania and Doc on board to help us . . .”

“Can’t trust them.” Wilma dropped the smug act and glared hard at Laquisha. “Can’t trust anyone. You understand that?” She poked her classmate hard a few times, right in the collarbone. “This is mind control. We don’t know who’s been affected!”

Laquisha frowned. “We can’t handle a problem like this on our own. There have to be some people unaffected. Alfa is fine!”

“Yep, I’m still me,” said Alfajiri, “other than being very sad because I miss my best friend and I don’t know what’s happened to her.” He groaned.

The animosity between the girls swiftly faded, and they looked at each other. Laquisha said, “All right, let’s compromise. Let’s hit up the next concert any of these ‘gods’ are performing. If it’s Ilcharheen, we can try to nab her once the show ends and try to find out what’s going on. If not, we’ll watch the adults around us and look for ones who aren’t being affected. Then they can alert the Flowers to do something about this.”

Wilma had groaned at the idea of attending a concert, but she didn’t argue.

---

3!

Wilma was soon groaning again, hands clutched over her ears as Kord’s musical performance filled the auditorium. In the seats around her and her classmates, fistfights were breaking out left and right. Wilma was grateful for all the cheering and yelling, as it made it easier for her to keep the actual music from entering her mind.

“This is pointless!” she yelled to her right. Alfajiri was next to her, with Laquisha on his other side. “That tiger thing definitely isn’t Ilcharheen, and all the people here are idiots hurting themselves over music! Let’s just go!”

Alfajiri, with his sensitive predator ears, rapidly nodded his head. Laquisha just stared forward, however.

“Laquisha? Let’s go!” Alfajiri nudged her arm with his muzzle.

“You know what?” Laquisha said, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

“What?”

“I can do . . .” She took a deep breath. “ANYTHING! I can do exactly ANYTHING! Anything I want! I don’t have to always be the responsible one! I’m not obligated to resolve disputes between my classmates all the time! And when I grow up, I can be WHATEVER I WANT! WHOOOOO!” She stretched her arms up, fists balled like Superman’s when he flies, and charged straight out of the auditorium.

Her classmates stared at her empty seat for a moment. Then Wilma squacked, “Holy crap, after her!” They charged down the aisle, Alfajiri easily slipping through agents’ legs. Wilma, however, was having to duck between fighting agents, and took a fist right above her jaw before she could make it through.

Once out the auditorium doors, Alfajiri and Wilma tried to follow after Laquisha, but Wilma soon had to lean against the generic wall, holding the right side of her head. Alfa gave up the chase and nuzzled her leg. “You okay, Wilma?”

“I just . . . damn, that hurt!” Eyes closed, she rested her forehead gently against the wall, feeling a sheet of paper attached there, waiting for the pounding ache in her head to fade. Eventually, she opened her eyes, and jumped back when she saw sand pouring right in front of her.

“What is this?” she wondered. Distracted from the pain, she ran a finger over the hourglass image. It still felt like paper, but the sand in the hourglass was very clearly flowing from the top to the bottom.

Then she read the poster.

“Wait a minute, ‘Tash.’ That’s that god from Narnia Ilcharheen believes in, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yep!” Alfajiri leaped up in excitement. “Tash the Inexorable! Ilcharheen says he’s pretty cool!”

“And he’s one of the gods doing concerts? No, there’s no way that’s a coincidence. That has to be Ilcharheen, right?”

Alfajiri gasped and his pupils dilated to a hilarious degree. “Of course, yeah!”

Wilma tapped a finger on the poster again. “Tash—ugh! I mean, Ilcharheen is doing a concert later today. Small Auditorium. All right.” She narrowed her eyes and said quietly, “Okay, ‘Tash.’ Let’s find out just how inexorable you and your music really are.” She paused. “Alfajiri, what does ‘inexorable’ mean?”

---

2nd

Hunkered down near the back wall of the Small Auditorium, Alfajiri and Wilma witnessed both Tash’s concert, as well as the confrontation that followed between her, the Ellimist, and two humans. (At least, it appeared to only be two humans to them; they were too far away to hear the different inflections between Julian and Estrid.)

And when Tash erupted upwards into a massive specter, they hunkered down even lower.

Alfajiri was trembling. “What do we do, Wilma? This is so bad! Ilcharheen isn’t acting like herself at all! How will we turn her back?”

Wilma stared at the colossal monster. Saving Ilcharheen was pretty far from her mind, at this point—not that she could tell Alfajiri that. “I’m. Uh. Thinking.” She traced a hand lightly over the anti-music symbol on her shirt. We turn the diamonds back into coal. Finally, she said, “I have an idea. Once we can sneak out of here, we need to find an RC no one’s using. And I need to do some research.”

---

1 . . .

“Welp, gosh, here I am, a desert-dwelling carnivore that feasts on carrion, very thematically appropriate to any sand-themed death gods from desert nations.” Alfajiri paced back and forth in a corridor that contained the former RCs of the Wrecked Music Department. “It’s such a shame there aren’t any such gods around right now, since I totally know the best desert in the multiverse, and I was about to visit! Sure would be nice to bring a desert god along with meeeee . . .” He trailed off, and peeked inside the nearby RC whose door was ajar. “I don’t think this is working, Wilma!”

“It has too!” Wilma whispered sharply. She was hiding behind a pile of termite-ruined wood that had once been a bunk bed and storage chest. Aside from the immovable console, the rest of the RC was empty and strangely dim, considering there was no light source to begin with. “The Ironic Overpower is supposed to—oh wait, I think we are doing it wrong. Start saying you don’t want anyone to come with you. That should make it work!”

Alfajiri sighed. “Ilcharheen could be anywhere right now . . .”

“We have to keep trying! It’s not like she’s just going to pop up unexpectedly without any input from us!”

“Thou hast called me into an abandoned response center for some strange reason, Wilma Harrison. Here I am. What hast thou to say?”

Wilma sputtered and spun around. There was Tash, indeed. “Hey, Ilcharheen, long time no see! You’re looking . . . real . . . different! In those clothes! How have you been?”

“I am no longer Ilcharheen. Ilcharheen is ended.” She shuffled a bit though, because . . . that wasn’t quite right, was it? Ilcharheen’s story wouldn’t end for a long time . . . yet how could that be, if Tash was here now, and Tash was Inevitable?

“Ilcharheen, please . . .” whined Alfajiri, padding into the room. “We miss you, and we want you to come back!”

Tash flung out her arms, dress swishing around her knees. “Ilcharheen is no more!” she cried, and her hands trembled, because it suddenly didn’t sound true. What was happening?

“Stick to the plan!” Wilma hissed at Alfajiri. To Tash, she said, “Never mind about that! We heard you were into deserts, and we searched the PPC’s records for the best desert there is! Burning hot in the day, freezing cold at night, spiny plants and venomous animals everywhere, and hardly any precipitation. We thought you’d like to visit?”

“Why . . . yes, it sounds excellent.”

“Good, good! I already entered the coordinates, just need to open ‘er up . . .” Wilma backed up towards the wall, leading Tash forwards while pinning Alfajiri in place with a look over Tash’s shoulder. “Here we are, I’ll just hit this button here, and . . . voila!”

The limited practice consoles the students used in school and for the Sprouts opened portals like an anode tv, starting as a point in the center and expanding outwards. But the WMD agents who once used this one had apparently programmed a joke into theirs, as it opened with a string of piano notes, with the generator filling in as the shapes of individual piano keys from top to bottom. Wilma gritted her teeth against the unexpected sound.

“Very well.” Tash stepped closer to the blue glow. Wilma watched her expectantly, not blinking. She heard Alfajiri’s feet moving behind her.

Tash stopped just shy of the portal and frowned. “This is—” But Alfajiri’s shoulder slamming into her back cut her off, and she disappeared into the portal.

Wilma slammed her hand down on the button again, and the portal closed in the same piano keys-style as before. “Yes!” she roared, jumping up and down and pumping her fists in the air. “One down, eleven to go!”

Alfajiri cocked his head. “Wait what? What are you doing? Open the portal back up!”

Wilma froze in mid-hand pump. “Oh. Uh. Slight change to the plan? We’re just going to leave her there for a while, let the Tash parts go away on their own. In the meantime, let’s work on catching the other gods, okay? We’ll check on Ilcharheen again once we get rid of the rest.”

An extremely low-pitched grunt began rolling out of Alfajiri’s throat, as he slowly padded closer to Wilma.

“Whoa, what is that noise? That’s creepy, don’t make that noise at me!”

“You lied,” fumed the hyena cub. “You’re supposed to be helping Ilcharheen! But you’re just trying to lock her out of HQ so she can’t sing any more, huh?”

Wilma scowled. “Well, duh. Hello?” She pointed to her shirt. “This is exactly the kind of thing Mom trained me for. Silence the noise! Turn the hype into hope! Music turns everyone into mindless zombies who can’t think for themselves. You saw it yourself at those concerts!”

“I still have to help my friend!” Alfajiri snarled and leaped forwards.

Wilma screamed, shutting her eyes and wincing against the wall. But all that happened was the sound of a button being smacked, and a lilting piano chord as the portal reopened. Then she screamed again as a tug on her shoe sent her toppling to the floor, and she was dragged across the RC towards the portal. She tried to warn Alfajiri. “Don’t go in there! It’s dangerous!”

But then they were through the portal, on spongy, shifting soil. Trees towered multiple stories over their heads, all twisted into sharp edges and wavering slightly as their trunks and roots continued to spiral and knot before the kids’ eyes. The air reeked of pollens, saps and oils, and everything was wet and hot and slimy like a rainforest. Massive insects wandered endlessly across every visible surface, with a spider the size of a pickup truck hovering a dozen yards away in a massive web, waiting for the insect life to wander too close.

Alfajiri narrowed his eyes at Wilma as she stood up. “This is Tash’s Country?”

“No, that was a lie, too,” Wilma said as she waved hand-sized gnats away from her face. “This is some fantasy forest that’s getting mutated by a magic weapon, so everything is growing out of control. I figured surrounding Ilcharheen with life energy would weaken her Tash powers.”

“Ah, but life and death art connected.” Tash emerged from behind a tree, filth flies swarming around her, though not touching her. “Thou cannot have one without the other. Behold!” She pointed to a tree behind the children.

They looked, and saw a tree just behind the open portal. It was producing fruit at an impossible rate, the flowers swelling into full-bodied green fruits in moments before bursting into juice and dying right on the branch. The ground beneath was littered with sludge, which beetles, ants and flies were greedily swarming over.

“Yes,” Tash continued, “there art much death here. I thank thee for bringing me here.” She made a clawing motion with her outstretched hand and drew it towards her. The sludge began sliding across the floor, prompting Alfajiri and Wilma to scramble across the heaving ground to avoid getting smeared with it.

The sludge rose up to meet Tash, and began coating her body. “And I feel the magic of this forest as well.” Debris began to drift from every direction: feathers and fur and bones, shed skin and dried out exoskeletons, and particles of dirt from untold numbers of previous plants and animals and fungi. “My power grows beyond the reach of the Lion, at last!” All the detritus collected over her, growing into a shifting shell that expanded, more and more, increasing her height. “No longer must I take only the rightful prizes I am allowed! Thou two shall be my first true prey.” She was massive now, towering over them like she had appeared after her concert, but solid rather than smoke. She took a step forward, heavy foot sinking deep into the roiling ground. She boomed out, “Now Tash is the one who declares the end! And all must end!” She reached a massive, fly-swarmed hand for her former classmates, who were both backpedaling towards the portal, eyes locked on Tash.

So that only Tash saw Ananke step out of the glow. And even through her veil, Tash could see the woman was crying. “Yes, Tash, all must end. Even you.” She whispered, but Tash heard her clearly. “I’ll miss you.”

And then Tash was not. Ilcharheen, dozens of feet in the air, began to fall.

Even as she fell, her mind was on the being that had been part of her just a moment ago. “Tash!?” she called out, frantically twisting about, looking for some sign of the deity she had worshipped all her life. “Tash, come back! Tash, help me!”

Then her head landed on an exposed tree root, and everything went dark.

---

0

Ilcharheen had no awareness of her friends dragging her out of the twisted forest, through the generic corridors, into the Medical Department. Her mind was lost in a quiet, dark fog, gently bobbing about with no ability to move or see. “Tash,” she tried to say, but the sound of her own voice was muted, shadowy, almost underwater. But she tried again. “Tash. Wasn’t I good enough? Haven’t I been loyal? Why? Why did you take your power away from me?”

“That power was not for you,” a deep voice rumbled. It wasn’t muted at all, but rang clear and strong in Ilcharheen’s ears&mdashif, indeed, it was her ears doing the listening at all.

“Where are you?” She tried to turn, to roll over, but it was like she was dreaming, and couldn’t get herself to move properly. “Please, Tash, come to me! Help me!”

“You’re all right now,” said the voice, and something brushed against Ilcharheen. Immediately, she felt stronger, and reached to grab the furry . . . no, not fur, feathers, of course it was feathers! The feathers of Tash the Inexorable!

She snuggled into the feathers, buried her face in the fluff, and felt so much more secure. “Thank you, Tash.” Her voice was even more muffled now, drifting further from herself than before. “I knew you wouldn’t really abandon me.”

“Never in this world, nor the next.” The owner of the voice wrapped a great arm around Ilcharheen, and she was surprised to discover that Tash’s clawlike bird hands were quite warm and gentle. Her consciousness began to drift . . .

She never quite heard the deep voice say, “Yes, sleep now, Daughter of Eve. You deserve a long rest.”

---

((Just to explain that forest near the end: that's Krosa from Magic: the Gathering, during a period when a magic-enhancing device called the Mirari was pumping magic straight into the forest floor, leading to Consequences for the life there. I know it's kind of a weird curveball to throw into the RP, but it seemed like a logical train of thought for Wilma to take in trying to negate a death god's power, and Mirari-infected Krosa is just about the most "lively" place I know of in fiction.))

—doctorlit, only now realizing how hilarious it might have been if someone had selected the Ironic Overpower as one of the gods

Lucian played with her power. By herself. Away from others. One performance was enough. She didn't know how the other gods could handle the crowds, the cheering, the headache...

She fixed her robe, letting her thoughts wander. Was she really going to be dead within a few years? Doomed to fix whatever problems then just, fade?

How was she suppose to fix problems, anyways? She was a god of chaos (sorta), not one to fix problems, but rather one to start them.

Somewhere, in a different timeline, she sent balls of electricity down the halls, trying to unwarp the halls the gods tried to fixed.

Her fabric felt smooth again, just like first time. Smooth, slick, perfect for navigating through the cold waters. No water would soak through, she would not shiver. Just like when she became Lucian.

Somewhere in the future, she cried, curling herself up in her RC. What had everyone done? Was anyone still alive? O'Ryan?

Became. That word stuck into her head. She was always Lucian, wasn't she?

Wasn't she?

She forced herself off the bench. She couldn't angst. She needed to preoccupy her mind with something else.

She wandered around, navigating the crowds. Being 6' tall, in other situations, would make herself stick out, but plenty of the agents were tall, non-humaniod in the least.

She walked towards north. She saw Natalie walk this way earlier. Maybe she could make amends!

---

Meanwhile, O'Ryan had watched one of the gods (he was terrible with names. What was his name? Which one?) on stage. He seemed to blink... and the god was no longer a god. Just a kid.

A fear chord, had this been a video game, would've sounded. O'Ryan felt himself stiffen.

Oh gods.

Was Kitty not Lucian, then? A wave of relief fell over him. His partner, his friend, she wasn't a Sue. Not in the least. Slight cold leaked into the warmth, however.

Oh gods! How would Kitty take this?

He had to find her! Before she turned back too!

He ran. He ran like heck.

---

Lucian had found Natalie with a strange man^ following besides her.

"Natalie!" Lucian cried out. "Hang on a second! Let me catch up!" Her boots crunch on the ground, crushing the glass underfoot to powder. Her cloak, a simple thing to hide her identity flew off, its knot untied. It wasn't a very sturdy knot, of course, but still.

"Yes?" Natalie replied, eyeing the god warily.

Lucian tripped on her own robe, sending her tumbling down. She caught herself, as one did, biting back a screaming as some glass entered her left palm.

A woman walked up besides Lucian and offered her hand. Lucian, without a second thought, grabbed it with her right hand and helped herself up.

It seems that the laws of Narrative Comedy (or was it irony? It dodn't seem very funny.) did not like Lucian today. At all.

She faced the older woman, the words thank you on Lucian's lips, but she saw that she was crying. Beneath a veil.

The person who started it all.

"I love you," she whispered. "I'm sorry. But you were never a god."

---

O'Ryan fell down on the glass some boots had crushed mere minutes earlier, feeling some cloth distinctly wrap around him. He bit back the scream of pain from the little glass shards entering into his left arm, his ears ringing. He swatted at the cloth which wrapped halfway around his torso, felt the slick fabric. Stopped. He looked at it.

Lucian's.

He could hear someone sobbing. He turned his head left...

Kittyauthor sat by herself, her black dress wrinkled, her eyelids swollen and puffy from crying.

Caring less about his pain, he crawled to Kitty and hugged her.

"I'm not a god," she said. "I... can't tell, can't t-tell whether I should be happy or sad." She hugged O'Ryan back, pressing her head onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Kitty said, smiling through her tears into O'Ryan's shoulder. She pushed herself out of his hug. "It'll be fine. Like you said."

"Like I- gah! Qnza cloak!" For the cloak just smacked him in the face. Kitty giggled.

"I guess everything's back to normal," she said.

---

^The man is Atticus. I plan on writing him to enter the PPC during this event... once I get the courage to write Natalie outside of RPs.

Gah! It's angsty, sorry. I can't think of any other way to end this.

I planned on writing two things: one, O'Ryan and Kitty sharing a bonding moment, where Kitty is awkwardly getting used to her new height of 6 feet, and (two) O'Ryan telling Crow this story, although the latter will probably be an interlude. Probably.

So, hS, correct me if I'm wrong, but you also said that Spoilers for the RP, I guess So, will we see a line of that or was that dropped? Just curious!

-kA, who has been writing too much angst lately.

Edit: spelling.

((But I want to set it up more, since I left Ilcharheen's friends in limbo after they set out rescuing her. I'll try to whip the full story together this coming weekend, although I'm worried it might get too long compared to everyone else's. We'll see how it turns out, I suppose. But in any case, it's on the way!))

((And if I don't get another chance: hS, thank you for this whole event! It was a really different and unique sort of story to have to tell. Never thought I would have to put myself in the headspace of the antiAslan! It's been a wild good time. : ) And this might finally force me to get a reasonable timeline together for my Nursery kids and overall spin-off.))

—doctorlit, plotting

The last issue.

hS

((I don't have a ton of plans for the cat-chasing, I'll reply soon- but I don't think anything plot-altering might happen then.))

“I don’t like it,” said Nita Incog, co-editor-in-chief of the New Multiverse Monitor. “All of our years of crafting a reputation for actual decent news and journalistic integrity at Headquarters, and you want to squander it all on clickbait videos?”

“It’s not clickbait if he’ll actually be reading and answering the questions,” Anon E. Maus, her fellow co-editor-in-chief, pointed out cheerily. “Besides, times are changing, and we’ve gotta change with it! The future of media is on the internet! That’s why we have a TikTok now!”

“We have a what?!” demanded Nita, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“A TikTok!” Anon grinned from ear to ear, pulling up the relevant channel on his tablet. A series of short videos showed up: various newsbytes of Headquarters goings-on, commentary clips and reactions from the Monitor’s staff, even a cover of a bunch of agents singing the PPC Wellerman in very bad four-part harmony—

“That’s enough,” said Nita, pushing the phone away. “I can’t believe that that’s what you’ve been up to instead of working on our perfectly sensible news magazine.”

“Which one of us agreed to serialise Lux and Tahira’s collaboration manga about Jacques Bonnefoy and that Chinese wizard man again?”

Nita gasped. “I’ll have you know that ‘Bonnefoy’s Little Crush’ is a tour de force of visual storytelling,” she declared, “and thus very worthy of a feature in our humble publication.”

“I still don’t know why you refuse to bring back Page Three,” grumbled Anon.

“You would rather we run around catching illicit photographs of various ‘hott’ agents in states of undress,” stated Nita flatly, “than serialise a BL manga about Agents Bonnefoy and Wei that they actually approved.”

Anon shrugged. “What’s life without a little excitement?”

Nita rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” A loud keening whimper of a theremin began to float out of the Who Do You Think You Are, Apollo? Auditorium doors. “There he goes. You have your…” she grimaced, “TikTok ready for this?”

“Naturally,” replied Anon, producing a camcorder from his bag. “Let’s go.”

---

((Coming soon to an RP near you: The Ellimist Reads Frequently Googled Questions About the Ellimist!))

It's got a real ebb and flow feel to it for some reason (I am, as always, good at saying what text feels like, but terrible at knowing why), which fits perfectly with the Ellimist.

For the moment, I've spliced this onto the end of Let the Show Begin, because it works nicely as an endcap to that story; if it attracts RP attention I may separate it out, unless said RP fits with that positioning.

And yes, the Ellimist can have his colour gradient! I've found a gradient generator which is positively nightmarish for HTML, but copies perfectly into GDocs. I've put a fairly simple treatment in the doc for now, but feel free to provide either comments or a better version. :)

hS

It might draw back some of the absent gods, after all. But I am somewhat biased. ;)

hS

First off, I loved the performance. Though, be warned, there's probably an "... and it gets everywhere" joke coming in the logo circle, because. Sand. The archiving should be fine; I'm just gonna copy directly from your GDoc to mine. ^_^

Anyway, cover!

This cover may wind up swapping out; if the Tash mission goes ahead, I might need to switch it to that story. Basically depends on which one produces the best 'substitute for a god' for the cover; at the moment it's probably Jadis, since I can at least get a reference picture for her.*

*But would it be Disney or BBC Jadis? And would they even look different after I drew them?

This cover was originally earmarked for the finale, as a "The End" gag, but I already had an alternate lined up for that. ^_^

hS

Edit: Putting together the archive version... I think the sand-explosion at the end of the performance has been knocked out of the timeline, which is a shame, because it was kind of cool. Let me know if you want me to put it back in somewhere in the RP section. ~hS

> Then, she croaked, “What hast thou to say?”

From near the back of the crowd, Estril-and-Julian called out, with one voice that nevertheless gave the distinct impression of belonging to two people at once, "Fairest and Fallen, greetings and defiance!"

(( How they'd made it out of the fic I'm writing into HQ is very much not relevant here, this timeline has enough weirdness in it as it is. ))

That wasn't actually what was said. Agent Mmrrowl didn't actually say anything, in the way that two-legged agents generally mean the term; he merely flirted his tail in a particular way that meant something on the order of "I acknowledge your existence, and have decided that at present I will permit you to share my personal space without complaint."

For a cat, that's about as close to a greeting as you're likely to get.

Mmrrowl sat down a few strides away from Stone and examined her for a couple of seconds. Then, ducking his head, he casually washed his ear with one paw. "Interesting song," he said, in the glint of one half-hidden eye, and for him that was equivalent to a standing ovation.

---

((Because I remembered I have a couple of cats strolling about HQ. I'm sure the other one will be along any minute... :D Neither of them speak anything other than Cat, but they both understand English if Stone would rather use it.))

((And I loved the performance! It really evokes both her god, and the impact it has on her listeners. :) ))

((Do you have a feel for when in the month this happened? Both for archiving purposes, and so I know whether Mmrrowl has already spent a couple of weeks thinking condescending thoughts about two-leggeds and their foibles before he happened to see Stone's show.))

((hS))

((PS: Mmrrowl is a black cat, but not, as he once took pains to point out, a Black Cat.))

We're definitely planning part 2 of Future Tense, but we don't know whether Tash will actually show up at this point. My mental image of her in the final "gone a little cuckoo" stages of godhood has been shifting back and forth between "wanders the halls being spooky and unkillable (because she is The End, and so cannot be Ended against her will)" and "full-on human sacrifice extravaganza", so actually, your position on how she'll wind up would be great even if she doesn't show up directly.

(The canonical quote about how things go at the late stage is "You don't see many gods bathing in blood in the first year of their return". One way to describe it could be that their preferences and tendencies - whether mortal or godly - grow more and more obsessive as time passes.)

Also: I would love to see Tash's performance, for the Party in the Parc or otherwise. I think if it was the Party I'd probably archive the account in either the Special Edition (as a standalone, literally as an account of what her show was like), or to its own issue (if people respond to it, like how Yavanna's show is archived). See, I'm already planning... :D

Alsø alsø wik: I really want to see the interview. ^_^ One way of keeping it light would be to have an interviewer who refuses to be anything but bubbly, and ignores obvious attempts by Tash to lead her down darker paths. Sort of like:

So, Tashie, you keep calling yourself 'the end'. What's that all about?

I am The End. All lives are stories, and all stories End, and I am that End. I will stand when you, and everything in the PPC, are naught but dust and memories, and that time will come very soon.

Cool. So, what's your favourite flavour of chocolate?

(Obviously over a full interview you'd be a little more subtle than that. ^_~)

hS

This sounds like fun and craziness. l don't have Permission yet, but I have been reading up on PPC stuff and I have my second Permission Request in the works, (I've finished writing it, but I need someone to beta it) and this sounds like a fun thing to do while I procrastinate on my photography class have time to do random stuff because it's summer break. I also have at least one agent who can do Narnia.

Yes, apparently the first half last year established that "This is broadly canon but doesn't require Permission to participate," so your non Permissioned agents can interact with other agents and the gods.

El-Ahrairah has worn 19th century neckwear since his return, in the very first issue of WicDivPPC "Once Again...". I linked the full set in the opening post.

hS

We're working retroactively now: everything took place in 2020, but we never finished it up. Aside from certain parts of issue 4, nothing takes place in 2021. Is that what you were asking?

hS

[Editor's Note: That's right, we here at the Multiverse Monitor have gained EXCLUSIVE access to Tash the Inexorable! All thanks to our intrepid reporter, Leslie Ruth! Apparently, Leslie didn't have time write it out properly, but we've taken the liberty of creating a transcript based on the original audio he recorded while interviewing Tash. Read it here, because you won't get this content anywhere else!]

Leslie Ruth: Hello! Thank you for coming! I understand you turned down a couple of my colleagues for interviews, so I feel quite honored!

Tash: Thou hast called me here.

LR: Uh, yes. Indeed right! Welcome to Headquarters, I suppose.

T: I do feel welcome, yes. It is good.

LR: . . . Good! So, I’m told that your previous . . . you . . . was a student who was training to become an agent here, Ilcharheen?

T: Tash hath always been Tash. Ilcharheen was merely preparation. Now Tash art her full self, and here Tash art.

LR: So . . . you going back to finish your schooling?

T: For what purpose? I know all I need to know. I know what art mine . . . to take.

LR: What do your classmates think of you being a god?

T: I have not asked. Tash hath no "mates." Thou wouldst know something of this, yes?

LR: What do you—Um. Never mind. Let's just . . . keep moving, move along to . . . Uh, okay. We here in the PPC tend to think of you as being from Narnia, the series. But of course, Narnia, the world, isn't really your home, is it? You have your own world.

T: I was birthed of Narnia, by the wicked thoughts hidden away in wicked hearts. But wickedness belongs not in Narnia, and so Tash stays in Tash's Country, and all the wicked alongside.

LR: And what is Tash's Country like?

T: Cooold. Dryyy. Quiiiet. Daaark.

LR: And what do you do there, exactly?

T: I shall take you there, and you shall know.

LR: Whoa ho ho, that will not be necessary! Say, there's a mission record in which you got turned into a parrot and hit with a lightning bolt. Do you remember?

T: . . . I do not, mercifully. It wouldst seem thy organization is thorough in fulfilling its purpose, including the memory erasure. Though not every member is always so successful. Is that not so, Agent Ruth?

LR: . . . What . . . What do you mean? Uh, and I'm not a field agent anymore. You can just call me Leslie.

T: Very well, Leslie.

LR: So, um . . . It seems the people of Calormen worship at least two other gods, apart from you. They're named "Azaroth" and "Zardeenah." What are they like, and what other gods do the Calormene worship?

T: I know not. I hath never met them.

LR: . . . Seriously?

T: Indeed. I cannot speak for them, but I hath been most busy.

LR: You're an immortal deity, all the time in the world, and you . . . just never met them?

T: We didst not hang out.

LR: . . . Wow. Wow. Okay, well. I was kind of hoping to pad this interview out with detailed descriptions of Narniaverse deities that never got mentioned in canon, but sure. You never hung out with them, of course.

T: Worry not. I beg an answer of thee.

LR: Sure, why not?

T: Doth the guilt weigh heavily upon thy mind?

LR: G—G—Guilt? I, uh, I don't know what you mean . . .

T: Of course thou do, Leslie Ruth. Not all men can be as brave as a high king of Narnia, but three partners? All cast into danger and death to save thyself?

LR: That isn't, that's not . . . What, did you look up my history? The official records show—

T: The only record that doth concern me is the one that beats heavy within thy chest now, Leslie Ruth. One partner, caught by an explosion thee detonated too early . . .

LR: There was no time! The Suvian was about to escape!

T: . . . Another partner, cast from thy hands directly into those of the Slow Mutants . . .

LR: It was him or me! The mine cart was too heavy!

T: . . . The last partner, blinked away with a whole story as its author cut the thread.

LR: The fic was being deleted! That wasn't my fault, she just didn't make it through the portal in time!

T: So thou hast convinced thyself. But I yet feel thy hand upon her shoulder. I feel thee shoving her backwards.

LR: Noooooooo . . .

T: Yes, thee may run now, Leslie Ruth. Thou may run, but thou mayst not hide from the end. The Inevitable will find thee. I am the Inevitable.

[Ed: Fantastic interview, Leslie! And we really miss you, so if you're reading this, come back to the office, okay?]

—doctorlit wrote this entirely on his cell phone '~'

After a brief run-in with a group of Janitorial workers protesting the unfair amounts of concert debris to clean up, one of our newer reporters managed to reach out to one of the gods and request an interview during a lucky Cafeteria break.

Mary Poppins! So, can you tell us a bit about yourself?

Huh? Oh, hello. Are you, um. Are you reporting, by any chance?

As you could probably tell. Now, about the question…

Um. Alright then. I’m Mary Poppins, and I exist.

Right. And how about before that? Any details you care to share with us?

To be honest, no.

(beat)

Well, moving on, then. So what’s your opinion on the PPC, and has it changed since your delu- er, ascension? How did you feel after it?

Um. Well, it’s a strange place. I don’t think my opinion’s changed much, truth be told. I, um. I guess the place seems a bit more chaotic now? But in a stable, weirdly balanced sort of way. I think most of the change was, like, more personal than anything. (He shifts his umbrella off his shoulder, letting the point rest on the floor.)

I see. So! Let’s get to the real meaty questions.

Meaty?

So how’s it feel knowing you’ll die in two years?

(Mary Poppins shrugs.) Pretty terrible.

...That’s it? No further thoughts? No deep speeches from one of the Pantheon?

Not really, no. I figure at least this way, I can worry less about the future, so best not to spend too long dwelling on it. Centuries of life might appeal to some people, but I don’t think it was ever for me. Besides, stay too long and people could get desensitized.

Excuse me, centuries?

Centuries.

Hm. Well. Moving on, where did those fox bits of yours come from? Last time I checked, Poppins didn't have those.

Oh. Um, well. Actually, these are natural. (He shifts his tail so that it rests over his lap.) Even before the ascension, I was - er, still am, that is - a gumiho. Fox spirit. Most definitely not bloodthirsty, really. Um.

...Alright then. Explains the centuries, at least. Doesn’t it seem rather strange, though, the idea of Mary Poppins as a ‘most definitely not bloodthirsty’ fox spirit?

No more than a mountain incarnating as a cat, I think.

So you’re a field agent, right? How does your godhood affect that work?

Um. To be frank, I think it really helped. At least, I feel like I’m no longer a burden on missions anymore. Confidence does volumes for performance, it turns out.

Confidence. I see. So, any grand shows of power during field work?

Of course not, I’m still an agent, after all. There are rules and regulations to follow, and... this doesn’t change that. To be honest, I think my partner still helps me more than I help them. They were there while I tried to get my mind together, and they helped keep my… emotions in check. They’re good that way.

Right, right. So, any thoughts on the rumours circulating around that you’re actually a Time Lord?

...Pardon? Last time I checked, I wasn’t. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.

Any thoughts on the other gods in the Pantheon?

They, uh, seem friendly enough? Sometimes I feel like I should meet up with them more often, but our schedules rarely seem to line up.

Alright then, last question. How do you feel about those claiming you all are nothing more than Suvian infiltrators sent to undermine the stability of the PPC?

Um. I, uh, don’t think we are? It’s been weeks by now. Surely someone’s taken a CAD scan?

Have you been scanned yet?

I… think so? I got ambushed by agents with CADs, at one point. It was real awkward. But anyway, I thought you already asked the last question?

(beat)

Good day to you.

You too. Take care of yourself.

---

((hyyyype))

((Seriously, though. Glad to see this little storyline-type thing coming to a close, hopefully I’ll actually be able to contribute more this time around. Thanks! And here’s hoping I didn’t mess this up much; I think I’m a bit rusty, to be honest.))

-OrangeFox

1: So first, the ears? Totally real! Which is super wild!

The young god posed for the camera, his cravat rakishly loose, his entire outfit artful in its unkemptness. Sprezzatura, it was called. Effortless cool. His cane twirled in his fingers, captured by the gif.

2: El-Ahrairah's from a really dark continuum: it's violent, and gory, and somehow also for kids! Which is great. Obviously.

This pose was more sombre, the sword being slowly drawn from its cane sheath for the benefit of the gif, a stern and serious expression on the god's face.

3: So, what's he a god of exactly? Well, bunnies, obviously, but also speed, laughter, tricks...

The gif from above continued, and the drawn sword flashed out in a shimmer of silver - to cut a giant carrot in half as it is hurled towards the smiling god.

4: ... Aaaaand other stuff. And lots of it. Which probably explains all the fans.

A panning shot of the crowd behind El-Ahrairah showed a bunch of extremely energetic fans, carrying placards and fanart. Quite a lot of it has had to be pixelated, so much so that it was of lower quality than the average video purporting to be proof that UFOs exist.

5: But don't worry, everybody, he's a perfect gentleman.

The next gif showed an obviously different scene, with El-Ahrairah sipping tea at a fan meet-and-greet in the Courtyard. A DMS agent blushed and appeared entirely too flustered as he kissed her hand, eliciting some swoons from others in the queue.

6: Literally, in fact!

This time, El-Ahrairah was shown swirling something in a brandy glass in the Pennacook Club, of which he was a hereditary member on a technicality. It was a mix of radish juice and carrot juice, at least according to the caption.

7: Our incredible investigative journalism technique of "asking people" determined that not only is he a god, he's a lord! Fancy!

A shot, obviously staged, showed El-Ahrairah rising from the Fountain in a pastiche of the Colin Firth ornamental lake scene from Pride and Prejudice. Clearly, not even the divine can determine the location of HQ's fabled Pool.

8: Don't be fooled though. He's no snooty, pompous stick-in-the-mud.

The next shot showed El-Ahrairah slipping on the Fountain's tiles and falling backwards with a splash, laughing all the way down.

9: He's a party god. Like Dionysus! Or Dionysus's fursona.

There was no sound with the gifs, but even so, a reader could almost feel the bass throb from the pictures of the club. El-Ahrairah's shirt was blue under the blacklight, his cane was absent, his care was forgotten, his movements to the music entrancing.

10: This bunny got moves. That's not grammatically correct, but it is actually correct, so don't send us angry letters. Notary.

More footage from the club. The lights flashed a rainbow of colours. Handprints in glow-paint covered El-Ahrairah's shirt, and he was still dancing, still moving, everything but the music forgotten.

11: He's a really happy guy, is our point. The life of the party.

Foam cascaded down at the club, glowing the iridescent bluish-purple of ultraviolet light. El-Ahrairah rose up through it like a sea eagle surfacing, flicking his long lop ears back in a spray of colour. He was on a table and looked like there was nowhere else he should be.

12: Any party.

The next gif showed the god at some kind of formal masquerade ball, dancing a slow but passionate waltz with a fan.

12a: Any party.

The next showed him from a wider angle playing musical chairs with a gaggle of Nursery children, some Generic Bunting spelling out Happy Relevant Birthday Insert Name Here in the background.

14: But not everything is sunshine and rainbows. Though there are a lot of rainbows.

A short gif of El-Ahrairah smirking in an entirely lascivious manner. Hanging off his arm were a woman, a man, and (in defiance of physics) a novelty toilet brush on a skateboard.

15: You see, El-Ahrairah's got issues with his ex-family.

Beneath is a picture, alas unmoving, of a small round-looking man in a powdered wig and green frock coat, looking like nothing so much as a Regency Brussels sprout. The man had a manic cast to his features and the haft of a placard in his hands.

16: Meet Algernon, 7th Earl Wymbourne. He's one of the Anti-Divinity protestors... and El-Ahrairah's former dad. Yes, former.

A small mob - a moblet, perhaps, a bijou mob perfect for the first-time rioter - surrounded Algie in the photograph, each carrying their own placards. One was a sleep-deprived Pokémon whose placard simply reads "SHUT UP DOK", the reason for which they alone were privy.

17: Before their ascension to godhood, the gods had a mortal life.

This time the still image was of an oil painting, a family portrait in Regency style of Algie, a young boy (obviously his son), and someone who even the most untrained eye could tell was a Suvian, resplendent in a pink crop top, black skinny jeans, and two different spiked belts.

18: Though some of the gods say they were always gods, and never were mortal in the first place.

This gif showed the protestors being harangued by a crowd of PPC personnel wearing bunny ears. There's arguing, but it hasn't turned violent, the worst being the occasional bop on the head with a giant inflatable carrot.

19: El-Ahrairah is one of those gods.

The shot tracked right in the next gif, revealing El-Ahrairah, his back turned to the crowd, his posture far more aloof and cold than in previous footage.

20: Though obviously, it brings him pain.

A new setting again. This gif showed El-Ahrairah lounging in a chair, his posture loose and laissez-faire but his face cast down, as though deep in an ill thought.

21: Quite at odds with the playboy image he's cultivated.

Another new setting, this time vibrant, sunlit. New Caledonia's streets, a crowd of fans watching and cheering for the god as he bounded and danced along them.

22: Heh, didn't realise I'd done that.

Another gif showed El-Ahrairah in a dressing gown smoking a bubble pipe for some unknown reason, a bevy of attractive persons surrounding him in leotards and the ubiquitous ears.

23: Still, he's the fun-loving carefree god-about-town-and/or-corridor we've grown to love.

The next gif returned to New Caledonia. El-Ahrairah put a jaunty spring in his step, leaping and tumbling like an acrobat. So smooth, so natural. So hypnotic.

24: Always ready with a smile and an autograph for his fanbase.

El-Ahrairah tucked and rolled up to a girl and spun around to take a selfie with her phone, then handed it back and bounced away again, leaving her screaming with joy in his wake.

25: And if he isn't?

El-Ahrairah looked back in the next gif, the shot freezing on a tiny knot of protestors, a blob of green visible at their forefront.

26: He can get there fast.

The gif tracked back to El-Ahrairah as he turned away from Algie, then counted on his fingers before disappearing with a THOOM of displaced air that almost, almost drowned the cheers.

Recommended Mildly Irritating Listicles With Noisy Ads That Eat All Your Mobile Data, Because Hey, At Least We're Honest About It:-

Eight Reasons Why Tash Is Our Autumn Fashion Icon!

Twelve And A Half Workout Tips From Kord!

Yavanna: Seventeen Point Four Recurring Gardening Tips

---

((OOC: Look, the Monitor isn't the only game in town. Not any more, at least.))

The day after Party in the Parc, one of our lovely interviewers caught up with Lucian, a self proclaimed "Dark God," discussing a matter with Ms. Natalie Green.

Excuse me, Lucian? Could I talk to you for a moment?

Sure. Natalie, I'll talk some more later, okay?

Natalie left, allowing our interviewer to interview the Dark God herself.

How do you feel about being here at the PPC?

Odd. I'm closer to the Upper Layer than I think I should be. This world is weird, half what I remember, half not.

How did it feel to find out that you were Lucian?

Weird? I mean, I had just joined the PPC almost two months ago and haven't even gotten used to it yet. I had just completed my first mission as well. But, now I'm... er, I know I'm Lucian and I thought I would never get this far.

What were you before you be-, I mean, learned that you were Lucian?

Just... Kittyauthor. A former Mii turned human. A decent swordfighter.

Swordfighter?

Yeah. I apparently came from this game called Find Mii, where I had to help rescue Whitney. It's, uh, a long story.

So, you were a Mii?

Yeah. But whatever brought me here changed me into a human.

How does it feel to be six feet tall?

laughs A little weird. I'm almost as tall as O'Ryan! Well, kinda sorta almost. He's still six inches taller.

What were you doing before you found out you were Lucian?

Walking. Listening to music.

Did you have a destination in mind?

No.

What did it feel like to learn that you were Lucian?

Weird. It felt... awesome, true, like I could touch the stars if I wanted to... but weird. Especially with the Power running through me now.

Does the Power have anything to do with the "Upper Layer" you mentioned?

Yeah. The Upper Layer is were my power originates, actually.

How do you feel about the other Gods?

I dunno. I'm a loner by nature, so I tend to avoid them.

Do you exclude O'Ryan Keys from your activities more now that you know you're Lucian?

Actually... no. I think we've grow closer together. He's my friend, he helps me through the PPC, especially now since I have all these memories. She laughs. Although I normal don't mess with mortals, but when exiled, I kinda got used to it.

Do you have anything motivating to say to your followers?

I have followers?

Yes.

Huh. Well, I guess believe in what you think is right and follow that belief.

Alright then. Thank you for this interview.

---

Had to include the "I have followers?" because Lucian thought she was just alone in the world. She likes the idea, sure, but she just thought that, since she didn't often talk to the other gods since schoolwork kept me away from the RP oops that no one would really know her.

-kA, who wrote this as soon as possible and might draw up a profile or an advertisement later.

(PS: Still have to draw Lucian, dang it.)

(Edit: Forgot to include event name because I'm silly. Fixed!)

In the aftermath of the Party in the Parc, our independent reporters caught up with one of the younger gods: Yavanna, the first of the Pantheon to return.

So, Yavanna, an easy one to start with: tell us about yourself.

I'm Yavanna - uh, you knew that. I'm the Earthqueen, the Giver of Fruits, patron of trees and forests. Of the autumn, I suppose, but also of growth and the harvest. I'm one of the fourteen Valar - well, fifteen if you count Melkor, but we don't - we're from Middle-earth, but you probably knew that too. Uh, I guess that's me?

And before that?

Before Middle-earth? I was in the Timeless Halls, singing in the Music of the Ainur. It's how we created the world, you know?

No, I meant… before you were Yavanna, who were you?

Oh. Uh. So I'm… I was the son of a pair of retired PPC agents - I don't really want to say who.

Seriously? We all know it's Dafydd Illian.

I really don't want to say. I'm half-elven, and have grown up around the PPC - I was actually picking my sisters up from Sprouts when I learnt who I really was.

Okay, let's talk about that. How did it feel to become - or learn you were - a god?

It was… like hearing all the trees of the forest suddenly calling my name. And not just calling me, but waiting for my response, longing for my response. And then the very earth itself, reaching up to me, into me, until the whole natural world sang through me. That's why I have to go up onto the stage, I think - not for my own sake, but to give all green and living things the voice they deserve.

But only for a while, right? You've never been shy about how briefly you'll be here. Two years - how do you cope with that?

Well, I mean, as a half-elf I've always had two paths ahead of me. I can be mortal, live a century or so and then leave the worlds behind; or I can choose my father's kin, become an elf and never die. I've never known which was right for me… but maybe this is the third way. To live for two years, to inspire and uplift - and then to return, ninety years from now. It's not called the Recurrence for nothing.

But-

And you know, sometimes I think things need to be brief to be bright. A forest in spring or summer is lovely, all green and growing. But a forest in autumn, decked in reds and golds, its floor a carpet of crisp fallen leaves - that's the true beauty of the woods, right before it fades into winter.

I suppose I've never thought of it like that. Do the other gods see it the same way?

Heh. Okay, yes, there have been some debates on that point, but I think by now they're all… reconciled, I guess, to the time we have. They're not sitting in empty RCs bewailing their fate, if that's what you mean.

You say 'debates'... how do you get on with the rest of the Pantheon? Are you all one big happy family?

I can tell you don't have a large family. I've got two, now, and some things hold true across both. There are always arguments, always people who get on well and those who don't. I like to think I've done a lot to keep the peace - because, well, we have to. If we fall out, if we start properly fighting, it will… I mean, it'll be bad, is all.

You were the first of the gods to return, and the first to go public. It sounds like you feel some kind of responsibility towards the rest of them.

Well, 'first' doesn't mean a lot when we all popped up in the space of, what, two hours? But you're right that I feel responsible. I've had- I can imagine how things could go wrong, if they let themselves get out of control. Some of the things the others could potentially do chill my blood. But it's okay! You don't need to be frightened - that's not why we're here, not who we are. We're here to sing, to inspire you, to help the PPC become even better than it already is.

What're your thoughts on these rumours of extra gods walking around?

What?! Where is she? What have you heard? Because if you know anything - we have to find her, have to stop her before she can ruin eve...ry… wait, what have you heard?

Um… that there are extra gods beside you twelve. There's a girl in Bad Slash claiming to be Aphrael the Child-Goddess of Styricum, though that might just be Kayleigh being Kayleigh. And there's a rumour of some kind of Lovecraftian horror in the Cafeteria, but given what happened to the meatloaf a few years back I'm not convinced. What have you heard?

Nothing.

Really? Because that sounded like a something. Who is 'she'?

Did I say 'she'? I don't think I said 'she'.

You know we're recording this, right?

It was a slip of the tongue. I meant to say that any rumours are clearly mistaken, because the Pantheon is twelve and no more, ever. Are we done?

… sure. Um… so I was able to catch most of the Party in the Parc. You were great, by the way. Do you think there'll be more collaborations in the Pantheon's future, or are you going back to solo shows?

I think you can take it as read that there'll be more. We really need the Pantheon to stick together, to stay united; arguments just hurt everyone, doubly so when there's miracles involved.

Do you think you might branch out a bit? The Troupe By Any Other Name have been asking about doing a musical with you, maybe Hamilton?

I'm not old enough to listen to Hamilton. But, oh! Oh oh oh! What about Les Mis? Lady Kee'ra would make an amazing Valjean, and can't you just hear the Raven Queen singing 'Little Fall of Rain' with me? For Cosette, it'd have to be… hmm, Meridia as young Cosette, with Lucian as little Eppie, but I'm not sure about after she grows up. Ellimist or Gaia? Obviously El-Ahrairah has to be Gavroche, and I think Mary Poppins would make an amazing Javert.

So we can take that as a yes?

It's an incredible idea and I'm suggesting it next time we get together.

Cool. Real talk for a minute: lots of people have noticed this whole thing is taken from a canon called The Wicked + The Divine. Having read it, are you worried about-

Whoa! Spoilers!

… what?

Mom says I'm not old enough to read the comics yet, so I don't want to hear anything about them. Tell you what, I'll read them next year and we can do another interview.

You… I mean… yes, that would be great. Um. So, last question: have you got a message for your fans?

Sure I do!

…

…

I meant one we could write down.

Oh! Uh, be excellent to each other? Sorry, that's from this old movie. Uh, remember that even when things seem cold and dark, and the winter wind is howling around you, that sooner or later spring will come, and everything will be all right again.

And if you want to see me on stage - look for the falling leaves.

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^_~

hS