It was another perfectly usual day in Warp. The sun was shining and the temperature was an exquisite X*4aa (which, as we all know is roughly 22° in the humorously inadequate Earth-based Celsius). There was a soft, delicate breeze that was pleasant and inviting and not nearly strong enough to disrupt even the most fragile of hairstyles. The denizens of Warp, not constrained by the typical trappings of a society based around commerce, were mostly settling down for their post-lunch afternoon naps. On Warp, a midday slumber was considered the perfect accoutrement to a well-spent morning and a much needed refresher to send them into the second half of their days in elevated spirits. 

 

In Edvard Floom’s neighborhood in particular, resting was highly encouraged, as no respectable member of the community would dare to skip out on their gods-given allotment to catch their noon-hour winks.

 

All save for one Douglas Abelpop. 

 

Douglas was a well-known busybody among his community members, frequently found with his eyes peeping through a neighboring hedge and his mouth full of opinions. His favorite hedge to neighbor was that of Edvard Floom who lived in the cottage directly next door to his own. He’d spent many a day in his life stooping, peering, perusing, gawking and otherwise investigating the Floom property with all the skill of a suspicious school marm and the accompanying subtlety of a suspicious school marm. 

 

You see, Douglas was fantastically jealous of certain elements of Edvard’s garden (though he would never outright admit it) and was often in awe of how well his neighbor had managed to cultivate certain vegetation so expertly with what appeared to be a relaxed deftness that left Douglas scratching his head. In fact, despite having never studied any critical theory, nor deductive examination skills–or even ever attending the free “Your Convex Lens And You: The Practical Course To Magnifying Glass Use” seminar held semi-annually at the neighborhood community house–Douglas was convinced that something about Edvard was amiss.

 

He spent long hours laboring to catch a glimpse of the garden through the slats in his kitchen window, or even the vaguest intimation of planting impropriety behind various objects that obscured never more than sixty-percent of his visible form. Douglas was a man certain (beyond all reasonable doubt) that one day he would catch Edvard Floom in the act. 

 

Now, really, the most scandalous image that Douglas could conjure up was that perhaps Floom was observing the use of a different type of fertilizer than the rest of his neighbors (an offense most foul to be sure). Perhaps even watering his crop more often than he claimed–which was thrice a day. Never in his life would Douglas have thought that something far more interesting–and therefore horrifying–was taking place within the confines of 7 Thistleburr Road.

 

That was why it was so perplexing to see a parade of strangers exiting Edvard’s kitchen window and carrying Mrs. Ginny’s (one street over on Elderberry Court) prized pet tabby. This was further compounded in Douglas’ currently conspiratorial thought process by the fact that just one day earlier the whole ordeal with the meteor-that-wasn’t-a-meteor had transpired.

 

Seeing this new development, Douglas hastily (and shakily) peered at the party through the medium of his unoculars and the safety of his second-floor covered balcony. Previously, this viewing device had been a pair of binoculars, but on a fateful day two years ago, one lens had tragically fallen down the drain when he was taking a bath.

 

With a start, he realized that this gathering seemed to be heading directly toward Buttermilk Lane, a fact that made Douglas very uncomfortable. Whatever was going on, Douglas didn’t think he wanted any part of it, thank you very much. 

 

Rather than follow the path of the newcomers, Douglas zeroed in on something else even more upsetting. He couldn’t be sure, but… was that…? 

 

“He did it!” He shouted out loud in his home. “Edvard got himself a new weathervane!”

 

—

 

Snooze marched along through the narrow road with her four companions in tow. She couldn’t  believe how quaint this location happened to be, and kept goggling wherever she looked. The whole time she spent trying to play a game with herself to spot the cutest and coziest possible thing.

 

It was going to be a difficult activity though, because ever since she met Wally–as she refused to stop calling Walter the tabby–he had been taking first place for “most adorable and perfect.”

 

At the moment, Wally was tucked into the crook of her arm, his plump lower-half dangling freely and lazily. His front legs were resting on the top of Snooze’s forearm and he resigned to simply gaze about the world around him as if none of it was interesting and he definitely hadn’t just been annexed by a celestial creature into being an unwitting part of her master plan.

 

Over Snooze’s shoulder, the Scroll of Currents floated quietly. It hadn’t said much since they’d arrived, and that was alright. It was focusing a lot of its efforts on its special project. One that wouldn’t get their entire party blasted to bite-sized smithereens. The god life companion was devising something, and this required a great many calculations to ensure every aspect of the process was fine-tuned with an attention to detail that would have made Xolt blush. In the overall scheme of things little and big, the Scroll of Currents was considered a much more “relaxed” companion in comparison to the rest. Even though this version, which was considered the Travel variety, had indicated that the true Scroll of Currents was less amiable than itself… it was still far more personable and flexible than, say, the Book of Leaf.

 

Because of this, what many of the Council of True God Life Companions thought was that it took a lot longer for the Scroll of Currents to come to a consensus in high-stress situations. This was believed to be because it considered the emotional outcomes as well as the logical ones, and this, of course, added an entirely different, complex variable into the mix.

 

Meat trotted along next to the god, whistling in the middling register–which was a sign of uncertainty. Meat was no fool, and firmly believed that their current endeavor was a dangerous one. Truly, his mind was occupied by heavier contents at the moment. He couldn’t help but lament the “good ole days” and how nice it had all been back before, when it was just he, Snooze and the Book of Leaf frolicking along in her created temporary world. Back before everything got complicated. 

 

Meat had, for some time now, been worried that he wasn’t fully capable of understanding the full spectrum of everything that had been going on around him and had some anxieties about it. Chiefly, he was concerned that the rest of the group, who seemed so adept and efficient, would grow even more knowledgeable of the goings-on in the multiverse and choose to leave poor, ignorant Meat behind. Of course, he was incapable of verbalizing this in any way other than a hum and a whistle. 

 

Odd was… well, acting very much like Odd. The tiny Archangel was riding along on Snooze’s shoulder opposite the Scroll of Currents, clinging to strands of her Avatar hair and glaring into the neighborhood windows. Odd was certain that this settlement of casually-existing miscreants was at worst: mildly nefarious, but at best: extremely nefarious. 

 

He stated several times during their short jaunt that he would be the ‘militant watchtower over this realm, seeking to root out both good and evil alike to lay waste to their wretched existence and bring forth a new era of peace and prosperity underneath his powerful fists of pure chaos.” These words had promptly been gathered and discarded by the rest of the group.

 

“Almost there,” Snooze said, pointing over a few hedges to a large, imposing structure on the next street. “That’s where they are keeping her.”

 

The building was indeed conspicuous. While the rest of the cottages in the neighborhood were typically pleasant, happy little abodes with winsome chimneys belching out curls of friendly blue smoke, the house on Buttermilk Lane stood as a testament to incongruency and indecency (as well as flippant disregard for established property rules). It was a spindly tower forged of some dark material that lorded over the rest of the neighboring houses like a great, bleak vulture. Whereas the other neighbors had neat, tidy gardens (though, none so grand as Edvard’s) this curiosity was built on a frightfully rocky foundation. Weeds and dirt littered the yard and Snooze wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw a tombstone growing up from a patch of barren ground near the back.

 

Though it may seem obvious to an observer from outside this realm that the resident of this structure was clearly up to “no good,” those the dwelled inside Warp were largely insulated from the red flags of the rest of the multiverse. To them, it was simply, “a bit odd,” and was something to keep caution about–though not for the reasons many might think.

“Yep,” Snooze said, stopping in her tracks. “That’s definitely it.”

 

“Are you sure this plan o’ yers is worth the pursuit?” The Scroll of Currents asked. The Scroll had its own ideas about propriety in situations such as this, and had calculated the risk involved in Snooze’s bizarrely complex strategy of approach. It found the results… lacking, though not without a hint of possible success. However, none of what it had surmised could be fully accounted, because of the further issue with the Fiendish Nosferatu.

 

They had the unique trait of shrouding themselves in a field of anti-probability. 

 

What that was, and it’s consequences, would be clear soon. No sense in spoilers, is there?

 

Snooze beamed at the Scroll of Currents, nodding. 

 

“I have no idea,” she announced happily.

 

This did nothing to curb the strange sense of anxiety that the Scroll of Currents had slowly been cultivating over the last little while.

 

The group moved on, and when they were behind the house next door to the Nosferatu’s homestead, Snooze called a halt.

 

“Okay,” she said, and the tension was palpable now. “Here we are.”

 

The Scroll hesitantly agreed, shifting so that it was no longer hovering over Snooze’s shoulder.

 

“Remember now,” it said, clear nervousness present in its tone. “It’s a might unlikely that any o’ yer god spells will work inside. Even if they were to go off, their gumption will be suppressed. Don’t corral yourself into a corner of predicament that only yer Abilities can resolve.”

 

Snooze chuckled, but internally she was, as they say, freaking the borf out.

 

“You worry too much,” she said. “I know precisely what I’m doing!”

 

She didn’t.

 

Snooze looked at her Archangels.

 

“Do you both remember your roles?

 

Meat turned a faintly yellow color–a clear sign of being uncomfortable, but released a whistle of agreement.

Odd shot forward, landing on Meat’s head.

 

“YEAH!” It announced. “IT’S TIME TO KILL!”

 

Snooze shook her head.

 

“Odd…” she warned. The creature looked around as if embarrassed before correcting itself.

 

“It’s time for… OTHER STUFF.”

 

Snooze sighed.

 

–

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

That is strange, thought Bogbitro the Familiar. No one ever approaches the Master’s lair.

 

He thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t entirely true, was it? At least once a week he’d received a very quiet knocking and would open the door to find one member or another of the Neighborhood Conduct Association requesting a parlay for some fantastically mundane issue they’d decided was important. Bogbitro didn’t really understand a majority of the issues they presented, but would always hear them out as they nervously rattled off their assortment of grievances and citing… code violations or reference numbers.

 

Then he would thoughtfully and cordially inform them he would relay the concerns to Mr. Atu (as he’d been instructed to call the Master) before closing the door. He always did, but the Master never seemed as though he could be bothered by such triviality. Typically, Bogbitro would set out to correct them himself, but he often got confused by the nuances of the complexities the NCA had laden him with. Once, he’d tried to sod the barren landscape around the property after they’d asked if the “unseemly garden” could be “altered to fit the surrounds better.” However, after digging for several hours and planting the entire bag within the cavern he’d dug, the NCA had returned the next day to inform him the yard was now worse.

 

It often went like that for the familiar. He would take it upon himself in his downtime to attempt to… spruce the place up, but in each instance it appeared he’d either made it much more difficult to resolve or had taken the requests too literally and rendered the remedy ineffectual. Yet, he persisted. This caused him no end of grief to the point that he dreaded whenever the officials’ meek rapping on the door would summon him and he’d get an earful of his errors.

 

However, this time, the knock wasn’t the muted, borderline polite sort that was so typical of the NCA. This sound was much more confident and firm. It was curious enough that Bogbitro put down his soup bowl and clambered out of the large armchair that had been customized to his ample size.

 

He opened the door.

 

A small creature stared at him with large eyes from beneath an untidy mop of green hair. He thought she was female, but he couldn’t be sure. She was alone save for one oddity: the girl was extending her arms and holding aloft a chubby, yellow feline with a bored expression.

 

“Hello,” Bogbitro said as his large shadow fell over the girl’s form. He was unsure what to make of her sudden appearance, but, if nothing else, he was pleased it was not a neighborhood authority come to complain.

 

“Is this your cat?” The girl asked earnestly, peering into the darkness of the house behind him.

 

“I don’t believe so,” Bogbitro said, peering at the cat with interest. It was quite cute, but he’d surely have noticed if the Master had suddenly adopted a pet, wouldn’t he?

 

“Are you sure?” The girl asked, seeming to struggle under the kitty’s weight. “I found it prowling around in your yard, trying to get inside.”

 

This new development made Bigbitro pause. The cat had been attempting to get inside? Now he was suspicious that there’d been a pet inside the house the whole time that he’d never noticed and he was worried he should have been feeding it.

 

He examined the creature further.

 

It’s been eating.

 

He was losing confidence that this was not, in fact, his Master’s cat, but couldn’t confirm it well enough to clarify, so instead he said again:

 

“I don’t believe so,” then, though he thought it might be rude, he did as his Master had instructed him and began to close the door. At that moment there was movement and Bogbitro was hardly able to move out of the way as the cat sprang from the girl’s arms and into the house almost as though she’d thrown it herself.

 

“Oh no!” She cried, pushing her way in and past the confused familiar. “Don’t worry! I’ll get him!”

 

Before he could object, the small woman had traipsed right into the foyer and disappeared into the dark hallway beyond.

 

Goodness, Bogbitro thought to himself as he closed the door. This isn’t good at all.