by GoozX, T5 and I'm Not Mister Mxypltk
Apartment 501, fifth floor, 56 Oakwood Avenue, Puerta Mibela, La Perdita:
Sam Dawson sat on his couch, shadows covering his face and chest. His head was still throbbing from one of the longest days of his life. Only once before had he been in so much pain. But he would rather not think about that. Opening a medical kit, he took out bandages. Taking off his shirt and dropping it to the ground, his chest was a mixed shade of black and blue. His arms were deeply sliced up, the wounds still somewhat fresh.
Unraveling the ace bandage, Sam tightly wrapped both of his arms up, leaving just enough room for movement, but not enough to see his injuries. Being able to shapeshift was great at blocking injuries from the eye, but his body needed time to really heal, just like everyone else. Some injuries, such as broken bones, were easier to will back into place. Cuts, bruises, burn marks, these small things were much harder to fix. Better to just let nature take its course. Next, he cleaned and covered his leg wounds.
Holding his head, he moved into the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he took out a container of pain medication. Placing a few pills in his hand, he didn't even hesitate before throwing them back. Pills and medicine and such things were what he had to get used to in his normal everyday routine after the incident.
Finally, his glance rose to that of the mirror, his blond hair messy and thrown about, the darkness still covering his face. Clicking on the light, his image became clear in the mirror.
His expression was cold, angry. Sam stared into his own eyes, almost as if his reflection was someone else. His line of sight never strayed, his anger never letting up.
The skin on the right side of his face was red and blistered, the burn scars locked deep within, his appearance unrecognizable. The deformity traveled down his chest and around his lower backside. After a few moments, Sam shifted his body into the only form everyone else knows.
To the others, it was his true form, his true self.
In reality, it was only a mask against the truth.
Elsewhere on La Perdita Island:
Biggins woke up on his sofa with a nasty hangover. The sun was shining straight in his face, and the pillow was soaked in sweat.
He rose carefully, checking his balance so he wouldn't fall face first on the dusty floor, which was in desperate need of a vacuum cleaner. Magazines and pizza cartons were all over the place. The flies were fighting over a piece of leftover ham sandwich on the table. A few occult books were thrown into a corner, and his backpack of utilities had been turned upside down during the night, probably during his usual sleepwalking while still dreaming.
He slowly managed to go to the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. A change of pace, a vacation, or a real job would be just right.
Biggins laughed at himself. Imagine him in a office, staring at a computer all day long. No, this was where he belonged: on the brink of doom, forever keeping the dark otherdimensional forces out there in check. Actually, being a sorcerer had its benefits. No early mornings, long lunch breaks, and he got to travel a lot.
He took an Aspirin and gulped down the water. Washing his face was torture, as his head shook. The breakfast contained four fried eggs with the sunny side up and some tea.
While sitting there, he suddenly missed his friends. It had been awhile since they had met. The year was 1969, to be exact, the day that Ginger had come to him on a day not unlike this one and had proposed a mission to the Transylvanian mountains. He should never had said yes. They were way too old for missions like that. And now here he was, rejuvenated, a new man with a new mission: to keep the world safe.
At least he now knew he could ask some people for help if he needed it. Poor Ginger.
Mick Harrison rested his ass on the couch in his room, watching television. He had never been an active person, but since M'xy started using his body, he was tired all the time. Sometimes he wondered if M'xy did acrobatics when he used the body. As he flipped through TV stations, Mick sighed.
"Fuck me," he said. "I can't believe I miss Lance and T.C. already."
Mick knew there was something he had to do. He'd been trying to remember what that was since this morning, with no results. It was something about talking to someone about something.
Suddenly, a random TV commercial, completely unrelated to what he had to remember, refreshed his memory. "Oh, yeah..." he said to himself. He closed his eyes and said, "Haven't done this in a while..."
When Mick, with difficulty, concentrated, he reached the someone he had to tell something to. "M-X-Y? You there?"
Hey, Mickey! 'Sup, yo?
"'Sup yo'? You got a TV in there?"
Nah, all the entertainment I got over here in your subconscious is childhood traumas and stuff.
"Uh-huh. Speaking of childhood traumas, I remembered something very strange about my childhood the other day."
Yeah? What was it?
"Oh, don't play dumb. You know what I'm talking about."
But I don't have to play dumb! Whatchu talkin' bout, Willis?
"Are you SURE you don't have a TV in there?"
Positive.
"Huh. Anyway, I was saying, the other day, when we were in that weird Castle place, I visited the room I used as a kid."
Yeah! I found myself in there after you said my name! Hey, you used to like the New Kids on the Block?
"Wh-what?"
You had posters of them and stuff.
"Uh... ANYWAY, I was going through my old stuff, and I saw a drawing of you, my friend."
So what?
"When I looked at the drawing, I remembered then actually making it when I was a kid! That was years before I met you! Something isn't right here, M'xy."
That's weird, but I don't...
"Come on! I know you must know something about this!"
Ummm... What if... okay, I've lived in your subconscious since I came here...
"And...?"
What if I got my sense of fashion from your memories?
"Well, I guess that is possible..."
If that's not it, then I don't know what to say, Mick. I'm as confused as you are, buddy.
"All right, I'm gonna take your word for it."
I swear I don't know anything about this, Mickey.
"Okay, okay. Hey, one other thing..."
Anything, Mickster.
"Do you do acrobatics when I'm not around?"
Wha'...?
"Never mind. See ya later. Have fun watching my childhood traumas..."
Bye!
After Mick returned to the conscious part of his mind, M'xy (or the mental image of him) sighed. He made a TV appear in front of him.
"Heh... That Kramer..."