by TheTimeTrust, Grimm and Blackwulf
Turkish Stringfellow continued to sit in quiet thought up on the roof, his face exhibiting nothing but a quiet, determined resolve. Above him, the sun shone brightly with not a cloud in the sky, thanks to his request for the storm to wait until after nightfall, after the day's parade was over, to rain upon the island. The cool sea breeze regulated the hot wafts of air coming up from the paved streets of Puerta Mibela, but the greenhouse itself was particularly humid and muggy this day.
He turned his head, his eyebrows furrowing subtly, as if he suddenly noticed something was different. After a moment of quiet watching, despite his eyes being nearly closed, he stopped and resumed his position, the only change in his demeanor being a subtle, Mona Lisa-like smile upon his face.
Turkish sat as if listening to something. No, not listening, perceiving something not based upon sound at all. A gentle nod of his head and a smile followed as his perceptions widened.
"Ah. Ahh. I see," he breathed. "I think I understand... The loss of your life has gone unmourned by almost all who knew you. You feel like everyone's forgotten about you, brushed you under the rug. You do indeed deserve a memorial... a... a wake. Yes, a wake. I agree completely."
He frowned once more and assumed a listening posture, though again it was less for sound and more for perception.
"You don't mind being a spirit, a ghost? Never have to worry about being harmed again; yes, I can see that. Not so unlucky a fate as it would seem, then. You don't want Kristofer to know yet, either, do you? He needs to feel guilty about it a bit more, after all. I understand. Yes, I'm glad I was here for you to talk with as well. We may have more talks like this in the future, at least I hope we do."
Turkish rose from his seat after a moment and smiled a kind, brotherly smile as he walked back into the greenhouse. "Farewell, Pete..." he whispered, his eyes glancing over to a tropical flower with blue petals as he thought of another lost friend. As he did so, a look of sadness came over his face.
Stringfellow returned to his meditation, the small flowerpot in front of him. He extended his senses out over the immediate area, searching, searching, but for what he did not know, seemingly unmindful of the changes in the weather. The wind, no longer able to hold itself back any longer despite Turkish's earlier request to do so, suddenly began to pick up, blowing harsher by the moment. Still, Turkish sat in his meditative state. The small flowerpot began to sway in the breeze, back and forth, forth and back, until it began to fall over, then stopped moments before it would have spilled its contents out onto the rooftop, and righted itself, remaining in a fixed position. Stringfellow smiled pleasantly to himself.
Static began to fill the air. Turkish's eyes opened wide. The event horizon of a miniature black hole appeared in front of him. He lifted his head as a slight boom filled his ears. And a familiar face peered out from inside of swirling spatial wormhole.
"Stringfellow! About time! Come on, we don't have much time!"
Turkish looked agape at the young female faced framed in short, blond hair. "Z..." he said, as all his memories flooded back to him in an instant.
"Yes, Stringfellow, now hurry!"
"But, Z, I have yet to..."
"No time, let's go!"
"Very well, Z."
Grimm stepped out onto the roof in time to see Turkish vanish into the wormhole, which immediately collapsed afterward. Another small boom, and everything was silent. The wind was gone as well.
"Hmm. Guess he has other plans," he muttered to no one in particular.
Baker Street, the end of the parade route:
At the end of the line stood a man, or more correctly, a giant. He stood heads above the crowd and wore black leather pants and a simple black vest. His skin was a purplish gray, like the color of a sedimentary bruise, but the crowd didn't seem to notice or care about that. They were waiting for the parade.
The stranger seemed to sniff the air. He began to turn and noticed something, like he was almost poised. He seemed dazed and confused for a moment. He began to walk away from the crowd and passed a boy in a green sweater.
The boy asked, "Are you a meta, mister?" The giant called Blackwulf the Everchanging just replied with a grin.
A few blocks down the road in a warehouse:
"He is here, master. He has come. The Harbringer is here."
"Begone with you! Bring me a virgin, and begone." The master was Claus Von Feznek, called Baron Von Feznek to his followers. This lanky, pale, placid excuse for an existence was all he had left.
"Shraek, bring me..."
But even before Claus could finish, he was interrupted by a young woman. "You sent for me, sire?"
"Yes! Yessss, I did indeed."