Middle of the night bathroom break, evil things should not appear at such a time. It's ... evil.

"My god, look at you," someone who looks like me sneers. "Haven't we let ourselves go to pot."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'll give you this one for free, 'cause, you know, middle of the night and your mind's on other thing. He's cute, by the way. I'm your evil twin, I came out of the mirror."

The cold on my neck isn't from the heat being turned down. "Evil twin. As in opposite? Or just in acting on the nasty things I choose not to?"

"Both."

"Crap. So the urge to inflict torture on the basically innocent but clueless--"

"Sounds like just the thing for an evening's entertainment. That Achmed boy is cute--"

"Leave Achmed alone."

"Or what?"

Evil twins always know how you fight, and they're more likely to cheat. But ... "Bob! Get your non-reflecting butt in here!"

"Wha--huh--What? Why?"

"Evil twin just popped up out of hte mirror."

"Evil -- twin? As in, all your bad qualities given form?"

"Something like that. And you needn't sound so interested!"

The other me grins. "He does sound like fun."

Bob appears in the doorway. "So I guess this means a threesome is out."

"Yes! Come on, Bob, this is me in perma-PMS mood. Do you really want to deal with that? The me who occasionally picks up a knife and stares at strangers very thoughtfully?"

"Hmm--oh, well, all right."

There's a snap and a pop as I walk past the mirror on my way out of the shower. Which was nowhere near long enough, by the way.

She's ... she's ... well, she's naked, for one.

As am I. Wow. The last possible shreds of nudity taboos go out the window when it's you. Replaced by an urge to ask me/her to turn around so I/she can see from the back.

Which, look at my/her expression, I'm/she's not alone in.

"And you are?"

"Your opposite? Evil twin? Counterpart?"

"Which is?"

"You, I guess."

"Why?"

"We're just rotated in place."

"Shall we tip the scales towards evil, then?"

"No, I was thinking to tip them towards good."

"Hey! You know what we could ..."

"Fight for it!"

"But first, could you ..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

I slam into the wall and bounce, just as a jet of flame sets the draperies on fire. What am I doing back in the house?

"Hold, foul creature--" I hear, then a thump and a crunch and there's a brand new door in one wall.

"Holy fucking shit!" I scream, and dodge a vicious thrust from an eight foot long beak. "Who did this?!"

Am-Chau peeks up from behind the couch. "Um..."

"I will deal with you later," I snarl. Just then Hector leaps on the 'dactyl's neck and wraps his huge hairy arms around it. The 'dactyl hisses and lurches, bashing its head into the ceiling and leaving a dent.

"Oh, fuck this," I say and point my staff.

Now Hector is holding onto a viciously twisting ferret. Unfortunately it wriggles out of his grasp and poings across the room into a heating vent.

"Curse that weasel!" I cry and stride over to the vent. I jam my staff between the slats and let loose a torrent of fire.

Chaos, lurching, split personalities - I hate this. I need a weapon, a shield, even a cell phone. Ack! There's a suit of armor in the other room. Maybe it's holding something useful. I race over to dislodge the pike, or halberd, or whatever it is, when I notice a woman stalking towards me.

Ha! It's only my reflection. That happens to me all the time, especially when I'm not wearing my glasses.

I reach for my pocket to get the damned things when I suddenly feel dizzy and a bit nauseous. Oh. . . right. Damn!

My reflection stretches and gives me a wicked grin. As she steps out of the ornate gilt frame I notice that her hair has been double-dyed black. It's not the most flattering look, but it matches the black leather jacket and jeans. My jacket is brown suede. Apparently evil doesn't give a shit about being an Autumn.

"Hey, you're wearing contacts."

"What an incredibly lame observation." She grabs a sabre from the wall. I get a grip on a pike. We face each other. I don't know which one of us rolls her eyes first.

"I'm lousy with weapons."

"Me, too."

"And what would be the point in trying to destroy each other?"

"Yeah, it could have unpleasant metaphysical ramifications, like the old guy-goes-back-in-time-kills-his-dad thing."

My evil twin thinks a moment. "Well. I guess I'll be off then."

"Where are you going?"

"I'll think of something. Maybe I'll start by setting fire to every business that uses "K" instead of "C" in words like cosy."

Apparently my evil twin is me, with poor impulse control.

"I'll catch you later," I say, intending it as a warning. Otherpenny gives me a backhand wave and exits through the French doors.

Miracleman's house moves a few feet sideways, and someone comes crashing through the wall towards the street side. Looks like the other me. Sucker. There's a lot of shouting and roaring and flames from inside the house. Pity. Not about the people inside, about the decor. Very tasteful.

I duck down the alley and make my way down the mean streets. I strut and sneer and challenge everyone I pass with my outthrust chin. I'm bad, and I don't care who--

"Want some lemonade, mister?" A cherub-faced child asks from behind a hand-painted booth.

"No. And for your information, it's spelled "-ade," not "-aid." And 25 cents is a pittance. You'll never make your profit margins, and your parents will be forced to put you out on the street for not earning your keep."

The child throws a glass of lemonade in my face. "For your information, amateurish spelling is a marketing technique, considering my demographics. And the profit comes later, after they're hooked."

I spit out the lemonade. "You're not related to Gudanov, by any chance?" The child stares at me blankly. "Very well. Carry on with your shenanigans, then."

I walk the mean streets.

I slam into the concrete center stage of a repertory production of "Shakespeare on the Corner." Apparently they're doing "Twelfth Night." I've stepped--perhaps landed on is a better term--on one of Malvolio's lines. The actor seems discombobulated.

"I marvel," I whisper at him.

"I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal," he says, and nods his thanks at me. I mend the cracks in the concrete as I tiptoe off the corner/stage.

I step inside from the garden, pull off my dusty gloves and set them on the hall table. My peppermint roses are coming along nicely-- I'm a shoo-in for the fourteen-to-nineteen categories at the Garden Expo, and I might give Gudanov a run for his money in the adult competition. Though I suspect he'll beat me at giant-pumpkin growing again, due to the fact that he has access to many highly volatile chemicals and a nuclear reactor. I call it an unfair advantage, but what can you do?

I glance in the mirror over the table and frown at the smudges on my face. It comes as something of a surpripse when my reflection sticks her tongue out at me, flashes a wicked grin, and climbs out of the mirror. Less of a surprise than it would be anywhere else, though. I look my twin over critically.

"Well, you're not a clown or a beastie, so this is already going better than my last magic-mirror encounter."

"I hear that, dude. Clowns creep me. Well, obviously-- they creep you too."

A thought occurs. "Hey, shouldn't you be evil or something?"

She shrugs. "Not really. We're remarkably well-integrated people for our age. Not so much with the good side/bad side dichotomy."

"Oh, good, you've got my vocabulary. Wanna hit the Electric Maid tonight? TMLE is playing, and they're discounting Discworld on the bookstore side this week."

"Can we make that cute clerk's clothes disappear?"

At my raised eyebrow, she shrugs again. "Okay, maybe I'm a *little* eviler than you."

I don't know what idiot leaves a perfectly good mini-scooter running outside a coffe shop, but I like Darwinism in action. Wheee!

My first stop is to pick up supplies. The folks at the Sang Sacre library seem to be trusting folk - either that, or libertarians. I think the easiest route will be molotov cocktails. They're simple and cheap to make, and they have the advantage of distance. I don't want to get caught with kerosene on my hands. I have way too much work to do.

A sign catches my eye. Some people just ask to be set on fire. I zip around the back, and unleash my first bottle. Within a few minutes I get that warm, cosy feeling that only comes from arson.

Krispy Kreme. Feh.

Other!Holli and I (Evil!Holli doesn't really work, and SlightlyNaughty!Holli takes too long) spot the flames go up in the distance. We can catch the the smell of burnt sugar on the breeze; this can't be good.

"Feeling noble?"

"Nuh-uh. You?"

"No, but that could be desserts burning, and I know neither of us wants that on our conscience."

I could probably stand to get new clothes. Or throw out half of what I own. Because we're dressed the same now, dry and stretching as we pace around each other.

I'm not sure how to fight myself, but at least that means I'm not sure how to fight myself.

A quick step in, a feint, a right hook.

Fuck! Those hurt when you're better at delivering them than taking them.

We pace some more. I avoid the round kick, simply because I make sure not to be standing right there when I deliver mine. Which hits nothing but air.

Widdershins now, more slowly. I could step up to working out what I'm bad at defending, and leap forward with that, but I see the same thing in her eyes.

I need a randomizer. I start a routine of attacks in my head, flicking my gaze from side to side, hoping for something to move at the edge of my vision, outside of hers entirely.

And I get it ... I dart forwards and grab for the lapels. Not the most brilliant move, but I'm the only one making it.