Ah! Sorry, DX. The original post had just one t i at the beginning and one t /i at the end, but when I pressed the post button, it looked like only the first line was italicized. I figured there was some auto-closing going on, but I guess I was confused.

t disturbing in the middle of the story I don't have nearly enough of that English thing to become a citizen of Sang Sacre, but it doesn't damage in any way my enjoyment of reading and lurking. It's a great thread to catch up on, even for a non-participant. That is all. You may return to your regularly scheduled world. t /disturbing

Ack. Head rush. I feel a popping in my ears and a wave of dizziness. It lasts only a second, and I'm better. Much better. Stronger, snarkier, more complete. Ahhhh.

I turn to Miracleman who is about to moon his own mirror.

"Hey. Who in hell is Aeshma?"

(Hi, Nilly!)

These folks who are born with magic and never get any decent training really annoy me sometimes. Letting the Jell-O zombie go before I had a chance to interrogate it? That's practically unforgiveable.

However, what's done is done, and with luck I can catch it again. And Penny is onto one good thing: who is Aeshma?

I look at Miracleman, waiting for an answer. I feel lighter somehow, but I dismiss it as the effect of vomiting so hard.

Hah! I have escaped Am-Chau's pocket (don't you just hate people who store everything in thier pockets? I can see why Gollum hated Bilbo). I straighten my skirt, lift my chin, and slip behind the sofa. Soon, soon, someone will open the door and I will be able to start my mission.

I have to find my master, Clovis the Great Devil Bunny.

"Aeshma? Oh, he's uh...well, you see...he's a guy I had to imprison in the heart of a mountain for five hundred years. Slips my mind why..."

Obviously, I think, Aeshma's back and hot on revenge. I don't suppose I could recommend a therapist to him.

"Five hundred years? Gosh, I can't imagine what he's so cranky about. Is he after just you, or is he a free form mayhem kind of guy?"

"Good question, Penny. I'm not staying around if he's after you personally, Miracleman, old buddy- no point in dying senselessly even with you," insert patented twisted grin here "but if he's free-form, I want to be with a few other magic workers."

I pat my pocket. I feel the need of a little comfort.

"He's, um...both, really. Free form, but if I'm killed along the way it's frosting on his cake. I think."

I ponder a second. "Or is it 'cream filling in his Ding-Dong'? 'Frosting on his cinammon muffin'? 'Marmalade on his toast'?"

"Butter on his scone?" I suggest, helpfully.

I'm sure I put the teaddy bear in my pocket before I left the house this morning.

//Dagfari? Is Edward at home?//