The Universe's Mixer

The crone had found the conference very interesting, but that reporter had asked questions later in her paper she didn't care for. The fact that the City was now...normal hadn't been missed either. How could she not know that her spell had been broken by someone with a good deal of power? She didn't have to think long or hard on who that someone was either. The god was a being she'd have to handle; she'd noticed the woman with him, but for the moment, she'd decided to take up a bit of distraction.

Baba Yaga'd sent a woman dressed in the crone's clothes to the Tower, given the woman instructions, and set her loose. The woman would definitely smell like the crone as she stood waiting for the beast to come out and play. She was built much like the crone, or Red, was, and she held a small basket with pieces of tasty meat inside. On the basket was a small envelope, inside, a note:

You may enjoy this one, or you may come play in the park. Bring the food. We could have so much fun, my darling.

It was unsigned, but the scent alone should be enough to tell the blue furred genius who sent him his little present.

The crone sat on a park bench and watched the world move around her. She had picked a spot that seemed more wooded than normal. Quite possibly her cabin was close by. Perhaps Eric would feel the strong hint of mischief, anticipation, and lust from the small woman. She was certainly in the mood for a distraction with so much possibility.

Jo had dispatched with the bones of the ghost in that house. She'd left Ted a message that it was all clear, though she was a little bit disappointed that she'd only gotten his voicemail. She'd also left him her number if he wanted to call back, though she wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't.

It seemed that she had a whole laundry list of things to look into in the City because her next stop was the park. She'd heard a lot of odd stories about a house on chicken legs, and that sounded like something that might need looking into.

She didn't exactly know where to start, so she just picked a path through the park and began to walk. A giant chicken house couldn't be that hard to spot, right?

The City Hall was chosen because it held a room within it that was big enough to accommodate the droves of people that were sure to come. Plus, being inside space, there were no worries over weather that couldn't be controlled. The people could sit and listen and not have to try to hear past traffic or wind.

Even with the late notice, everything was done well before the scheduled start time, which Thomas was proud of. He was glad that the ones who were born here weren't entirely useless without him around. They were keeping their heads together, doing what needed to be done. Of course, it also could have been the fact that they believed Thomas was who he claimed to be, and with his presence there with them, they felt better about the situation they were currently in.

Thomas looked at the stage. That's where he would be standing, talking to the people he had brought here. He had no doubts that they would be the ones with the questions, the ones who demanded answers. He was ready. He could do this.

He sat in a seat hidden by a curtain, where he could still see the stage and the rows of chairs beyond, and waited.

The crone felt...pretty damn good. Or she had as she slipped out of the lab in one of the blue boy's t-shirts. It looked like an awkward dress, and the crone didn't seem to mind that it wasn't exactly the most decent thing she could wear walking about town. She didn't bother changing or showering as she headed to her possible home away from cabin. She knew he'd be in.

On her way she paused as she caught a headline of newspaper as someone walked by. She blinked, and with little effort, she had the paper and was quickly walking away, reading. A brow rose. So, he was going to answer questions. Every question answered. She actually smiled, but not from happiness.

The crone was not prepared for what greeted her as she entered the vampire's now unnecessary hideaway. The place looked like someone had been dancing, or trying to. There were clothes on the floor, discarded along the way to the...bed. And there was a very large male on the bed who looked like he had had a rough time of it before losing hold on the living world. Somewhere among the tangled sheets and vampire limbs there was a sweater; the crone had no idea she was sitting on it as she settled on the bed to stare at him.

Her hands rested on her knees; her eyes moved over his body. It was rare she took time to just take him in like this. Him or anyone else for that matter. She could and would wait for him to waken. They needed to talk...about many things. So there she sat on a fairy's sweater, wearing a mutant's shirt, all upon the vampire's bed.

Warning: Slightly adult content.

Frustration was not the word for it. Anger wasn’t either. Sadness, loss, so many other emotions warred within the little body. There was a definite need for satisfaction; the meeting with the girl had not gone at all how she had hoped or expected, and she still didn't know what that was. That she felt anything at all would set off the emotions once more, and she’d feel lost. This was not how she should feel; this was not what her path dictated, even when she was the one choosing the way.

Rather than go back to her cabin, which had showed but could feel its mistress’ anger, the crone started off across the park. She didn’t run; she didn’t fly. She walked. Rather determinedly. She knew where she wanted to go, and while it took longer than she liked, still, she found the damn tower where the heroes liked to stay. She didn’t need the City to know this.

She didn’t pay attention to any security measures, cameras or otherwise. A little bit of magic could short circuit much, and she had no problem doing so. It helped matters that this was not her first time to here. ( She wanted to see her bouncing blue beauty of a boy. )

The crone was still keeping hidden away, or more she wasn't becoming involved in many lives as of late. She felt stronger and stronger everyday, and she was beginning to think it time to find a certain wayward creation, to see how he was spending his time and if he had learned his lesson. Never stick her where she did not want to be. Never try to control her. Or, don't piss off the magical old woman; she could be a bit of a bitch.

Having kept something from the City's new body to find him later, she had decided it was time to do the location spell. Without the City to tap into, finding someone took a little more than just focusing. She entered the Park in order to retrieve what she needed from the cabin, but the cabin was not at all where she'd seen it last. It had become fond of a small spot surrounded by trees, and yet it did have a habit of going for a walk to stretch its legs. Either way, the crone was not in the mood to hunt for it.

She sighed softly, sending out the silent command for the cabin. Since it had come to the City, it had become more and more its own creature, and there were times the crone wanted the damn thing gone. But, the most recent events had made it more of a boon than a bane. She couldn't fault it for growing, could she?

She didn't stay in one spot; the cabin could find her even if she were on the move. She came to how people were taking the stillness as much as gather a few special ingredients. The park was one of the better places to watch.

Eric had tried to get her to come out of the cabin. He had been concerned, which was endearing. He had checked on her regularly. He had even done so when he knew that she wouldn't be the young vibrant Red; she'd be the crone that haunted some nightmares. She had come out of hiding now and then, and had almost been tempted to lock him away in her cabin with her; yet, she always went back to hiding, no matter how long she might have stayed with him.

Now, she was out. The crone had that youthful glow only her kind of power could give her, and she was ready to see the Viking king in public once more. She had found a very small way to thank him, outside the usual donation and wonderful experience in sharing their blood.

She'd left a very strong note for him through one of his many human staff. The girl had knelt at the door the vampire usually visited for hours, waiting on him. The message? "Find me." It was simple, and she had a feeling with his ability to be out and about in sunlight, he'd hear soon enough.

When he did find her, she was settled on a bench in an inappropriate for the weather sundress that was awful thin even if it had been the usual comfortable temperature. She sat on the bench so very still, her hands folded on her lap. She did have a bit of a chill, but she could wait. Where was the crone waiting for her Viking king? Outside the botanical garden, of course.

It was the weekend. Jack's days were blending together, but he knew that he needed a day off at some point in time. No matter how hard he worked, he was never going to fix this situation. Not until the City started moving again and food started appearing in kitchens, etc.

Funny that something that seemed to be chaos was preferable to it acting like an ordinary city.

Not that Jack knew much about 'ordinary' by most standards. He was from Wonderland, after all.

Since he did need to take some time off, Jack chose to go horseback riding. There was stable at the edge of the park and Jack was able to pay to take a horse out for the afternoon. He missed the horses at home, but there was nothing to be done for the things he missed really.

It was relaxing to put the horse through his paces. Even if it was still a little chilly, the weather was comfortable enough that a brisk ride through the park was refreshing. Fortunately, most of the people milling about the park didn't seem to notice the mayor. Or if they noticed, they didn't try to intrude on this rare moment of relaxation.

( Don't go into the alley. )

This day in The City was as beautiful as most of the days were. It liked it when people were outside and enjoying themselves, so it rarely changed the weather. It knew that people enjoyed occasional rainstorms, so it allowed those from time to time. But unless it was experimenting, the weather never altered too much for too long.

It had not done much experimenting lately. He had brought in the giant King Kong, wanting to see what those Justice League individuals could do against it. Prior to that had been the werecreatures. There had also been a very wild storm, which it had had nothing to do with.

It had been worried when the storm had happened. The word for the emotion that over came it when that happened was fear, it thought. It feared the one named Baba Yaga. It had opened itself to her, using her like a conduit. She had misbehaved, and it had thought to punish her. The punishment had only made her very angry, she had lashed out. She had done something it had not expected, and it had not liked the feeling of that.

The worry had not, of course, stopped the City's mischievous ways completely.

The love holiday was coming up again. It had played with it's citizens once before on the love holiday. So much fun had been had, that The City was intending to play with them again. Differently this time, but it thought that there was more potential behind the new idea. It would be bigger, more gripping. It had liked to see the people fall in love last time. It wanted more of that.

As The City prepared to unleash the new game, it felt a jolt. Though it had no body at the moment, the jolt felt like it ripped through the entirety of The City. Then came another. And another. The jolts were distracting, mind-swimmingly blinding.

And they hurt.

Eric was definitely enjoying the sunglight, and truth was, the crone enjoyed it with him. The fact that she knew how much he enjoyed it made it all the more interesting, and sometimes disturbing. There was little she could really hide from the Viking now, and there were many times she didn't care whether she could or couldn't tell him a lie. Something about it was almost comforting.

Leaving Eric to enjoy his fun in the sun as she had heard some say, Baba Yaga headed to the hospital to find the brilliant boy. Oh, he wasn't her beast. No, this one was more a Dr. Swinehart, only much more interesting and useful.

She walked through the halls in her sundress and sandals as if she belonged there, ignoring the looks from patients and staff. It wasn't as if this were her first time to the place, and it probably wouldn't be her last. She'd moved through the building just recently to see her beast. He was a useful boy, too, and so very much fun to nudge. Perhaps she'd ask Eric to pay the two boys a visit; she was rather curious about the brilliant boy's reaction to the Viking.

It would all have to wait, for she stood at the brilliant boy's door and knocked.

"Hannibal, I've come for you." Her words weren't singsong. They were simple statement.

Life was actually going smoothly, for once. Logan realized that he'd better not get used to that. After all, nothing went smoothly for very long. Especially not his life.

But for the moment, he had his job and he had Veronica. Things were going fairly well at Caritas. Even with the arrival of a new bar in the City (yes, Logan actually kept an eye on these things int terms of competition potential now) business at the karaoke bar was still going well.

He was actually taking time for the moment to study. Which meant holing up at a nearby Starbucks with coffee, his laptop and its wi-fi connection and trying to keep himself from getting distracted by gamefaqs.com while he worked on a paper for one of Business classes.

Hank was exhausted, but for once he wasn't showing it. Dressed in track pants and a fitted T-shirt he emerged from the coffee shop nearest the library, arms full of books and a cup. He hadn't slept since his interaction with Eric, and he was determined not to again if he could help it. Not until he'd gotten a few things worked out.

Hank took a place on a bench in the sun, curling up around his psychology books, sipping his coffee and pushing his glasses up his nose. Books from different planets, different times, different species.... he knew the psychology of his era, but it wasn't working, it didn't fit this world. It didn't fit what he'd been having to deal with here.

The youth opened the books, starting to skim through the pages. His reading speed was always getting faster, it was almost hard to turn the pages now. That's why he didn't leave the vicinity of the library. He'd spend a couple hours out here, then go back for one more armload before heading home.

The sun was setting, which meant it was time to find a certain safe house. The crone rarely took the same way twice, even with the shift of the City. Anyone who could or would follow the crone could and would find a way to remember where she was going. She took her time as this was likely to be the last time she would be her own self. She had no idea what the outcome would be; she'd seen the girl that Eric frequented on occasion and had seen the effects. But, she knew she was not that simpering little girl.

Stopping by the shops to get a few things for herself, a dress, some shoes, maybe a small bag of chocolates and a bottle of wine, Baba Yaga prepared for the night. There was nothing overly different in her preparation, but there was a different feeling to it. She'd put it off for many reasons, and finally decided perhaps it may help in the coming days. She had big plans, and she was going to share them as well as a few other things with the Viking.

The crone got into the safe house without much issue,seeing as what could be worn was. She rarely left a clothing store in the same clothes she'd been wearing when she walked in. The two other treats in a small bag. She didn't care if he was already awake. Though there were times she watched him when he was dead to the world. It wasn't romance so much as curiosity. There were times she had to fight herself from touching him or worse to see if there was any sort of survival instinct.

Having set her "treasures" down on a counter, she found the one glass she bothered keeping here. He didn't need it really, so why bother? He drank right from the source after all. Now, what would he want to do first?

Maybe there was something to this whole "the city gives you a home" thing, after all. Megan had found a really cozy apartment on her first day of seriously looking, and they seemed completely willing to rent to her without her even having to break out her fake ID. And... okay, so they stared at her wings, and the ears, and everything else, but she was used to that. She got a room with a view that was high up if not exactly scenic and she could use her tiny balcony as a second entrance if she really wanted, so it was all right.

And, she'd found a part-time job! It was a nice, normal job, even. No weird bulletproof outfits required. Just an apron over normal clothes, and she could deal with that. She could definitely get used to being a barista.

Or, she could once she got the hang of the espresso machine. She might have stretched the truth during her interview--her previous experience had been more like "dump grounds in the coffee pot, turn on, remember to empty when done" than what she'd let on.

She'd figure it out eventually, she was positive.

Hank slowly extracted the tiny tube from the analyzer, biting his lip as he gazed at the blueish liquid. It seemed like the solution, or at least, the computer told him it seemed like the solution. It was moments like this that Hank wished mice could be granted the X Gene just so he could double check his results before performing random experiments on himself.

Of course, giving mice mutations with unknown powers associated might not be the best idea, and super powered rodents aside animal testing wasn't something Hank entirely enjoyed. Probably because they were innocent critters with adorable ears, and their squeaking could be quite amusing, and it wasn't a good idea to think fondly of creatures you mutated, gave experimental medicine, then killed and dissected.

Still, Hank trusted his own research and the computer's readouts. And so, in his hand, he quite possibly had the solution to his life's main focus. His breathing hitched slightly and he hesitated, eyes wandering from the precious vial to the needle drawer sitting at the ready. Did he do it now? Why shouldn't he? Yet at the same time, was it something he wanted to rush?

He walked over to his cot and sat, looking at the container. He was about to start working for a superhero group, and there was no true guarentee that the solution would act immediately. Perhaps it would be a few days, an adjustment period, and he still had much to do before he left the hospital. Only half of his lab was packed, and he still had to dismantle the machines he'd built here.

But then, once he was the doctor responsible for the care of crime fighters, was that really a better time to be out of commission? The young man sighed and fell onto his back, holding the vial up to the light, head swimming. Too many variables, too many unknown factors, and under it all the drive to just go ahead and cure himself in an instant, like he'd been dreaming of doing since he was a child.

At first there had been no answer when Crowley attempted to contact Aziraphale post Angels and Demons soiree. Constant no answer on the mobile. To the point where he was starting to leave increasingly irritated voicemail messages for the angel that started out with something similar to, “answer your sodding phone, you do-gooding luddite” followed by something like, “what's the point of having a mobile if you're never going to answer the bloody thing” and ended with a standard, “call me.”

He'd left a message close to that about five times until one day he went to check his mobile and found that Aziraphale's number was missing. Deleted. Gone. The demon even searched his call history to see if maybe he'd deleted the number on accident, hit send on the old calls log and received the automated message of, “your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try your call again.”

So, as instructed, he tried his call later. Or rather, attempted to try the call again. Except that suddenly his call history with Aziraphale was also missing from his phone. He checked over and over again for a few days. And just when he thought he was done checking, he checked again. Crowley wasn't needy, he we concerned. The angel might have not been technologically savvy, but he wasn't the type to completely ignore someone. At least not Crowley.

There was only one option and he did it -he hopped in his Bentley and drove around town in search for Aziraphale's bookshop. Hours he drove and found nothing.

He stopped in the middle of the street, knowing that the two shops in front of him once flanked the angel's shop, got out of his car and scanned the area for anything suspicious. It was as if Aziraphale had never been in the City. Which could only mean one thing...

Aziraphale was gone.

“Bugger!” He exclaimed and dropped his fist hard on the roof of the Bentley.

It was late. Too late to be out without the ability to fly or the will to fight, but Rufio couldn't bring himself to spend one more moment in the fortress by himself. His investment in a stolen pocket mirror had only made him more anxious. Despite ripping out the hairs that the ferocious Zoe woman had pointed out to him more had appeared, and he was starting to notice them on his chest, too.

And it wasn't just the hair. Rufio felt different, had moments where it seemed like change was taking place in his very core, and no matter how much he focused on making it go away it only seemed to make the matter worse.

( The young man sat on the front step of his fort, sniffling softly as he resisted the urge to go kill something, and the urge to cry outright. )

The crone had disappeared after the storm. With the godlike intervention, the crone knew she'd be able to change back, and rather than change and rush to Eric to give him the good news, the crone still in the Jack like form hid away in the cabin on the chicken legs. The storm had not been enough, and the brief meetings between the storm and the godlike reluctant hero, including said godlike reluctant hero, the crone had discovered something about herself. She was still on her own damn path that was created long before she was fully aware of what she was, a Fable, a story. She had shown them ways, opened doors, even the boy who wasn't half as brave or tough as he'd have liked to think. She had fought to free herself of this tradition, of what had been her predestination; she tried to twist what she was to be as well as twist others. The City need to see that its path could be altered and perhaps should be.

So, she hid away in her cabin. She mixed potions, read what texts she had, drew diagrams, and planned. The beast, her brilliant Beast, had started that dark mind to thinking with his sheets and sheets of paper about blood and life and DNA. She knew long ago that blood was powerful; she'd discovered that the blood of any of the City's creations could be used against it. She had discovered also that the City was tied to the people in it; it could feel, for lack of a better word, how those within it felt. She often thought the people, the City's children, were more than just the white noise, but she'd yet to test it beyond annoying the City with particular attentions she paid to the children.

The crone could gather the City children's blood easily, but perhaps it was time to go beyond those who were so much a part of the City. She had someone she could use, hide behind, if she worked him right. The City would eventually be at her will rather than the other way around. Now all she had to do was gather the ingredients for one hell of a spell.

With a smile on her lips and a dress over her womanly hips, Baba Yaga emerged from her strange cabin. It was time to set a few things straight.

Jesse left the little blond Holy Knight with the understanding that she wouldn't charge into anything, and he would contact her if it was something that she could take care of. He hoped it was. He didn't really want to be in the middle of all this. For now he had to be. He could pinpoint the cause of the storm quicker than anybody, and keep tabs until he caught up with them. But he was praying that he wouldn't have to step in any further than that.

He was sad to discover that the power behind the wreckage was huge and easier to find than he'd though it would be. When he looked, he discovered that it hadn't just been a weather mutant, or some kind of extra special person. The power was something as big as his was. Older, too. Which meant that he probably shouldn't send Karrin after it, should - in fact - warn her to keep clear. Probably tell Harry to keep clear too. The guy had a good deal of power himself, but Jesse didn't feel confident about them enough to think that Harry could take on what was out there.

It wasn't the power alone that was old, either. The being carrying it was ancient. If it had just been a matter of the power itself, he could match that easily. But the fact that whoever was carrying it had been using it for a long time made things a little sketchy for him. It meant that they knew what they were doing with theirs. They weren't running on instinct like he was. There was absolute control there, no risk of accidents (Like having Buffy, Fray and a bunch of pudding show up in a room in the middle of the night).

Jesse kept focused on the power until he managed to appear right next to it. The face he found was not quite what he'd expected it to be. Young and male, when he'd gotten the distinct impression of old and female. And was, in fact, still getting that impression despite what he was looking at.

"You an' me, we gotta have a talk." He said calmly.