Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

Okay, now a chapter.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Ideological Debate and Shadow Surprises

 
"It's a valid point, actually, Parker." Estelore said thoughtfully, giving Abby a kiss on the head, after she had took a tumble.
 
"Yeah, yeah," Parker said, in a dismissively conceding way. "I just don't like it."
 
"Parker, they don't even remember what they've done," Richard pointed out. "Even the Mark only allowed RAFians fractured memories of their older selves."
 
"And, one must remember that kids will be -- ROTIART!! I WARNED YOU ABOUT DOING THAT!" Cloak said, turning his attention to Rotiart who was with a gang of former Knights, bullying some of the smaller kids. Cloak wouldn't have it. Not when their patiences have been stretched this taut, this tight. "I warned you three times already that bullying would not be tolerated."
 
"Leave me alone," he said, brattishly.
 
"Do not speak to me with such a tone, young man."
 
"Leave me alone! You can't tell me what to do!"
 
"Still think that the Knights have come capability to be saved, Cloak?" Parker said, coming up, clearly insinuating their influence in Rotiart. "They're rotten to the core."
 
"No," Cloak said stubbornly. "It's the child's upbringing and environment that determines whether or not that they evil. A thirst for power can come from feelings of powerlessness in childhood, but not all those powerless in their childhood develop a thirst for power."

"But you can't deny that some are born hellraisers." Parker countered. "Some are flippant to the core, unwilling to follow rules --"

"You describe what you choose to see."

"And you don't?" Parker replied. "You try to see all the positives, neglect all the negatives --"

"I refuse to believe that a child can be born evil, Parker --"

"What are you two arguing about?"

"Dah!" Parker said.

"I told you she would come back, successful in her venture," Cloak sniffed, as Shadow looked between the two of them.

[Cloak]

Another chapter, methinks.
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
The Veritaphotos Glass

 
"Okay," Shadow said, "I got 'em. So . . . what now?"
 
Cloak had no better idea than take them before that stupid rock, and see if it had any brilliant ideas of what do with them now. They placed all the ingredients around it, and then it glowed with light and absorbed the ingredients into itself. Shadow was less than enthused at this.
 
"It had better be doing something helpful," she said. "Those weren't as easy to get as you might think!"
 
"But I knew you'd be able to get them, just the same." Cloak said, off-handedly.
 
Shadow looked at her uncle, but neither said anything.
 
"Do we have any idea what will happen?" Richard said, wearily. It was as if he was afraid this would do nothing but complicate matters. It was a valid worry.
 
"No," Cloak said. "I don't have faith in prophecies. But I do have faith in Shadow, and that she procured the proper ingredients proscribed by the . . . the prophecy." Cloak spoke the last word with derision.

The stone began to glow warmly.

"I swear it better be something more than a radioactive nightlight." Shadow growled.

It began to pulse rather benignly.

"A broken radioactive nightlight," Shadow amended irritably.

Then, with a brilliant flash, the stone and the ingredients were gone. In its place was a circular mirror, about the size of a trash can lid. It's golden, coppery frame made it resemble a Bronzor. Cloak recognized it immediately.

"A Veritaphotos Glass!"

"Oh great. We're gonna turn Tornadus, Thundurus, and Landorus to their Therian Formes," Parker said, acidly.

"No, Parker," Cloak said. "A Veritaphotos Glass -- a looking glass with the light of truth. A 'Truth Mirror', if you will."

"And how does this help us?" Estelore asked.

[redtailedsaffa]

A what now?!

[Cloak]

You're about to find out, I about to summon it.

I summon New Chapter!

. . .

Okay, went overboard on the YGOTAS reference.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Act Your Age!

"Cloak," Estelore pressed, "I asked you how that helps us."

Cloak stood before the glass, which floated as if mounted to an invisible wall. He stood in such a way that the other RAFians, and Shadow, gasped. The mirror showed Cloak's reflection, but only without his cloak. There were no detrimental effects to the others, none present -- other than Shadow of course -- had seen Cloak cloakless in recent memory.

It reflected his clothes just as they were, but it showed Cloak's powerful feline head, his tiger ruff, his reddish-orange fur with white trim and starkly contrasting black stripes. His large feline ears, with black fur and each bearing a white spot. His eyes were a strong amber color. In the mirror, he carried an aura of scarlet and gold.

"I gather now you see one of its abilities." Cloak said, not bothering to look at his reflection. "It shows you the truth about what you really look like. Estelore's reflection would show her as a big ball of burning gas --"

"Watch it."

"Parker's would show him without his armor -- so you had BETTER be wearing something under there -- and it shows my kind as we are without cloaks."

"So we're just going to show the anklebiters their reflections in this thing?" Parker said, with obvious disbelief. "And they'll just remember themselves older?"

"Not quite that simple, Parker. This isn't Everlost." Cloak said.

"Everlost?"

Abby had approached, curious.

"Oh, that's nothing, dear." Cloak said. "But could you step up to this mirror, Abby?"

"Why?"

"It's a special mirror," Cloak said earnestly. "We just like to know what you see."

Within minutes of examining herself in the mirror, she was awash in an opaque pink light. When it died down, she was back to normal, as if the mirror's light just washed the gas's effect away. And Abby remembered everything from her second go-round as a five year old. But that was because of her Mark.

"Now we need to do that for everyone else." Cloak said.

"Oh, lordy." Esty said, wringing her forehead.

[Cloak]

Now last chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
For the First Time in Forever -- Restful Sleep!

It was as time-consuming as it sounded. It took days before it was all undone. But afterward -- the five just slept. No one could blame them -- all those kids, and no one killed anyone. It had to be a record.

Cloak had dreamed of his past again. Back when Shadow as younger . . . before Cloak trained her in the Elements, before they knew she had the ability.

She, a seven-year-old, sang:

"Please don't shut me out again.
Please don't slam the door.
You don't have to keep your distance anymore.
'Cause for the first time in forever,
I finally understand.
For the first time in forever,
We can fix this, hand in hand.
You don't have to live in fear . . .
Cause for the first time in forever,
I will be right here."

Cloak wasn't so sure. He was still living with his mom, but yet still in isolation. He said, "Shadow,

Please go back home
Your life awaits.
Go enjoy the sun--
And before the sunlight abates."

Shadow protested, "But — "

"I know!

You mean well, but leave me be
Yes, I'm alone but I'm alone and free!"

It was a lie, he wasn't free.

"Just stay away and you'll be safe from me."

"Actually, we're not."

"What do you mean you're not?"

"I get the feeling you don't know."

"What do I not know?"

"The city's in deep, deep, deep, deep . . .
Uh oh."

"What?"

"You've kind of set off an eternal sandstorm . . . everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"It's okay, you can just undo it!"

"No, I can't. I — I don't know how!"

"Sure you can! I know you can!

"`Cause for the first time in forever -- "

"Oh, I'm such a fool!
I can't be free!"

"You don’t have to be afraid!"

"No escape from the tempest inside of me!"

"We can work this out together!"

"I can’t control this curse!"

"We’ll reverse the sandstorm you’ve made!"

"Shadow, please, you’re only making it worse!"

"Don’t panic!"

"There’s so much fear!"

"We’ll make the sun shine bright!"

"You’re not safe here!"

"We can face this thing together!"

"No!"

"We can change this sandy weather!"

"I . . . I . . . I . . . I . . . I . . ."

"And everything will be all right . . ."

"I CAN’T!" Cloak cried out, his frustration manifesting in a powerful surge of elemental power. When he realized what happened he looked over in horror, terrified what he was sure befell his neice. But she was perfectly fine, revealing that she had the "spark". . . .

[redtailedsaffa]

I SANG IT.

[Cloak]

O . . . kay. I didn't anticipate such an emphatic response.

Anyway, I'll hafta post after work. I am so thankful that my neighbor is allowing me to share her internet, though I wonder if I'm taking it for granted.

BOOK LX:
THE REPLACEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE:
The Simple Things

A few days had passed since the youth ordeal. Only Rotiart's maturity remained the same -- that of a brat. But still, as Cloak laid on his back in his thread, he found himself thinking about how appreciative and grateful he was for the simple things in his life without the undue opulence that some not only desired, but believed they deserved.

He found himself quietly singing to himself:

"You can offer me a diamond-plated pearl,
You can send me all the riches in the world,
You can tempt me with the palaces of kings,
I'd give 'em back in a big old sack
And keep the simple things.
I've got the simple things.
I've got the rain in spring,
Got spicy pterodactyl wings,
And french fried onion rings.
You can line me up a mile of limousines,
For me, it just don't add up to a hill of beans.
I've got no hankerin' for grabbin' that gold ring.
It's crystal clear, I'll stay right here and keep the simple things.
I've got the summer breeze,
Wipe the floor with Knightly slease,
A two-speed window fan,
When it's 93 degrees.
So forgive me for not grabbin' your opulent bling,
It's crystal clear I'll stay right here and keep the simple things.

Suddenly, the jovial energy had seeped out of him. He had begun to have a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. It had to be one of Malice's schemes. It simply had to be . . . who else could it have been? Wait . . . could he be overreacting to something that had a more mundane answer? Was he jumping the gun here?

Doubt riddled him . . . he decided not to report it and be mistaken. He couldn't stand Rotiart's endless ridicule that would be imminent. It would be harder to endure than the brat's current taunting.

If he kept it up, he was going to get Banned. Or worse.

[redtailedsaffa]

Now I want onion rings.

[Cloak]

*suspects Saffa's too busy with her education for PDFs, so he doesn't mention it.*

. . .

*upon considering it, Cloak gives Saffa some onion rings.*

CHAPTER TWO:
The Mystery of the Moving Mannequins

"There, Mommy!" said a young girl in a straw hat and blue jean overalls, pointing to dime store mannequins, which were rather ratty-looking. "There! It moved!"

"That's nice, Molly, dear." said the mother with usual parental disinterest in childish imaginings. "Now come along, dearest, we've got more errands to run."

"But Mommy -- !" the girl protested again.

"Come along." the mother said, with that firm tone that said clearly that you'd better listen.

This might be rather unremarkable if it was just the wild imaginings of a creative child run rampant. But it was not.

"Daddy! It moved! The lady moved!" a similarly-aged boy said, to his lecherous father who was eyeing a woman half the boy's mother's age (and the father's current wife).

"She certainly can," he said. And the boy riding around his father's shoulders seemed to misinterpret his father's meaning. The little kid thought he meant that he saw the mannequin move too, not that he was referring to the way the woman he was gawking at was walking.

Another child spotted it, a wild child. Her mother was a frumpy, irritable woman in an ample, floral-print muumuu, pink carpet slippers, and hair curlers. Her face clearly showed that she was a reluctant mother with an unwanted child who had basically given up.

"It moved! It moved!" the child screeched, inappropriately loud.

The mother did not correct the child, did not verbally displine the child. She just said, as her cigarette bobbed dangerously from her lip, "Whatever." Then continued on her not-so-merry way, not really caring if the child followed.

It turns out these adults should have placed more credence to their children, for they were right. The mannequins were moving on their own, as if they had inexplicably ascertained sentience. Their movements were slight, they were jerky. But they existed, they did move. And move under their own power.

But . . . how?

[Cloak]

Okay, without preamble:

CHAPTER THREE:
Cloak's Challenger

"Alright," Cloak said, wearily, then continued with projected, but false bravado, "what incurably insane lackwit has dared to challenge me? Master of the Six Elements?"

Cloak looked and saw that his opponent was a boy. He wore a red jacket, blue jeans, sneakers, a black shirt, and had hair like a Kuriboh. Cloak though he smelled like a Gary Stu -- a really stinky bunch, really.

"You?" Cloak said, unable to keep the derision and derision from his voice. He knew it made him sound arrogant, rather like the majority of his kind are to Realm Dwellers. But Cloak found it hard to believe such a thin, frail-looking human boy expected to stand up to him. He could destroy the boy in a second.

He must have an ability that is not obvious, like the Pied Piper. Cloak didn't see any musical intruments on this boy's person, so he ruled that out.

"Here we are Cloak. You and me. The battle that everyone's been waiting for."

"You have a high opinion of yourself." Cloak blurted out. Hmmm . . . perhaps this boy's power was to make Cloak blurt things out unintentionally. That certainly would make him a threat . . . but, then again, if it was true, Realm Walkers like himself would certainly be immune, as it would be a form of mind control, wouldn't it?

"Cloak, let's get thing started!" the boy, the boy named Jayden Vox, said.

"Yes, that's more than enough bant--"

"It's time to spit some rhyme!"

"What?" Cloak was thoroughly flummoxed. Then the music came up, and the boy started rapping. Cloak blinked as if he couldn't believe this was a serious challenger. Cloak never participated in such a thing and he had no intention of starting now.

Vox stopped rapping, and it was clearly Cloak's turn. Cloak's eyes narrowed dangerously. He spoke, not in rhyme, not in rap. "You cannot be serious about this."

Expectant eyes.

"I do not rap battle," Cloak said, miffed. "You RAFians know this. This isn't funny."

More expectant eyes. Cloak curled his lip in anger and swept from the stage, very aware that it was a prank. He swore if he saw Ashton Klutcher pop out from somewhere, he would be given the Vlad the Impaler treatment. You just didn't prank a Realm Walker if you wanted your health to remain at 100%.

But Cloak soon forgot all about it when he felt the presence of a strange energy . . . but it was still quite a distance away.

[redtailedsaffa]

Moving mannequins. Autons!

And yes, I have been very busy this week thanks to working on my debating outside of my room, so the only way I could access RAF was through my phone. But I finally have laptop time, so here's the PDF.

*noms onion rings*

[Cloak]

Moving mannequins. Autons!

Don't get your hopes up too high on that, though. I'd tell you more, but you'd slap me upside my head for spoilers.

I'll try to post a chapter or two later. Gonna hang out with a friend and rest up for Monday because this lazy coworker (who used to be the boss before being demoted) was at it again, this time trying to push his work on us when our supervisor's bosses overheard, so she had to agree to have us do some of HIS work for him. The lazy bastard.

And next week is graduation week, so campus has to be spotless apparently. *sigh*

CHAPTER FOUR:
A Prototype Putterman

Meanwhile, the mannequins had stopped moving, and lay as if abandoned in the corner of an old factory. Lifeless, prone, plastic humanoid figures, discarded almost like dirty laundry. Unseen by human eyes, the factory was alive, by beings from a collaborative consciousness, but not a gestalt one.

Where were you? a mannequin said to the two newly arrived black masses with golden "eyes". This wasn't speech. It wasn't thought-speak. It wasn't telepathy, not true telepathy anyway. The first prototype is nearly complete.

Feeding, one of the masses said.

Irresponsible! the mannequin said. Dereliction of duty!

We were hungry. the second mass countered.

Irrelevant! Get over here and put on the plastic bodies, and get to work! the high-strung mannequin said.

I hate having to work with this clumsy fingers. said the first mass, as it melted into the nondescript mannequin.

Then stop shirking the work! That's precisely why we're making the prototypes! the mannekin lectured. We are too well aware of the limitations of these plastic forms. It prevents us from enacting any plan to take over this planet.

***

There. The first prototype is finished. said one of the mannequins -- it was impossible to tell which. The prototype was vaguely human, a human boy, with an exaggerated latex mask-like face, unrealistic plastic hair, and clothing made of rather boxy rubber foam with an urethane coating. It's eyes were wide, glassy, and staring. It wasn't alive, though it looked exactly like Zack Putterman, only without the battery in his back.

Who will try it on? the same mannequin said.

I will! one of the latecomers cried.

No, you won't! snarled the one who lectured the latecomers. I will.

No one argued. Clearly, that one was the one in charge. Or just the bossiest of the lot.

Anyway, its mannequin body slumped to the ground as it oozed out. If a human were here to see it, it would just look like a puppet whose strings had bee cut -- they would not be able to see the black mass, would not be able to see the black mass of energy that settled itself into the Putterman prototype.

The eyes of "Zack Putterman" blinked, than became gold. "He" sat up, checking out the hands, touching "his" face. Feeling the body. It was comfortable, and he hands were far more dexterous and nimble than the clumsy mannequins.

How is it? one of the mannequins asked.

Its better than the mannequin forms, "Zack Putterman" said, without moving "his" lips. It'll serve our pruposes. And serve them well.

Can you use spoken speech? one asked with the concern an architect might have over a questionable joist in his building.

"Yes," "Zack" said, but it was an unnatural hiss. "Yes, I can speak with sound."

You should be able to disguise your voice. Best not tip our hand too early. one of the mannequins advised.

"Zack" shut "his" eyes for a moment, and it seemed as if a slight shutter went through the form. When "he" opened "his" eyes, the gold had gone from it. When he spoke, he sounded exactly like Zack Putterman, no inhuman hissing, "Very well. Complete the other prototype models."

He looked again at his new body as if someone was looking at a new suit they were wearing.

"I'll be keeping this one."

[Cloak]

Some new book ideas, then I might post another chapter.

• Book CCCXXII: "She Drive Forms Like Crazy" -- A RAFian gets a new toy from an item smith's apprentice, with a potentially deadly side effect.
• Book CCCXXIII: "Unwise Move" -- The RAFians must deal with the ambitions of a Hutt.
• Book CCCXXIV: "The Death-Mark" -- A RAFian is marked for death.

Hopefully I didn't rehash anything.

CHAPTER FIVE:
Did You Hear?

Cloak was storming around a bit, still a little miffed at the earlier prank, having decided the stange energy he sensed was nothing more than a mistake, a misinterpretation of something more mundane, on his part. He decided to go and practice his Elements. Master or not, practice is always needed, lest he become rusty.

Okay, granted, there is usually always a scheme to be foiled, a plan to unravel, a world domination cliche to quash. It's a fact of life for bearing the Mark, for being a RAFian. But it's been relatively quiet on that front for the last few days.

So, naturally, that means somethings bound to come up. And when it did, it came in the from the form that Cloak least expected -- gossip.

"Did you hear?" Shenmue was telling Gaz. "About the old abandoned factory?"

"No. What happened?" Gaz said, sipping her coffee.

"Apparently," Shenmue said, rather conspiratorially, "there are actors dressed up as those puppet things from those old Duracell commercials, those creepy doll things . . ."

"Puttermans?" Gaz guessed.

"Hmmm, maybe." Shenmue shrugged. "But why an abandoned factory?"

"To endorse plastic?" Gaz said, taking a stab in the dark. "It sold that before it closed down, you know."

"Oh, did it?" Shenmue said with benign interest.

Cloak looked to his left, and saw that he wasn't the only eavesdropper. Aila and Aquilai were listening in too. They wore suspicious looks on their faces as they stole a look from each other. Both were apparently oblivious that Cloak had noticed this.

***

"These prototypes are a failure," said "Herb Putterman". "We stand out too much."

"But we managed to feed," "Grandma Putterman" said.

"Yes, yes," "Zack Putterman" said, "and that's all well and good, but it defeats our primary goal. We need to walk amongst these humans, unnoticed. As nice as these bodies are, they're just no realistic enough."

"The the way is simple, I think," said "Boyfriend Bruce".

"Yes! Make these bodies look more realistic!" said "Aunt Gert Putterman".

"That's not --"

"There's no telling how long that would take," "Flo Putterman" said.

"At least it's not a total lost," "Trish Putterman" said, reveling in the memory of the attention. "They still nourish us in these bodies."

"Still, it's not enough." "Zack Putterman" said. "But let's get started."

He hopped up of the table, and laid down, where "he" preceded to leak out of the plastic boy body.

"He" said, Let's start on this one. We need to get this done. A veritable feast awaits us, and we don't want to miss it.

[redtailedsaffa]

As if mannequins and dolls weren't creepy enough.

[Cloak]

Oh . . . you thought THIS was creepy? The book's just gettin' started!

New book ideas -- hopefully none are being rehashed!

• Book CCCXVI: "The Devourer Returns" -- An old enemy returns, seemingly from the grave.
• Book CCCXV: "A Malicious Menagerie" -- A forgotten loose end reveals itself.

There. What do you think? Other than I need to get an illustrator.