Disclaimers: The Subreality Cafe and its stuff belong to none of us but were created By the Trinity. Kielle, Falstaff, Tapestry -- Thank You.
Slippers, Wink-Wink and Nudge-Nudge, belong to the Abyss.
DucCynic and Cyn-Jester belong to themselves
Pokemon belong to the Lord of Hell.

Dedication: To Lyssie, the best of betareaders whose innocent soui browbet into editing this.

Pointers: those who want a little more background info on the Duc and Cyn, might visit http://member.xoom.com/Cyn_City/Cyn.htm( warning: page is in its infancy)

Okay, read on and send feedback, just remember that honesty is a highly overated concept, while flattery makes the world go around. Kidding, kidding -- give it to me straight.

"The longest journey starts with a single step, better watch what you step in." (Cyn-Jester)

"Well, you are as ready as you'll ever be..." Duc said with all conviction of a father letting his offspring drive for a first time.

"Oh, come on D, it's not like I am going in to battle Marauders or anything, I'll be okay."

"Hmm... Well, be that as it may, if you are not back in a week, Cyn and I are coming to get you."

"A week?!! Come on, what do you expect me to see in a week, it's barely enough time to get the permit and look around the Café."

"A week."

"Two.

"A week."

"Ten days. Coome on...!"

"Three days." DucCynic looked as if his only care in the world was buffing his nails.

"A week!" Indignant howl of Paradoqz was loud enough to turn several heads.

"All right."

"I hate when he does that, now he is gonna be insufferably superior for a month." Paradoqz grinned ruefully, skulking away and generally presenting a picture of offended dignity. "...even more insufferably superior. There is definitely something to Cyn's idea of St.Croix genes. Ah well, I guess I'll just have to get a permit sooner, all in all may be six days is good enough for a first Subreality tour."

He made his way through the labyrinth of the narrow streets of the Ender's Quarter of the Cyn City. As always in the early days of autumn Cyn looked beautiful. The houses stood surrounded by by multitudes of trees, clothed in a thin veneer of golden leaves, that glowed with the rays of the pale November sun.

The din of Bazaar was eardrums-crushing already, so Doqz dived into a side street and made his way through back alleys, not willing to get sidetracke. Soon enough he left the City and started the Crossing.

DucCynic thoughtfully followed Doqz's progress in entering Subreality until the hunching figure crossed the Border and disappeared from view. " Something tells me I am going to regret this..."

Paradoqz, blithely unaware of Duc's misgivings (or simply ignoring them) pressed on. "...so I made a wrong turn on Summers Boulevard...noooo, that doesn't seem right...who in seven hells drew this so-called map...AHA, here we go...past the Shifting Sands, on to the Hawk Way and through the CFAN. Aaah crap, how did I end up in the Pokemon District... Get off!! I do NOT choose you... No, no, no, NO!!! Let go, leggo I said. GET OFF!!!! Dammit, those were my favorite jeans. Oh nooo, don't even think about it, you...you...you mutant. You even as much as touch me and I'll sick Nudge-Nudge and Wink-Wink on ya... Yeah, that's right, run. Run ya mangy little devils. Whew, bought my bluff. Heh, I don't even know Abyss
personally. Damn nuisances. Look what you've done to my map, you little fastardos. Whatta hell is V#%$#s Ba*&^%k..."

Half an hour, three pints of blood, crash course in flying, a missing tooth and a black eye later...

"Villains Bailiwick, of course, how could have I missed that. Well, no matter, they were good jeans, they'll be an even better shorts." Rrrrip. "Kinda a grunge look. Now back to this #$@$#@$# map. No, I am calm. I WILL NOT freak out. Think calm, Doqz. Seashore, ice cream, apple pie, chocolates, Digimon plague. Aaah, that hit the spot. Okay. So it was turn right, not left. Small mistake, could have happened to anybody. I am on course now and things are looking up."

A black backpack was carelessly thrown over a shoulder and was continuously sliding down, annoying its owner to no end. The owner himself wasn't much to look at either. About 5'10 he seemed shorter, because he was stooping. Dark hair cropped short, about 20, with glasses, that were determined not to be outdone by the backpack. Bouncer's gaze moved down. Green tee-shirt with words "Georgio Armani Collection," and tattered shorts with one pant leg shorter than the other clothed the skinny git. Bouncer sighed and came to inevitable conclusion, " Another damn newbie. Scribe, why me?!"

As the kid neared Café and the upset Bouncer, his face was barely visible over the somewhat bedraggled piece of paper that bore only a distant resemblance to a Map of Subreality. The Bouncer quickly went over several techniques that proved useful in the past and finally settled on his favorite. He assumed his most threatening pose, which he spent weeks perfecting with Bishop, and put on the LOOK. He didn't have to wait long before the incongruous figure finally practically bumped into him. As Paradoqz, whose name was written on the backpack in rather uneven letters, opened his mouth the Bouncer, with timing honed in a numerous verbal battles, deftly jumped in.

"What do you want, huh? No, don't say it, let me guess. You want in, doncha? All of you are the same. Writers!" Making the last word sound like a vilest obscenity.

"But..." started a rather flabbergasted Doqz

"No."

"You don't..."

"No, I said"

"I only..."

"What am I chopped liver?!! Do you people think I am here as a decoration? Can I get at least SOME measure of respect?" he appealed heavenwards. "I mean I could understand if you were one of the heavy hitters, one of the Old Guard. But YOU trying to get past me..." the Bouncer scoffed, his tone conveying the scorn with skill worthy of Cicero.

"That's what..."

The Bouncer's hand snaked out and stopped Doqz in mid-sentence, by grabbing his collar, with a speed surprising in a man of his...considerable bulk. Practically shoving the hapless would-be writer head first into an Announcement Board, he growled with bloodthirstiness that earned him a respectful glance from a passing Creed and an appreciative nod from Logan, "Read!"

"Wha...?"

"Read, you...!!!!" The Bouncer visibly calmed himself and continued in a tightly controlled voice, "You can read, can't you?"

"Yes, me read good."

"Goood," cooed Bouncer in a voice, dripping with acid sarcasm. "WHAT DOES THE DAMN BOARD SAY?!" he suddenly barked.

"Today on Friday the 13th, we the Management of the honorable establishment known as the Subreality Café, are proud to host a Fictive Night, armament is optional, no kind of writer or sentient footwear allowed."

" Do you understand what you just read," the Bouncer queried in a gentle voice.

"Yes."

"Are you a Fictive?"

"No."

The Bouncer let Doqz go, smoothing his tee-shirt. "Glad we finally reached an understanding. Now, get!"

As Paradoqz tried to gather his jumbled thoughts, the Bouncer calculated that it was time for a finishing stroke. With a sigh he said in a tired voice, "Look, if you were at least a real Writer you probably could've weaseled yourself like the rest of those..." Here he trailed off describing several Writers in a very unfavorable terms and casting severe doubts on their parenthood and legitimacy.

However, at this point the events took an unexpected turn. Suddenly finding bravery in some dark and long unused recesses of his soul, Doqz decided, for whatever reason, to take umbrage at the Bouncer's last tirade.

"Whadda ya mean a real Writer? I am as real as the rest of the guys that come here. I write stuff. I'm not that bad even..."

"Aah. Of course. Silly me. You write stuff."

"Hell, yeah!" said Paradoqz with bravery born of desperation.

"Hmm... What have you posted?"

"Well see...I was going too, but the exams...and then the accident...and...and the dog with the hurting and the biting...honest I was gonna..."

"Riiight. Goodbye now."

Paradoqz already half turned and staring on his way back, when suddenly his face lit with an Idea. "Say, today is a Fictives Night, right?"

"Yep."

"Well, aren't I technically a fictive? No, hear me out, dude. It's not like I am really here, right. Me, a Writer, is writing him, I mean me, a Fictive, In his story, right?" Doqz paused and looked lost for a moment being confused by his own sophistry; catching the leaving train of thought in a last moment he blazed on, "...me, a fictive, can very much legally come inside without bringing me, the Writer, into it, right?"

Paradoqz looked up at the Bouncer triumphantly and reflectively stepped back... Whatever response he was expecting, a wide and a very toothy grin was not one of them. Suddenly Paradoqz felt a chill running down his spine.

"Gee, never heard that one before," lazily uttered the Bouncer.

"So?"

"So, I have a great answer to this marvelous deduction." With the Doqz unwillingly interested and waiting for the Bouncer's rebuttal, the latter reached behind him and produced a fully converted AK47. "You are not getting in, kid."

"You, indeed, make a very convincing argument," said Paradoqz and stepped farther back.

"Don't I?" smiled the Bouncer, putting the gun down.

"Truth to be told I expected every one here to be armed with ray guns, psiimitars, lasers and such."

The Bouncer shrugged indifferently and a little scornfully, "Some do. Me though, I'll put the odds on this here Kalashnikov any time. Nothing like a good-old fashioned assault rifle to keep off Cartman and the muses on the Barbecue Weekend." He fondly patted the gun, sat down on the step that appeared out of nowhere and beckoned Doqz over. Somewhat reluctantly, Paradoqz approached and sat down. "Tell you what, Para..."

"I prefer Doqz."

"Whatever. For some unfathomable reason I like you. May be it's because you are writing this or may be it's yesterday's pickles talking but in any case let me give you a piece of advice. I ain't no Bartender and I don't do this often so you better listen up. Café is the Nexus of Subreality and it's fun here, but there are plenty of places you can go and how do you say it...'let it all hang out.' Every once in a while something comes along and takes the attention of Writers and they turn it into another Nexus for a while." The Bartender snorted. "Last couple of months, for example, they all disappeared to build themselves a House. They always come back though. There ain't no place like our Café. Once you've been here it's in your blood. So here's what you should do. Find some of the other Nexi, look around have some fun, post a couple of stories, then come back here and I'll have the table waiting for ya." The Bouncer companionably patted Paradoqz on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid, me and Café we ain't going no place."

Paradoqz suddenly smiled, then snorted and finally let out a full-throated chortle. The Bouncer looked on in sort of a shock. "What's wrong kid?"

"You...hahahah...you...hehehahahahaha...you are not gonna believe this," Paradoqz finally managed to gasp out. "I just...Ohohohahahaha...I just remembered,...oy I can't breathe...hehehahahahahahahah...I...I wasn't gonna try to sneak into the Café...hahahahahah...I...I...I just...hahahahahahahah...Oh God...I just stopped to ask the directions to the nearest hotel...hhehehehehehhahaha...I was gonna hit the tourist spots...oy, I can't...I can't...hahahahhahahahah." While Doqz rolled on the ground in what was starting to resemble a hysterical fit, the Bartender sat dumbfounded until a grin started to tug on his lips.

Not long after, the Manager and the Bartender flew out of the Café ready to put out a fire or pull Magneto and Joseph apart, but instead found only the Bouncer thundering away with his bellow in tune with a tenor of a slender and obviously deranged young Writer.

End Part One.

Part Two

"Adventure is someone else in deep shit far, far away." -- any veteran

"Raab take you kid, but that was different." The Bouncer wiped tears from his eyes and regained his breath. "Haven't cracked up like that since Gambit spiked Thanos' drink and gave him a makeover. Whew, lordy."

Doqz, fully realizing that his lungs were on the brink of collapse, firmly resolved to keep that picture as far in the back of his mind as possible. He pulled himself off the ground and stretched with all the grace of a drunken rabbit. "Well that was fun and I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I am on something of a schedule here. You wouldn't happen to know a place I can stay in for a couple of days, would ya?"

The Bouncer pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, there is Slashonia, they got coupla rooms for rent but...no, you don't want to go there, you wouldn't last a minute. There is this new place HOSD I told you about, but those guys would eat you alive, besides you don't have the seniority. Hmm, let me see now..." The Bouncer took out the infamous Black Book. "No, no nooo... Aha, here we go -- the TwidleDeeDum Inn. Nice place, moderately priced and the location is great."

"Well I'll be going then, but I'll come by and look in on you later, 'k?"

"Like I said... Get some stories under your belt and you'll be as welcome here as the other Writers."

Doqz, deciding that he didn't really want the subtleties of the last sentence explained to him, raised his hand in mock salute and turned to go. "Hey, that Inn, is it anywhere near the Bureau?"

The Bouncer pointed in a very unspecific way. "Two blocks -- like I said, the location is superb. Why?"

"Oh, I just need to see someone named the Clerk and get my residence permit. Well see ya."

Eager to start off on his adventure, Paradoqz never noticed the Bouncer's jaw go slack; Doqz also missed a somewhat pitying expression flashing through the Bouncer's face. It was also missed by the Manager, who suddenly emerged from the front door, squinting his/her red-rimmed eyes at the indecently cheerful sun. "You done making a new friend yet?" he/she asked somewhat snidely. When the Bouncer failed to retort, he/she sighed and reluctantly abandoned the shade of the Café, wiping his/her hands on the apron. "Yo, Subreality to Bouncy," she/he yelled waving his/her hands in front of the Bouncer's eyes. "Anybody home?"

"He's going to see the Clerk."

"Really?" The Manager's eyes lit up with interest and she/he followed the direction of the Manager's gaze only to spot Paradoqz strolling happily along the sidewalk, merrily whistling "Forget your trouble / Come on get happy" to himself. After a moment's silence the Manager said with profound disgust, "...Yeah, whatever. When you are done here, we need you inside -- one of the Cables started singing." After that and a somewhat sympathetic pat on the Bouncer's back, he/she disappeared back inside, muttering unintelligibly, although words "newbies" and "cannon fodder" figured prominently in his/her tirade.

The Bouncer continued to watch as Paradoqz reached a crossing, almost colliding with a small pink and fluffy creature, which snarled at him to get the flonq out of the way. As startled Doqz leapt back he recognized the creature as an Energizer Rabbit. The pink critter continued on its way when suddenly a deeply somber, grave disembodied voice rumbled "...and it keeps going and going and going." Rabbit looked up and with expression of pure hatred yelled, "Would you shut up already?!!" Voice cut off in the middle of a word and plaintively informed the rabbit, "Can't, it's my job."

Rabbit proceeded to tell it explicitly where the Voice could put its job.

The Voice, rather haughty, enlightened the critter that was anatomically impossible and highly unhygienic. At this point the bunny rounded the corner and disappeared from view still arguing with the Voice. Paradoqz observed the exchange with interest and even made as if to follow the Duo, but then resolutely shook his head and continued on his way.

The Bouncer sighed mournfully, concluding, "I am too sober to watch this. "With these words still hanging in the air uncomfortably like an epitaph, the Bouncer followed the Manager into the Café, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Doqz was leisurely sauntering alone the road. He was in no particular hurry to get to the Inn. The sun was beginning to set and the shadows were playing merry hell on the pavement and the walls of the buildings. He did a double-take when he realized that some of the shadows were alive, but then firmly decided that he was going to take everything in stride; it was Subreality, after all. As the evening reasserted its hold over the city, the streets started to fill up. At first it fascinated the newbie writer, however, as more and more Marauders fictives appeared on the streets he quickened his step and finally reached his destination.

"Hmm, not exactly what I was expecting." Doqz uncertainly compared the address on the paper he got from the Bouncer to the one that was visible on the wall. He looked at the building again. Unlike most of the hotels he ever saw this gave the impression of a rivate mansion, done in a distinct, almost garish Baroque style. Paradoqz was almost ready to turn around and ask somebody for directions when one of the Cupid statues perched above the door, suddenly winked at him. "Oh, well when in Subreality..." Paradoqz shrugged swung the door open and stepped inside.

"Mamma mia!" was all that the overwhelmed Writer could say upon seeing the inside of the Inn. Why is it so...blue? was the only thought that kept running through his head as he made his way across the foyer adorned with indigo wallpaper, dark blue carpet and azure frescoes on the light blue ceiling.

"Yes?"

Rudely awakened from his reverie, Paradoqz finally noticed that he was standing right in front of a blonde girl, barely 5'5" high who was looking at him expectantly with sapphire eyes.

"I should have known," Doqz muttered to himself.

"What was that?" the girl inquired rather impatiently.

"Aaaah...nothing...I mean I'd like a room."

"Hmm, you a writer?"

"Yes, but I have not posted yet."

"Well that's quite all right, sugah." The girl batted her lashes. "Just come with me and we'll get you all settled in."

"Cool," tiredly acquiesced Paradoqz and followed... "Aaah, what's your name by the way?"

"Anadella, but you can call me Annie, honey pie," the girl winked at him and continued on her way.

Although Doqz was somewhat tired and was getting a major migraine from all the new experiences, he still noticed with certain amount of relief that the rest of the Inn was painted regularly, without any particular color predominance. They finally stopped in front of a door, which had no decoration or emblems except for a plaque that said, "If it's not urgent go to Hell. Mortimer"

"Heah yah go, sugah," breathed the girl, her Southern accent seemingly growing heavier by the minute.

"Anna, quit your Rogue impersonation and let him in," the irritated voice from behind the closed door.

"Fine!" snapped Annie and loftily withdrew into a side door. Paradoqz hesitated for a moment then shrugged again and opened the door, "Hello?"

"Come in, come in," invited him the same irritated voice. Doqz came in and discovered that the voice belonged to a lean man well into his forties, with a mane of gray hair that fell listlessly on his shoulders. His eyes, though obscured by the monocles perched on his rather prominent nose, were sharp and piercing, although the pencils placed strategically behind both of his ears detracted a little from the severity of his image. The man -- Mortimer as Paradoqz assumed -- was seated behind a huge oak desk that was strewn with documents, writing utensils and several calculating devices, at least one of which looked like it had been thrown against the wall and danced on.

"You want a room?"

"Aaah, yes Sir, very much so."

"You a Writer?"

"Yes Sir."

"Ah, ballocks. Very well, take these keys, room #1313."

Paradoqz reflectively caught the thrown pair of keys, "How much do I owe you?"

Mortimer grimaced, "You a newbie?"

Paradoqz was getting more than a little tired of that word. "Yeah, so?" he snarled, fighting off a fresh assault of migraine.

"Don't you take that tone with me, mister! Management rules, Writers get their first stay here for free." Mortimer got up irritably, revealing that he had on a black and somewhat rumpled tux. "Although how do they expect me to make the ends meet is still a mystery to me," he complained peevishly. "In any case, I'll be needing a deposit from you. Any damages will be covered by that."

At that particular moment both Mortimer and Doqz were distracted by a commotion outside. As they stepped out of the room they had to jump back rather hastily as to not be run over. As Doqz cautiously looked out he saw Pete Wisdom, chasing an indignantly squawking Lockheed. The Englishman was brandishing a chainsaw and screaming, "I am NOT crazy! I know what I heard. Talk, you bloody flying lizard. Taaaalk!!!"

Mortimer and Doqz followed the progress of the pair for some time, suitably impressed by the swath of destruction it was leaving behind. At some length Doqz turned to Mortimer and reasonably calmly inquired the amount of a required deposit. When Paradoqz finally reached the safety of his room, all he could do is crash on the bed and fall asleep.

Waking up is hard, it's especially hard if al through the night you had weird dreams, or nightmares, in which angry pink bunnies, dragons, and maniacs with chainsaws and assault rifles figured rather prominently. Waking up is hard, unusual and cruel punishment thought up by the demons of the Pit and Chemistry teachers. Unfortunately, like death, taxes, and midterms, it's also inevitable. Eventually coming to the unpleasant conclusion that he had no other choice, Doqz opened his eyes and bid greeting to a new day.

"Aiiii, it's cold!"

Taking the "quick plunge" approach, he jumped out of the bed and hastily sprinted into the bathroom. After long and steaming bath, Doqz reluctantly threw on his clothes and ventured out of his room in search of food. Having no luck in locating the kitchen the writer counted himself fortunate when he accidentally ran into Mortimer, who was looking even more tired and disagreeable than last night.

"What do you want?" he asked Doqz in the tone of voice that clearly suggested that it better be important or ELSE.

"I was looking for a kitchen," diffidently shared the hungry Writer.

"Oh, the kitchen. It was that way.'

"Was...?" cautiously probed Paradoqz

At this moment they were again interrupted by Wisdom. This time the Englishman was running from Lockheed. The little dragon was spitting fire and looking generally pissed off.

"Sod off, sod off I said you bleeding bugger. Ow!"

"Yeah, WAS." Mortimer tiredly took off his monocles and pinched the bridge of his nose. Doqz really wanted to stick around, wondering if Wisdom/Lockheed combo would go for the third run, but noticed that Mortimer was clearly at the end of his patience. Doqz beat a hasty retreat, figuring he'd find something to eat outside.

Fortunately for him, this time he was right. As soon as he left the lobby of the Inn he spotted a little quaint-looking restaurant right across the street. Barely five minutes later Doqz bit into a chicken leg. "Oh my God, this is sooo good, umm..."

Some time had passed before Paradoqz realized that he was being observed.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"It's the other way around, pal," the speaker as he approached and sat himself on the stool, at the opposite side of Doqz' table.

"Excuse me?" said the Writer, finishing the chicken with alarming speed and signaling the waitress for more apple juice.

"You are a newbie, ain't ya?"

"Yeah?" growled Doqz, who really didn't appreciate the day being started off with THAT word.

"Hey, don't get your panties in a knot. You need a guide, is all I'm sayin'."

"Yeah, and who are you?"

"I'm your man, guv'nor."

Doqz looked him over and grimaced uncertainly. The "guide" was approximately his own age, i.e. 18-20, with a headful of a straw-colored hair that was apparently trying to escape the aforementioned head. Each hair individually. The guy himself was about 5'10, but seemed taller because he was so thin that it seemed a gust of wind could blow him away. A pair of huge green eyes and a smattering of freckles dominated his face. Paradoqz shook his head, "No, thanks just the same."

"Hey, man, you need someone who knows his way around this town, and I am the best there is. I am paparazzi."

"The Paparazzi?" asked Doqz rather snidely.

"Yeah, right! Where do you think you are, the Subreality Café? This is downtown, dude, there are no THE fictives here. I am a paparazzi, but I am still damn good."

"Listen...um...what's your name anyway?"

"Bubba Goh Popkin, but everyone calls me Pop." Pop scowled fiercely. "You make any weasel jokes, you die!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Doqz assured him, "Listen, umm...Pop, it's not like I can pay you anyway. My funds are somewhat depleted at the moment."

"You are a writer, ain't ya?" asked a rather puzzled Pop.

"Yeah."

"Well, I am sure we'll be able to work something out," grinned the self-proclaimed paparazzi.

"Phe, 3:1 he won't last through the day."

"Shut up, Wade and put your money where your mouth is!"

"Really?" asked Pop incredulously.

"Yeah, sure." Doqz finished his chicken and got up reluctantly. "Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Why, you've got something better to do?"

"Doncha want a drink, to seal the agreement?" tried Pop, vainly.

"I don't drink."

The pair exited the restaurant, Doqz fed and therefore happy again, Pop muttering darkly to himself about injustices of Fate and suicidal clients.

"Poor sod, nobody survives Subreality sober," somberly dropped Fury. Deadpool nodded, sadly agreeing, than turned to Fisk. "How about 5:1, that he won't make it till lunch?"

End Part Two

Part III:

"If you know you are going to fail anyhow, fail gloriously and with enthusiasm."
-- Paradoqz, before a Calc. Midterm

"Yes, that's Rogue. Yes, she can touch. No, you have no chance. Would you stop pointing fingers already, you're embarrassing me!"

"You can't talk to me like that, I 'm your boss!" Doqz rebelled.

"Whatever, BOSS, just stop making a flonqing spectacle, all right?" Pop rolled his eyes and muttered a few choice phrases that would make Wisdom blush.

Paradoqz magnificently ignored the flagrant lack of respect and drowned himself in enjoyment of actually employing someone. Guessing that Pop would not be predisposed to carry on a civil conversation for some time, Doqz contented himself with tha simple process of gawking. The silence reigned for a couple short, too short from Pop's point of view, seconds.

"Oh. My. God." Apparently feeling that such statement was sadly inadequate in expressing his feelings, Doqz stopped in the middle of the street and his eyes did their best imitation of saucers. "What in the seven Hells is THAT?"

Pop hastily intercepted the Hulk who, after being forced off the road by the gaping Writer, apparently had all the intention of separating the said Writer from his insides. After mollifying the Green Goliath, Pop followed the Writer's gaze and tiredly rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"That would be the HOSD," he declared, with a feeble attempt to sound impressed and awed.

"Wow! I heard about it from the Bouncer, but this is... Wow!" Doqz was totally oblivious to the people who had to go around him and their commentary on his apparent level of mental development. Pop, on other hand, was very much aware of the growing hostility, and, finally, when he spotted one of Scalphunters reaching inside his trenchcoat, he decided he had had enough.

"Ah, let's go have a look at it, eh?" he suggested brightly. Grabbing Doqz by the shoulder, he speedily applied the better part of valor, dragging him off the road and to the House. "Here we are then," Pop announced catching his breath, "Behold the House of Strange Dimensions."

"Wow!!!" Doqz urbanely expressed himself.

"You said that already," pointed out Pop, somewhat dryly.

"Can we go in and look around?" asked Paradoqz hopefully.

"Probably. Most of the guys in there are pretty cool about things like that." Pop reached out and rapped the door tentatively.

"Really? I got the impression, from the Bouncer, that newbies are not generally welcomed." The Writer looked at the House apprehensively. The gesture did little to assuage his misgivings. To say that the building was imposing would be an understatement of titanic proportions. "Bizarre" came to mind and then stubbornly refused to leave.

Turrets jutted out at most improbable angles, towers spiraling up and disappearing into the sky; strange and exotic plants vied for dominance on the brick-covered walls, and Doqz was pretty sure he caught one of the gargoyles eating a sandwich. To cap it off, a strange, spherical contraption floated above the building.

"...and of course it had to be blue." Doqz sighed, steeled himself and began to wait for someone to answer the door.

Pop shrugged, "Seems like there is nobody home." He paused for a fraction of a second than cautiously opened the huge door and disappeared inside.

"POP! Whatta are HELL are you doing, you idiot?! Come back here you little...!" Doqz' tirade was as fierce as it was futile. He spent several more seconds taxing his considerable swearing vocabulary until he was interrupted by a freckled face popping out of the doorway.

"What are you screaming like a sick elephant for? Get in here!" the face demanded and disappeared again.

Doqz signed deeply, and with a deep conviction said, "I hate that guy!" he sighed again, mournfully, and followed Pop inside.

He was immediately scared out of his skin by a blood-curdling scream: "CAREFUL!!!"

"WHAT?!" Completely terrified, Doqz screamed back and immediately assumed some pale parody of a fighting stance, grabbing the nearest object to protect himself from the unimaginable horrors that surely were gonna attack him in a minute.

"Careful, you almost fell into Deep 35, you schmuck. And could you puhleeeeze drop the spatula and stop imitating the...whatever it is you are imitating." Pop's face wasn't visible in the shadows, but his smirk was almost palpable.

"I hate you, you know that?! And what a hell is the Deep-35?"

"Look down, you pitiful excuse for a Writer, you."

"Enough with the sarcasm, all right!! Ahh!" Doqz' last remark was prompted by the realization that he was waving a spatula while standing on a precipice of a Very Deep Hole. "What. Is. That?" Doqz whispered and carefully began edging off of the cliff.

Pop sighed and gave him a hand, transferring Doqz safely to the other side. "That is the basement, AKA Deep 35 -- no, I have no idea what that means -- AKA Skyrocket's room."

"You mean somebody actually lives there?" Doqz inquired and cautiously hunched over, in a futile attempt to make out a bottom of the basement.

"It's...umm...it's deep."

"Heh, you haven't seen some of the other rooms yet, have ya?" Pop grabbed Doqz' collar to prevent the latter from inadvertently diving headfirst into Deep 35. "Could you please be more careful, I don't think dropping in unannounced from Scribe-knows-how-high is the best way to introduce yourself. Of course I might be wrong, nobody has been stupid enough to try that approach yet." Doqz gave his guide a
dirty look, got up, and loftily proceeded deeper inside the House.

A couple of minutes later, still making his way down the Lobby, Doqz inquired, "By the way, why is there no door to the basement?"

"Oh, there was, but then there was a housewarming party and several parts of the House were...rearranged."

"Aha."

Doqz mulled over that for some time, until his train of thought was interrupted by a new view. "Whew, is everything in here of Taj Mahal proportions? What is this, a sauna?"

"Nope. That's the heart of the House, also known as Dex and Phil's home away from home, a well-oiled machine from which spawned some of the worst hallucinations and nightmares. A place whence some of the best plot devices and fictives originated. Also known affectionately as...The Bar!"

"That's the bar? It's freaking huge!"

"Yeah, well, forget about that. It's nothing compared to this room, newbie. Get a load of this!"

"Main Gott in Himmell," whispered Doqz, slipping, for some unfathomable reason, into a bad German accent.

"Aaah, what did I tell ya? That's Seraph's Library, her pride and joy, her baby. Nobody knows exactly how big it is. The Catalogue Computer alone takes up a pocket dimension. Dex and Phil once, after a hard night of celebrating full moon, or its absence or somesuch, made a bet. Dex traded in some favors and got a hold of a flying carpet. Phil wrote himself a pair of supersonic self-propelling boots. I heard they made it to 'P' but had to turn back 'cause the beer supplies ran low." Pop snickered suddenly. "When Jess heard about that he, not to be outdone, yoked some of his fictives and dove into Azzy's closet. The last anyone heard of him was when he was spotted by Disney fictives. They said he was standing on the sleigh with a wild look in his eyes, waving a chain of frozen sausages and yelling, 'Mush, mush my little pretties,' giggling madly." Pop stopped his oration for a second to see what effect it had on the Writer. Suddenly his face fell and he grimaced like he had bittten a sour apple. "Ah, crap. One of those."

Doqz was standing in a mildly catatonic state, drooling slightly and staring at the shelves of books with an undisguised envy. His lips parted and with a look of total bliss he whispered, "I am home."

"No you are NOT! NO, nononono! Don't even think about it. Nobody takes the books without permission and a bath beforehand. The last guy, who tried..." Pop shuddered. "His screams were heard for months, dude. Let's get outta here." Firmly grabbing the Writer by the shoulder, the paparazzi pulled him out of the room, through the Lobby and out of the House.

Still pulling Doqz, who clearly was experiencing withdrawal pains, Pop shook his head muttering, "Shoulda known, nobody dresses like that unless they are of the Addicted. Just my luck."

Doqz, who finally came out of the coma, threw Pop's hand off him and wailed sorrowfully, "There was all of Sabatini. And I saw the Ptolemy's memoirs...I wanna go baaaaaack!"

"No!" barked Pop

"But Ptolemeeeeeeey..."

"No!"

"But it's P... Whoa Mamma!"

"Eh?" inquired Pop glibly.

"Look at that."

Pop followed the Writer's hand and visibly cringed. "Oh no. Scribe preserve and let me live another day."

Doqz could have taken notice of Pop's sentiment if he had not been so busy gawking at the approaching...vision, was the only word that came to his mind. The vision was approaching with all the speed and determination of a three-point tornado. As she got closer and closer, more details became visible.

Her clothing or rather her lack of most of it, except for a few strategically placed leather strings, accentuated curves of such outrageous proportions that Jenny McCarthy would probably turn purple AND green with envy if she could see them. Her head was topped off with a mane of bright red hair gathered in a topknot, face shaped in a scowl that sent a group of Sinisters off the sidewalk, just with one angry blaze of the blue eyes. Of course all of these details were noted in a perfunctory manner (yeah, right! Who are we kidding?). Anyway most of the public attention was immediately grabbed by what, in a colorful description of Havok, was referred to as "...that big-ass cleaver on steroids." In the defense of the usually polite Alex it has to be mentioned that he was almost...let's say decapitated or they might censor this chapter.

"Umm Pop...is there something you forgot to tell me?" asked Doqz carefully.

"Like what?" sullenly inquired his faithful companion.

"Oh I don't know. Is it gonna rain today? Is there a sale at Bloomingdales? DO YOU HAVE ANY HOMICIDAL WOMEN ARMED WITH AXES CHASING YOU?!!!!"

"Relax, dude. That's my grand aunt."

"What?"

"Well actually she's my great, great, great, great add-as-many-as you like grand aunt, also she is my curse -- literally. Don't look at me like that, man! There was a love affair, a dungeon, an axe -- it's a long story. What are you looking at?"

"Hey, I can't help it, she looks good for her age," Doqz protested, adding sotto voce "Or any other age for that matter."

"I heard that!"

"Sorry."

At this point the conversation grounded to a screeching halt due to an axe narrowly missing Pop's head.

"Boo," the girl said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"Top of the morning to you too, Jo. By the way, Jo, this is Doqz, Doqz -- Jo."

"Actually, it's Amanda Josephina Nicoletta Franchesca Le Beau nee Bonaseir. Charmed to meet you...Dogz?"

"Umm...Doqz...Paradoqz actually, nice to make your acquaintance, Ma'am. Umm...did you say Le Beau?"

"Yeah I did, so? Oh no! Pop how many times do I have to tell you? Nothing good comes from associating with newbies. And you, get with the program, would ya? This is Subreality, you throw a rock it'll hit three Le Beaus and bounce off Summers on the way down!"

Pop valiantly decided to take the brunt of the assault. "Jo...Jo, would ya...AMANDA! SHUT UP FOR A SECOND!!!"

"Don't yell at me, you snot-nosed pup!"

"Could you both please keep your voices down, maybe?"

Auntie Jo turned around and glared Doqz into the ground. "Stay out of this, newbie, or I'll turn you into a small hopping thing!"

Doqz raised his hand and stepped way back. "Whatever you say, Lady."

"You better believe it," confirmed the redhead and turned her wrath back on Pop. "When are you gonna make something of yourself, boy?" she demanded, waving her axe perilously close to Pop's freckles. "My late husband and your great, great great-whatever grand uncle is probably turning in his grave seeing this pathetic excuse for a descendant! When are you gonna get a normal job and get yourself some decent clothes, when are you gonna stop hanging around with idiots, eh?"

"Hey!" feebly protested Doqz.

"Shut up!"

"All right."

Finally Pop managed to jump in using a momentary pause in the verbal flood. "He IS a client, Auntie."

"Oh... Well...I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you would pick that as your client."

"Nice recovery, Jo," complimented Pop.

"Thank you. So how much is he paying you?"

"Enough."

"Yeah, whatever. What are you doing this close to ShantyTown anyway?" Jo inquired as the trio began their descent down a very long spiraling stairway carved in a mountainside.

"I heard a lot about it and wanted to take a look. Why?" asked Doqz carefully negotiating a crumbling step.

"Oh, no reason," airily answered Jo, leaping over two steps in a single bound.

Doqz looked at her suspiciously then shrugged and resumed his descent when suddenly he was stopped stone cold by the shrill cries, "Help... Help Meeee!!!"

The cries suddenly trailed off into a disturbing gurgling sound, accompanied by a hushed thudding noise and a growling voice, "Make us Summers, would ya...let's see how ya like that, ya son offa $#@! And that! And that!"

Another voice softly chimed in advising, "Hit 'im in de nuts, mon ami, in de nuts!"

"Whatta hell was that?" asked demanded Doqz in a slightly quivering voice.

"One of the reasons the Writers avoid ShantyTown," answered Pop grimly. "We can turn back now, you know -- this is only the outskirts. It gets worse," he added hopefully.

"Hell no! I ain't scared," declared Paradoqz.

They continued their advance in a somewhat strained silence for some time, until Doqz asked in a carefully neutral voice, "Hey Pop, can I get a gun here anywhere, by any chance?"

"Why?" asked Pop in an even more neutral tone.

"Well, you know...for protection. If I run into a feral Sabretooth or something."

Jo, who was skipping in front of Doqz, giggled. "Boy, if you run into Sabretooth, he might mess you up. If you run into Sabretooth and are stupid enough to pull a gun on him, he's gonna take that thing and cram it to you where the sun don't shine. Hee!"

Pop squinted tiredly. "Thanks for the graphic picture, Jo. But as much as I hate to admit that, Doqz, she's right on this one."

Jo maturely responded by sticking her tongue out. "I always am!"

Pop visibly weighed the pros and cons of entering that argument and wisely refrained from commenting. The group finished their descent and disappeared inside of ShantyTown.

Several hours later they emerged, a little more battered and somber. "That's horrible. I mean, this is a written world, there shouldn't be anything like that." Doqz was clearly shaken by what he saw.

"Bull! You are just like all the other newbies. All of you have this idea that this world is created by the Writers. That's horse pokey. If you didn't write about Gambit, he would still exist -- he might be called Han Solo or D'Artagnan or Silk or any other names but he would still be there. All you can do is give variance to the forms we take. Not all of these forms are pretty to the eye, boy. ShantyTown is as necessary as Subreality Café. Remember that." Pop spat disdainfully and continued to navigate the group through the network of narrow streets.

"There might be hope for you yet, my nephew," Jo remarked with unusual sobriety, wiping the blood off of her axe.

The trio finally reached their destination, the Spring Square, and, with an unspoken agreement, began to make their way to the nearest café. Suddenly Doqz heard a strange whistling sound that seemed to get louder with every moment, he tilted his head trying to ascertain the noise's origin. "What in the blazes is that?" he gave up finally. His companions looked at him questioningly and then Pop looked up and his face fell.

"Incoming!!!" he suddenly screamed, grabbed Jo, and dived for cover.

"Wha...?" said Doqz, quick on uptake as usual.

Pop raised his head an inch and yelled, "Get dow..."

The rest was lost in a noise of a tremendous crash. When the dust cleared and the various fictives began to abandon their hiding places, they found a shell-shocked Doqz standing on the edge of a fairly deep crater. A couple of quick slaps by Pop and a pitcher of cold water by Jo brought Paradoqz back. Shaking like a wet dog, he asked through the clatter of his chattering teeth, "Wwwhat wwwasss ttthhatt?"

As if to answer his question a small figure, dressed in tattered jeans and black tee-shirt, climbed out of the hole holding a laptop. He patted himself, clearing the dust from himself, checked his laptop for damage, looked down the crater and whistled appreciatively. Then he shook his head, looked around and declared philosophically, "I hate my life!" After issuing that deep statement he shook his head again, and headed straight for the nearest bar.

"Wriiiiterss, disguuusting!" bleated one of the nearest fictives, to Doqz' eyes very much resembling a goat. Several other fictives made clear their agreement with the goat and then went off on their business. Doqz looked at Pop uncertainly, "What was that?" he inquired, still shivering.

Pop sniffed disdainfully. "Some Writer."

Doqz blinked. "Why did he crash?" he asked finally.

"He's one of the Borderers. They're having it out with Pros out there," Pop informed him and motioned for Doqz and Jo to follow him inside the café. "That's nothing, compared to what they got going on the Message Boards," he continued, while the waitress found some towels for Doqz. "Couple of days ago, on the Duke-Out, they messed someone up so that the poor git wasn't himself for a couple of days."

Good food restored the company's spirits fairly quickly and they once again embarked on the tour. Things that seemed to defy all the natural and at least several of the magical laws were noted and filed away for future consideration by Doqz's tired brain, until he saw something so spectacular that he could not help but take notice. "Nice house, anyone's you know?"

Pop, animatedly explaining to Jo, why being paparazzi was safer than being a lawyer, reluctantly turned to look at source of the Writer's excitement. "Aaaah, can't believe I almost missed that. That's the Collegium."

"The what?" asked Doqz, carefully sidestepping a body sprawling in the sidewalk.

"The Muses' Collegium, you oaf. You know, nine girls in flimsy togas dancing around... Well, it's equal opportunity now, and there are a lot more of them. Damn nuisances, even more arrogant than their writers. Not to mention their weird and unhealthy obsession with practical jokes." Jo frowned darkly and made a very unladylike gesture towards the towering Collegium.

"Kewl! You mean I can get my very own personal muse?" Doqz's interest suddenly perked up.

"I ain't a great expert but I think they choose you, not the other way around," Pop informed him.

"Oh."

"I wouldn't worry too much -- from what I heard, it's as much a curse as a blessing."

"Hey! I am a curse too, you know," protested Jo, indignantly

"Would that I could forget," muttered Pop darkly.

"What was that?" inquired Jo in a sweet voice. "I didn't quite catch the last part."

"Nuthin."

"Keep it that way."

"Well, here we are. That's your Inn." Pop quickly changed the direction of the conversation.

"Great! Well, I'll see you tomorrow." Doqz started to open the door but was stopped by the surprised query from Pop.

"What for? I gave the standard tour. There is nothing more to see...unless you want to check out the Pokemon District, that is."

A slightly hunted look crossed the Writer's face. "Aah no, thanks all the same though. I just need you to take me to the Bureau, that's all." He waved his goodbyes and stepped inside.

Cautiously skirting around Mortimer who was engaged in a highly painful process of beating his head against the wall, Doqz evaded Annie with skill of a long practice, bravely ran into his room, and hastily went to sleep.

Unknown to him, down on the street his former companions simultaneously turned and were looking at a drab, gray Tower looming across several streets, with an expression of undisguised dread.

End Part 3

Part IV

"Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out." (RUMORED to have been said by Laersyn)

The morning came in due time, awakening Doqz with its infuriatingly bright and joyful sunlight that seemed to fill the room in mere seconds.

"Ahh shut up," said Doqz to nobody in particular and to the whole world in general. He debated for several moments whether there was anything even remotely worth getting out of bed for. After he imagined the Duc's face if he returned without the permit, he decided that he was much too young to die and reluctantly abandoned the bed.

His mood began to increase exponentially once he discovered that the bathroom had an abundant quantity of hot water and on the other side of his room's door there was a tray full of food. Courageously taking up the challenge, the Writer attacked his breakfast and defeated it utterly. With a blissful smile on his face Paradoqz once again ventured outside his room to face Subreality. Much to his surprise he made it to the street without any adventures.

Somewhat disappointed that he probably missed the culmination of a Lockheed/Wisdom showdown, Doqz crossed the street to the small restaurant where he'd met Pop yesterday. Coming in a door he collided with an upset Deadpool, who gave him the evil eye, shouldered him aside, and disappeared down the street muttering below his breath about Johnny-lives-a-lots. Doqz apologized to his retreating back uncertainly and looked around the establishment searchingly. He was ready to finally give up when he caught a sound of familiar voices.

"I am young, not out of the double digits yet. I ain't no kamikaze!"

"Uh-ha."

"I am a paparazzi. I ain't getting paid for no suicide missions."

"Very wise."

"Aaah, shut up, Jo."

"Whatever you say, Pop."

"Quit it!"

"Hey, guys!" Doqz greeted the pair brightly, "Isn't it a little early for the your usual...umm...get togethers?"

"It's never too early," retorted Pop grimly. Jo just smiled sweetly and kicked Pop in the shin.

"All right. You ready to go?" Doqz asked patiently, ignoring Pop's cry of pain and his thunderous glares.

"Yeah, whatever, let's go already," Pop finally declared and got up. Jo shrugged, grabbed the last doughnut, and did the same. Prompting a disappointed request from Doqz.

"Hey, Jo. Why are you so...umm...dressed?" Catching the beginning of a scowl in time, the Writer swiftly recovered, "...Up! I mean why are you so dressed up! And by the way, might I compliment you on your hair today. And that adamantium armor looks simply ravishing on you. Ravishing!"

After giving Doqz a killing glare, Jo deigned to answer. "I felt like it. Got a problem with that, Writer-boy?"

"Me? Noooo! Can we go now, Pop? I am ready now!"

Pop sighed heavily, tiredly rubbed his eyes, and silently exited the café, mournfully shaking his head. Doqz and Jo followed, with the Writer carefully avoiding the axe.

Doqz finally decided to opt for the lesser of two evils and caught up to Pop. "So, how far is it to the Bureau?"

"Not far enough. You can see it from here actually. See that big ugly gray thing? That's it. All we have to do is go down 5th then make a left at the Burning Bob, and we are there."

"Uh...Burning Bob?"

"Yeah. You haven't heard of it? It's a tradition. Every day at 12 o'clock, there is a ceremony. We make a statue of Harras and light that sucker up -- usually burns all day. Makes for a great beacon."

"Oookay then," Doqz remarked gingerly and fell back a step.

As it turned out, Pop was right this time, soon enough the trio passed the burning likeness and a group of people who were apparently dancing around it, occasionally yelling out "Burn, Bobby, Burn!" They made a turn, although Doqz noticed Pop throwing a wistful glance toward the people feeding the fire. Soon after they reached a small plaza, that lay right before the entrance to the big, gray building, with plain, undecorated walls and a simple writing above the door: The Bureau. For no apparent reason all three suddenly stopped and felt an unbearable sense of gloom.

Doqz looked around the square uncertainly; for some reason the plaza always seemed to be in shadow, although the day was sunny and there was nothing overhead. The few plants that did grow seemed to be sick or dying. Suddenly there was a loud noise and a big, burly figure came crashing through the doors. When the man finally managed to stop, Doqz saw that it was Guido -- the Strong Guy.

In his hands there was a plump folder, full of papers. The normally cheerful giant was in a rare fit of anger. Throwing the folder on the ground, he improvised something closely resembling an Irish jig centered atop the portfolio. After a few minutes of that, he stopped, got off and circled the folder never taking his eyes off it, his face shaped in an undisguised expression of pure loathing. Suddenly he jumped up and stomped on the stack of papers again, got off, spat on the battered portfolio, gave the building a finger, snorted with a baleful glee, gave the portfolio one last kick and stalked off. The trio mutely observed the process.

"Well, then...I guess I'll go in now, right?" Doqz turned to Pop uncertainly.

"Umm...yeah, I'll be waiting for you right here. In case you need something or whatever."

"That's nice to know." Doqz gulped, threw another glance on Guido's mutilated folder, gulped again and entered the building. Accompanied by the sorrowful eyes of his entourage.

Some time passed. Than some time passed again. Pop started pacing. Some time passed. He snorted angrily. "It's not my job!"

He paced some more, "I can't keep track of every newbie."

He threw a spiteful glance at Jo. "Isn't that what you always told me?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, I finally smartened up. No more suicide mission for me. No sirrah." Pop wagged his finger enthusiastically, "He asked for a tour, I gave him a tour, that's the end of that."

"I agree."

"Thank you, Jo. And I mean it's not like something gonna happen to him, right? He's got a one-in-three chance, right? He'll do fine on his own."

"I am sure you are right."

Pop suddenly stopped and stomped in frustration, "I hate my life, I hate you and I hate that stupid idiot!" he informed the unperturbed Jo. "Stay here!" he added emphatically and followed Doqz inside.

"I just.." attempted Doqz

"Take the form, state your name, sit down."

"But I don't..."

"Take the form, state you name, sit down."

"What form, I haven't even told you why I am...."

"Take the form, state you name, sit down."

Pop sighed heavily and patted Doqz on the shoulder; ignoring the grin that appeared on the latter's face, he silently pointed to the poster that was hanging above the receptionist.

Doqz raised his head and read, "We are the civil servants. We don't care. We are not paid to."

Pop shook his head and took one of the forms from the desk, then went to the nearest couch, pulling the Writer with him. Doqz followed his lead but when Pop sat down and started filling out the paper he revolted. "You don't even know what I am here for!"

Pop answered, never taking his eyes off of the form: "First of all, I do. You are trying to get a permit. Second -- it don't matter none. Observe." He got up and gave the form to the receptionist, who without looking took the form placed it in the waste bin then opened her desk and produced another form. "Fill it out, go to the second floor, room 12345. " Pop turned to Doqz, grinned sardonically, then gestured him toward the elevator that magically appeared in the wall seemingly from nowhere.

"I am just looking for Philidopius," Jo replied, sneaking a peak around the Café crowd.

"Oh Phil! He ain't here. You might try the Bailiwick, he said Galactus owed him money."

"Thanks, you are a prince!" Jo kissed him on the cheek and disappeared.

The Bouncer smiled and shrugged bashfully, then his usual scowl came back. "All right, that's enough! Le Beau, put him down!"

"I am telling you, you stinking, brainless offspring of blind camel and a deceased hyena, we already went to the 1st undersecretary, we also went to the 2nd, the 3rd and all 18 of the Department Managers. Now open that %#$@%$ door or I swear they are ginna have to bury you twice!!!!"

"Easy, Doqz," Pop whispered.

"I can't take it easy anymore!" replied Doqz, turning, his fists balled up so tight that the knuckles assumed a lovely beige shade. Turning back to the pair of eight-foot Goblins guarding the door, he growled, "So, ya punks wanna take it outside?"

Pop grabbed Doqz, smiled apologetically at the guards, and pulled him aside. "Are you INSANE?!!!!" he demanded.

"Yes! And I don't care! If I hear one more 'Fill this out in triplicate' I am gonna shoot myself then come back and haunt these...these...tsedreiters!"

"The who? Never mind. Look, let's try it my way, and if that doesn't work, we'll go with your plan."

The writer grinned back wolfishly, "Excellent," took out his pad and started writing.

"What's going on?" she worriedly asked a Nightcrawler.

"Oh, fraulein you have not heard? Someone is taking on the Clerk!"

When the people outside saw a bright flash followed by a loud boom, a hush fell over the crowd. Jo and Phil exchanged a glance and ran into the building. They didn't have to search for long. Doqz was lying at the foot of the stairs seemingly dead but for the rise and fall of his chest. Pop was not far from him; he was plastered across the wall, a blissful smile on his face and clutching a piece of paper in his hand. Jo carefully freed the slip and read, "Come back tomorrow. Friday, 10:30."

Jo, who was sitting at the table and reading a newspaper, snorted unsympathetically and turned the page.

"Where is Doqz?" Pop inquired, wincing from the effort. That, however, got Jo's attention.

"What do you mean? He was sleeping right next to you. Phil was looking after him. Phil? Phil?? PHIL?!!"

Pop cringed and pulled the blanket over his head, muttering, "Oh that's just perfect. My head is killing me. I feel like someone tore off my leg and beat me to death with it. And now I lost my only client AND my godfather. That's just great...and the day is still young."

"OW!" a vaguely familiar voice cried.

Doqz squinted and peered through the mist of the bar, grinning when he finally made out a familiar freckled face. "Hiya, Pop! Is this fun or what?"

"I would definitely have to go with 'or what,'" grumbled paparazzi, nursing his jaw.

"Hey Pop, I am sorry. You wanna punch me?"

Pop sniffed suspiciously and recoiled, gagging. "Scribe help me! I thought you didn't drink?"

Doqz frowned uncertainly. "Well, I don't! Usually...but Phil said it'd be good for me. Heee...everything is so greeen."

Pop slapped his own forehead in frustration. "I can't believe Phil let you watch History Of The World in this condition!"

Doqz swayed and grabbed Pop's head for support. "Phil? What Phil?"

Pop shook his head, giving up. "All right, let's go home. I've been looking for you all day. Jo is gonna kill us both."

"No!" Doqz protested suddenly, letting go of Pop and swaying dangerously. "I am not going anywhere! I like it here! I can do what I want. And I got friends!"

Apparently to prove his point, Doqz grabbed the bottle of bourbon and broke it on the nearest head. Turning back to Pop, the Writer smiled contentedly. "See!"

Pop's eyes suddenly widened. "Uhh..Doqz?"

"NO!"

"Doqz?!"

"No, I said! I am staying right here!"

"PARADOQZ!!"

"What?"

Pop silently pointed, Doqz turned around and looked up, and up, and up. Finally he reached the top and sighed resignedly, "Oh Crap."

"You had your chance," someone unexpectedly answered.

"Am I in Hell?" inquired Doqz, still refusing to open his eyes.

"Not yet, this is rehearsal. Called hangover."

"Aha. Is it all right if I die a little now?"

"No. You die later. Now drink this!"

Doqz sighed and, seeing no other choice, opened his eyes again. "Drink what?"

"This," said Pop, pouring the contents of the cup into Doqz' mouth.

"What the hell was that?" spluttered Doqz, jumping out of bed then clutching his head and falling back in.

"You don't wanna know."

Doqz tried to think about that, then decided not to attempt the impossible and instead asked something simple: "What time is it?"

"3:00 pm."

"Thursday or Friday?" requested Doqz.

"Monday," replied Pop nonchalantly.

"What?" screamed Doqz and jumped out of bed only to whimper with pain and again fall back in. "What happened to the rest of the week?"

Pop shrugged and added some more salt in the soup. "Oh, that. Savage Dragon took care of that. You know, after you watered him with whiskey?"

"Oh no..."

"That's the least of your problems," Pop continued, apparently enjoying every minute of Doqz' agony.

The Writer opened one eye and looked at Pop inquiringly. "Do I really want to hear this?"

"Well...probably, considering that Selene presumably is still looking for you because you called her mother a ^$%#$%#@ and cast some aspersions on her own nocturnal practices. It was quite inventive really...of course, I'll never look at the baboons the same way again."

"I did WHAT?!! Why am I still alive?"

"Beats me. If it's any consolation you've been mostly dead all week." Pop smirked. "Could you pass me the syrup? By the way two of your friends came by...umm...Cyn and..."

"...And Duc. Duc. Oh God. Where are they?"

"Don't know. Said that they'd take care of the permit and you go on without them."

Doqz firmly decided that, since his life was over anyway, he might as well get some sleep and closed his eyes.

"She left me, mate." Pete broke down in tears and took a gulp from the bottle and offered it to the little dragon, whose eyes were perilously close to meeting on its forehead. Lockheed produced a sympathetic purr, took a gulp, burped a little flame and fell asleep. Wisdom looked at the dragon puzzledly and promptly followed his example. Doqz shrugged, grinned ruefully, and took his leave.

"What are you doing?" he inquired calmly.

"I am going on walkabout," cheerfully explained Paradoqz.

"Where exactly?"

"Oh, you know, couple of places..."

"Subreality among them?"

"Might be."

"You do remember that you spent three days in the hospital, don't' you?

"Yeah. But, Duc, I gotta go. I got the bug. I tasted the bear meat. I want to see the rest. I want to meet the muses, I want to check out the Writers' Café, I want to look in on the Bouncer. Besides see this? Kielle herself invited me to come to the HOSD. No, sorry pal, but I am going." Doqz zipped up his backpack, saluted with a toothy grin and disappeared out the door.