Badass Dragoons of the Highlands - Turn 7 - New York City (c.1986)

[gwwar]

The most recent missives are too heavy for the messenger pigeons to carry. Ennis instead enjoys a nice walk through the park and snacks on popcorn, an interesting treat that infuriatingly gets stuck between her teeth.

[daneel]

Mr Collins - may I call you Phil? I’ve been a big Genesis fan ever since the release of your 1980 album, Duke. Before that, I really didn’t understand any of your work. Too artsy, too intellectual. It was on Duke where your presence became more apparent. I think Invisible Touch was your group’s undisputed masterpiece. It’s an epic meditation on the Quickening. At the same time, it deepens and enriches the meaning of the preceding three albums. And, aptly, describes the smoothness with how I’ll remove your head.

Listening to the brilliant ensemble playing of Banks, Rutherford and yourself, I can practically hear every nuance of every instrument. In terms of lyrical craftsmanship, the sheer songwriting, this album hits a new peak of professionalism.

Take the lyrics to Land of Confusion. In this song, you perfectly address the problems of dealing with the additional personalities we each have absorbed. Now that I share headspace with Bon and Nessie, this song really speaks to me.

In Too Deep is the most moving pop song of the 1980s, about fighting the call of the gathering. Despite this, the song is extremely uplifting. The lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I’ve heard in rock. Your solo career seems to be more commercial and therefore more satisfying, in a narrower way. Especially songs like In the Air Tonight (like The Worker’s head was, all those years ago) and, Against All Odds - perfectly capturing the struggle of knowing there can be only one. But I also think you work best within the confines of the group, than as a solo artist, and I stress the word artist.

[teknocholer]

Documents found in a safe.

[Biographer’s note: The discovery of a box of papers in a locked safe in Pittsburgh in 2017 has been a boon to scholars trying to unravel the complicated events of the Gathering in New York City. The letters (in particular Items 1 and 2) shed light on Myfanwy Owens’ activities in the eighteenth to twentieth centuries, as well as the reasons she felt compelled to come forward at considerable risk to herself.]

[Conservator’s note: Of the documents found in the safe, most are illegible. Unfortunately, the shoebox they were stored in was in contact with a piece of dank carpet. Mould growth and wet rot have damaged the majority of the papers beyond restoration.]

Item 1: Letter from Myfanwy Owens to Other Pendragon

Other:

I have some shocking news. I put out some feelers about Zero Demos’ sordid past. There’s nothing definitive re Caligula and Gilles de Rais, but my researchers say with 90% probability that Zero beheaded and absorbed Jack the Ripper on 30 September, 1888. He seems to have interrupted the Ripper in the act of killing Elizabeth Stride, then gone on to murder Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, and possibly others.

I believe he is deliberately selecting only the worst characteristics of his victims to absorb, distilling and concentrating the evil with each Quickening. Bad enough. But it gets so much worse.

Do you remember me telling you about baby “Jolene”, the Immortal I found in Tennessee in 1963? I arrived just in time to see the butchered bodies of her parents on the floor, and a man standing over her crib with a knife. I cut off his arm at the shoulder, and would have had his head, but he was too quick. He was running as soon as he felt my chainsaw and I never saw his face.

But then Zero sent me that taunting postcard.* Now I’m convinced it was him.

*biographer’s note: Probably Item 3 (attached), also found in the safe.
https://bbs.elsewhere.cafe/uploads/default/original/2X/1/1cc8a0e397e39fc0e58c34db22b330c2756b2427.gif

He’s killing babies! He’s finding newborn Immortals and absorbing their essence. Think about it: the pure selfishness of infants, the solipsism, the inchoate greed—it’s what he feeds on!

I feel sick. He must be stopped, by any means necessary.

I can’t write any more.

Myf

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Item 2: Letter from Myfanwy Owens to Other Pendragon

My Dearest Other:

Okay, I’m a little calmer now. I’ll catch you up on the other news.

Immortels Sans Frontières have trained their first field agents, and have already had some success—four new Immortals found and treated so far this century.

“Jolene” has grown up to be a brilliant young woman. She’s studying for her PhD in Immortal Biochemistry at my alma mater, Unseen University. I have high hopes of her continuing my work.

The Immortal branch of the Illuminati have formed a very hush-hush covert operations wing—the Order Of Pendragon. (Are you proud? I am.) The OOPsies, as they call themselves, are tasked with protecting young Immortals and tracking down predators. They’ll get Zero eventually, but the glamour Darth Messana has cast over this poor city blocks them for now.

How I wish it was safe to meet again. I think of you every minute, cariad.

Always,

Myf

[teknocholer]

For the eyes of Darth Messana, all glory to him:

Transcript of a telephone conversation between surveillance subjects Other Pendragon (O) and Myfanwy Owens (M)

M: Hello?

O: Myf, it’ll be okay. Just wave Ms.Toothy about a bit, and I’ll parry. Make it look good and we’ll both come out of this alive.

M: We can’t, Other. Darth Messana is using me as his puppet. I won’t have any control and he means to fight to the death. You know there’s only one thing to do.

O: Myf, don’t ask me. I’ll just go defensive, and when you see a chance…

M: No, Other. We’ve been over this. I can’t fight Zero. If you absorb some of my speed it may help. Besides, I’ll give you an element of unpredictability.

O: I can’t do this. I don’t know if I can fight alone.

M: You can! You’re strong. You’re a knight, that’s what you do. Anyway, you’ll sense me there with you.

O: I wish I could be sure.

M: Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to be singing “Dancing Queen” and imagining the smell of overcooked cabbage.

O: You monster.

M: We need to talk plans.

O: Not over the phone.

M: It’s all right. [unintelligible]

[Conversation continues in what appears to be an archaic dialect of Welsh. ]

Transcribed by: Special Agent J. L. Whinger.
Submitted by: Special Agent J. L. Whinger.

All Praise to Darth Messana the Benign

[Justa_Little_Whinger]

[daneel]

[teknocholer]

“You are the dancing queen, young and …”

“not in the mood, Myf”
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“Other?”

“yes, Myf?”

“have you seen Ms. Toothy? I’ve looked everywhere”

“what? you mean you didn’t…oh”

“hehehe”

“give it a rest, okay?”

“if you can’t have a little laugh, what’s the point, I say”
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“Other?”

“yes, Myf?”

“I have a little neck”

“GODDAMMIT, MYF!!”

“okay, okay. sorry”
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“Other?”

“WHAT?”

"I wrote a new verse:

Zero, better pray to Heaven,
Can’t you hear my chainsaw revvin’ ?
I will shave you nice and even
’Cause that’s just my Stihl "

" not bad. I think you should check the pronunciation of Stihl, though"

"oh. Shit, you’re right. How about:

Craven, taste my Stihl!" "

“we’ll make a poet of you yet”

“remember that night on Cader Idris? you told me you’d make me a poet then”

“I screwed up and made you a madwoman”
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“how much longer?”

“not long”
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“Myf, forgive me”

“nothing to forgive, cariad. Remember what we talked about”

“always, my love”

“always”

[messana]

[Night falls across the city. In certain back alleyways, empty subway stations, and even Central Park itself, the sound of steel ringing against steel can be heard. Passersby quicken their pace, instinctively knowing better than to draw too near.]