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Nano Day 24 - Titled: The Pan Aspect
For Capi and the Readers. Yes, I found the title.
I like the combined taste of chocolate malt, potatoes and salt. I know, it's a strange thing to most people. Just another peculiarity that makes me. For me, it's almost the taste of decadence. It's a pure luxury to me. Like the belief that buying poptarts means you can afford something as silly as poptarts. Chocolate malts and french fries. Yep, that does it for me. It's not the only thing, of course, but it's pretty darn close to heaven.
You can get french fries anywhere, of course. Every burgershop or foodstop has them. But a decent chocolate malt is rather hard to find. Some places use too much malt powder. Some use too little. And of course, it's all a matter of personal taste. I like mine with a definite richness of chocolate, a frosty top and the right mix of sweetness and bite of malt. Malt, by the way, the very same malt that is used in chocolate malts, is also used in beer. It's just an odd thing.
So, after four hours on the road, through mountain roads that test your mettle and drain your energy, I was sitting eating one of my comfort foods, malt covered fries, and someone came a-knocking at my brainpan. It irritated me just a bit, let me tell you.
The tingle was not the rather gentle tickle of an ant crawling across your skin or the brush of a feather. This was like someone had taken a nine volt battery and put it on my tongue. That sort of green flavored tangy bite sort of tingle.
Angelina looked up from her sandwich and looked at me. "Are you all right?"
"Shh." I put my fingers to my lips. "Someone's listening."
She looked around us to the other tables, the other patrons. There wasn't anyone staring at us, so she said, "I don't see anyone."
"Not here." I told her. I chewed the remaining bit of fry in my mouth and pointed to the ceiling.
"I don't feel anything," she said, shaking her head. "Are you sure?"
I gave her a look of irritation, a look of patience, and a look of exasperation, all in the same look. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't in my head, so how could she know. At the same time, I really didn't need her questioning me, with all the strangeness in her life.
She nodded, mouthed the word "oh", and went back to her sandwich and coke. Her eyes never left me, though. I could feel them watching me as I faded from the current world and went to Neverland.
It was a landscape of red, of dust, of wind and of heat. The ground looked to have been made of hard baked clay; the sky was painted from a color set of magentas and fire. It looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
A voice boomed from everywhere, or it came from nowhere. "Who are you?" It was very loud, very bass. Think Wizard of Oz.
"Who wants to know?" I asked.
The ground shook, and larger cracks appeared in the ground. Hot blue lightning flashed, and the voice roared, "Who are you to question me!"
Now, normally, I'm a pretty easy going person. I tend to let people walk around me, walk over me, walk through me. I occasionally bend over backwards to avoid conflict. I try to please everyone. That's just me. I'm a people pleaser, I am. That is when I'm rested and happy and in my own environment. To my friends, I'm sometimes taken advantage of. To me, I figure what the heck, it doesn't really matter in the long run.
Catch me when I'm tired, and hungry, and stressed and I'm not quite the same. I'm cranky. I'm grouchy. I don't have the same control over my old buddy Anger that I would have on a good day.
"Nobody of consequence!" I roared back. "Who are you and why are you disturbing my lunch?"
The ground shook again, and a large crack appeared between my legs, and it grew steadily wider. I stepped to the side. Lightning crashed again, and speared down near where I stood.
"Very nice." I grumbled. "I'm sitting and eating and you come knocking on MY door, and you ask me who I am?"
This was a dream world, but not mine. There was just so much I could control and I had to be very careful here. Because I was awake in the real world, though, this was a DayDream world. An important distinction, because in a DayDream world, things shift all the time, distractions occur to the daydreamer, and it can fade like yesterday's news.
It also helped that I was yanked here while I was conscious. It meant that the person that yanked me here was pretty darn powerful, but it also meant that whoever it was didn't know that much about dreaming. Yanking a lucid dreamer into a daydream means that you have given over part of your dream to them.
There wasn't much I could do, but what I could was affect my locale, my close surroundings. I reached in to my pocket and pulled out the little sewing kit I knew would be there.
"What are you doing?" roared the voice? "Who are you?"
"What do you care?" I answered. "You invited yourself into my head, remember. Just wait a minute and we can chat."
Ignoring the rantings and growlings and shakings, I calmly threaded the needle, bent down to the ground and whip-stitched the growing number of cracks around me back together. When the ground was quilted back together, I stitched a circle around me. An important thing, because, with the right thread, all things can be held together and I really didn't want to fall into whatever hell was under the ground in a world not of my making, thank you very much.
When I was finished, I stood up, brushed the red dirt off my knees, and said, "Okay. Finished." I put the sewing kit back into my pocket, placed my fists on my hips, looked at the sky and asked, "Now, what was it you wanted?" Did I mention that when I'm angry, I get to be quite the smartass? More than normal, I mean.
The world shook, the sky grew even darker as this world's owner growled his displeasure. The world fell away and what had been a reddish plain quickly became a canyons and spires. I looked down from my own precarious perch and didn't see where the bottom was. Impressive.
Of course, I knew who it was. It was Angelina's father. Apparently, his boys had gone back to him and told them that their attack on me had failed. Why he waited so long to come looking for me himself was a puzzle to me. Dad was, from what Angelina had told me, not the sort of person to wait patiently. In fact, the way she had describe James Thomas, he was someone who would have ridden the horses from hell to find me and smite me.
So... here I stood, unsmited, on solid ground of his DayDream world, wondering what the hell he wanted. He could have simply waited for me to deliver his daughter to him and then asked me, quietly, politely. I could have finished my fries and malt then. Not being the most patient person myself, I figured I'd ask him.
"Hey, James!" I waited. No reply came, at least in the form of words. The shaking of the planet did stop for a second, and the lightning didn't quite rumble as loudly as it could have.
"I have your daughter with me, James. I'm bringing her home." I waited some more. Nothing. Just the mild shaking and the quiet grumble of the sky. Maybe something outside his daydream had distracted him. That happens sometimes. It just puts the daydream on hold until the dreamer can focus on the dream again.
"Helloooooo." I called out. The hello echoed, echoed again, and there was no answer. "All righty then," I said. "Nice chatting with you. I'll just be leaving. I've got a malt to get back to."
Here's the thing about being drug into someone else's dream. If it ever happens to you, don't panic. With the right key, the right mindset, you can get out. You just have to find the doorway. That's the problem with some people, though. When they get drug into someone else's dream, they don't realize it. They just think it's their own dream, and they go through it just like they always do in one of their personal dreams. They never realize that they are actually in somebody else's head.
Ever see someone in a dream you couldn't recognize? It's possible that you were in their dream. Conversely, it's possible they were in your dream. It's really hard to tell, because dreams are, by their very nature, odd and dreamlike. Ever have an odd dream conversation with a friend or relative of yours? Next time that happens, find out if that friend or relative had an odd dream as well. Keep in mind that it is the nature of dreams to fade once we wake. It's the border that separates the two worlds, that forgetting. Your buddy may not even remember they had a dream. Sometimes that's a good thing.
I looked for my doorway, my exit out of James Thomas' daydream. Of course, it's not that easy. If it was, nobody would get trapped in their dreams. There would be fewer anti-psychotic meds and fewer straitjackets and fewer PHD's walking around trying to convince folks their problems are solvable for an hour each day.
The doorway had to be something that I would recognize, not necessarily as a doorway, but as something that would bring me back to my waking state. Time moves pretty funny in dreamland, so I was getting a bit nervous about how much time had passed out in the real world. A dream can take an hour and seem like a minute, or it can take a couple of minutes and seem like a year. I would hate to wake up in a hospital somewhere, just because the people on the other side thought I was having a seizure or was in a coma or something.
When the world crumbled, all around me was tall spires of red mountain and deep crevasses falling away to forever. The particular spire I was standing on just happened to be the very same diameter as the circle I sewed on the ground. Any step outside the circle would be a step into empty space. I was in a room without walls and the floor was about four feet in diameter. A pretty small room to find a door in.
That meant that the key had to be on me, since it couldn't be anywhere else. I searched my pockets and came up empty except for that sneaky Royal Crown bottle cap. Of course, since it was dream stuff, it had to be here.
This time, though, the saying on the bottom of it had changed. It now read "Measure twice, cut once.", whatever the hell that meant. I knew what it meant, of course. It's what my father would say to me when he wanted to warn me to think twice before deciding a course of action. It's what the stage carpenters told me so that I wouldn't waste wood.
In dreams, everything has a reason. The Measure twice, cut once meant something. I thought to myself that maybe it meant that I could cut my doorway out of the rock. I bent down and drew a four by four square on the ground, like a trapdoor. Then I jumped, thinking that my weight would cause the door to drop out from under me.
Nothing. Not a quiver or a twit did I get for my meager effort. All that happened was that I now had a nice little square scratched on the ground at my feet.
"Sooo..." I said to nothing and nobody. "You plan on keeping me here long?"
The produced a dark chuckle for my answer. Apparently James Thomas was a bit of a bastard, pretty much as Angelina described to me.
If I couldn't find my way back out of James dream, then I would be pretty much trapped here. My body would continue functioning, of course. Autonomic functions are wonderful things. The lights would be on but no body would be home, though. I would become a veritable vegetable. Eventually, I would be put in a nursing home, getting bed sores and being pretty much ignored. My brother Sam would quit coming to see me because, after all, what good would it do. My best friends, Tim and Sherry would gradually find other things to do.
I would fade away into oblivion. I would also be really, really late for work. Take your pick, either one was not a good option.
Measure twice, cut once did me no good, at least as far as my tiny little brain could figure it. I knew I was missing something, I just didn't know what. I sat down and let my legs dangle over the edge of my spire. I fumed, and I stewed, and I fretted, sitting on that little square of rock.
Maybe, I thought, the answer wasn't in the doorway. Maybe it was in the way it was done. Measure twice, cut once, the bottle cap said.
Heck, I didn't even measure once! I just cut.
I remembered hearing or reading somewhere about the concept of Widdershins and diesel, or Deosil, for the old and true pronunciation. Widdershins, I think, was the way to remove a charm or a spell that had been cast upon you or against you. I forget exactly, but what the heck... belief is nine tenths of anything. Knowing just a bit about harmonic universal vibrations, having lived in them and thought about them all my life, I know that certain movements, certain phrases, and certain sounds carry vibrations that can do incredible things, from lulling a baby to sleep, to opening Aladdin's secret treasure cave.
I stood up and paced out the length of the square, going counter-clockwise, to my left. By my feet, it was four steps and a toe, by four steps and a toe. I decided that I needed to measure twice and then cut again. Made sense once I thought about it and I'm sure there's probably a few that would have looked at me and said "Duh!"
There is an old, old song, knick knack paddy whack, which came into my head as I paced the first time. Figuring that it came to me for a reason, I quickly shuffled through the song and came up with the appropriate passage. I would use it for my counter-spell. As I paced the entire length of the doorway, I sang:
This old man, he played four;
(That would be me, as I'm getting old. And I made it to the first corner)
He played knick-knack on my door.
(I was hoping it was my door, and I made it to the second corner.)
With a knick-knack, paddy whack,
(Here I stopped to clap my hands, just once. It's just something you gotta do)
Give a dog a bone;
(I had to squeeze two lines into one side of my door. Not a big deal, since knick-knack and giveadogabone all go pretty quick.)
This old man came rolling home.
And I was at the fourth and final corner. Once there, I stomped my foot, whooped like a Peter Pan lost boy, and stood smiling, so incredibly proud of what I had done. The knick-knack song tends to do that to me. I don't know why. It just makes me feel... happy.
I stood there, smiling and fists on my hips, looking, I'm sure, like the goofy Jolly Green Giant on the old can labels. How I looked didn't really matter to me, though. Nobody else could see me. What really made me happy, however, was that the second the last syllable of the song left my lips, the lines on the ground started to glow, just like I hoped they would. I had found my door.
All around me, the thunder grew stronger and louder. The lightning was flashing at a furious rate and striking all the craggy peaks in the desolation. The ground shook and an evil wind blew up from somewhere, smelling of sulfur and ashes. Somebody was not having a good time.
I jumped into the middle of of the glowing square with a wild Indian yell, and expected to fall through. And nothing happened. Nothing at all. My spirit dampened, but only slightly, I stood up straight and yelled into the wind, "I'm halfway home!" Which, in my mind, is a lot better than being halfway trapped. Half full or half empty? It's a choice, you see.
I thought quickly, because that's what you do in an emergency. What was I missing? I still held the bottle cap in my tightly clenched fist. It hadn't let me down yet. I looked at the bottom of it, and written on the cork were the words, "Flip and Listen."
Okay. I shrugged my shoulders, laughed like a loon, and flipped the bottle cap like a coin. Over and over it went, into the air. And I listened.
The bottle cap just hung there in the air, flipping end over end, making strange sounds, like the static on the radio when you turn the dial really fast. I watched and I listened as it rotated, watched as it slowed, slower, stopping, the sounds passing from the range of static to Jumbled voices and musical notes until it finally stopped on one song. Tony Orlando and Dawn. I had to laugh out loud. It was too obvious.
I snatched the bottle cap out of the air, dropped to my knees and Knocked Three Times. On the third knock, a reverberation set in, like the sound of a guitar with a massive Waa-Waa bar. The doorway I had drawn in the dirt burst with a blue flash of intense light and crumbled away from beneath me. As I fell, I heard the sound of James Thomas, crying out "Who are you?".
"Chester! Are you all right?" Angelina was looking at me in concern, her pretty brows drawn together, and her brown, brown eyes crinkled at the edges. I looked around and saw a few faces looking my way.
"I'm fine folks," I said to the other patrons of Honkers. "It's just been a long time since I've had fries this good!" I demonstrated how much I liked the french fries by shoving a bunch of them in my mouth and grinning like the happy idiot I was.
I saw the few gawkers go back to their dinners and heard more than a few toss some epithet my way. Nutcase was the nicest one I heard. It was okay, though. I was definitely a nutcase, and I was absolutely, most definitely very happy to be out in the land of the living.
"How long was I gone?" I leaned forward and whispered to Angelina.
Still looking concerned, she sat back, and finished the bite she had started before my trip. "Only a few moments." She looked around at the rest of the diner. "If you had not have been so loud, no body would have noticed."
"Oh?" I asked, grinning. "What was with the calling my name and asking me if I was all right?"
"I did that because you stopped breathing." Angelina said grumpily. She obviously didn't share my enthusiasm for being in a non-dream world. "I did that because your eyes rolled up in your head. You looked like you were having a seizure." She sucked some coke up through her straw. "Did you? Have a seizure? You were drooling a bit and you were singing something about a dog bone?"
"No, it wasn't a seizure," I told her while munching malt soaked fries and chewing wonderful cheeseburger. "I was having a daydream. Or more specifically, your father's daydream." I told her about my trip to her father's mind. "Angelina, your father is not a nice man," I concluded. "Why would he want to keep you from getting back, when it was he that made the ultimatum?" I was beginning to formulate my own belief of this, but I wanted to know what she thought.
Angelina shrugged. "I don't know. Father has his own agenda. He always had. Maybe he just hates me."
I ignored that last statement. We could deal with the Father-Daughter love/hate thing some other time.
"How bout this," I offered to her, "your father wants this conflict with the Old Crafters. He wants to find out who is stronger. He wants to put his sons and himself up against a bunch of old crones and see who comes up on top. He doesn't expect you to make it back."
"Yes, perhaps." Angelina nodded, looking far away at something, thinking. "It would be something that father would do, to achieve whatever goal he has in mind." Looking back, I could see just the hint of a tear in her eye. "He always treated my brothers as if they could do no wrong. Me, he pretty much treated as if I wasn't there."
I stopped and listened with all my ears, and all my eyes. It was incredibly silent on the other side of the veil. I mean, there was no tingles, no tickles, no invisible voices. It was all silence. Maybe I had impressed dear old dad that I wasn't some little hedge wizard, maybe he had gotten the idea I wasn't someone to be messed with.
I realized, right then and there, that I had made a choice. If I was going to be forced into this fray, just because I was trying to get a little girl home, then I might as well go whole hog. No more Mister Nice Guy. I heard the strains of Alice Coopers song float through my head. Might have been my imagination, might have been a jukebox. Either way, I was here to chew bubblegum and kick some ass, and I was just about all out of bubble gum.
Like I said, I don't like the power because of what it can do to a person. I have a large ego to begin with. I don't need the artificial inflation of being able to do a few card tricks. Right then however, I decided that if card tricks was what I was going to need, then I was going to go in with a whole deck. I can be a pretty scary person when pushed.
"Finish your sandwich, Angelina," I told her, "I want to go meet your parents." An odd energy came up in me, and it was not entirely unpleasant. It was like remembering that you do indeed know how to ride a bicycle. I looked at her, and the look on my face caused her to raise first eyebrow, and then the other.
"What?" she asked me, once again whispering. "What are you looking at?"
I pulled myself back. The pleasant heat that I felt rising from my... the feeling I was feeling was wonderful! I tried to think back to the last time I felt this way, and I couldn't. On one hand, I felt myself grow larger, more powerful, more in touch with the Universe than I had in... decades. On the other hand, this feeling was something I had to control, or else it would control me. I was, to be crass, insatiably horny.
I yanked my eyes away from her, looking for something, anything to focus on. I picked up my glass of water and sucked the ice cold down into me, hoping to redirect my attention.
"Um," I stood, quickly. "Excuse me, Angelina. I need to... um." I didn't stop to hear her surprised answer. I walked quickly, almost running, to the rest room.
Some smart aleck muttered, "Good fries, huh?" Had I not been in a hurry, with the way I felt, I could have cause him to leave his widow a smoldering heap of smart aleck.
I burst through the restroom door, turned on the cold water and splashed my face until I felt more in control. As I toweled off my face with the rough brown paper, I stared at the mirror, searching my reflection, looking into my own eyes.
That old light was there. Years and years ago, I was told by someone that loved me that there were certain times when I seemed to glow. Those were times when I took on my own aspect, the aspect that was created when I was touched, those many years ago, by the Hand of God and held a golden globe in my belly. It was a glow that came on me when I knew, not just believed, that there was not a single thing in all the world that I could not do. It is a scary thing to be me, at times like that.
See, when I was very young, and I felt the Hand of God, that transcendental moment when the Universe and I were one, and I was carrying that golden globe that passed the knowledge of the ages to me, I began to recognize I had pretty much the same attributes as that old demi-god, Pan. Yep... that horny little devil that gave rise to Christianity's image of Satan. The merry partier who showed up every spring equinox to flirt with the sprites and caused the word panic to be entered into the dictionary. That was me, or rather, I was him. And that was my choice.
I spent those early years flirting and carrying on and causing mischief of a variety of ways. I am responsible for a few things that I am not proud of and it's not any of anyone's business what those things were. It was this Pan attribute that enabled me to grow as a person, to have some incredible adventures, and it was also this Pan attribute that broke more than a couple of hearts, mine included.
When the globe finally left me, when it found its true owner and departed me, leaving only the knowledge of what it was and what it was for, the Pan attribute faded a bit. It was almost as if the demi-god within me had been partly fueled by the globe. In fact, I think it was the disappointment and the guilt I felt over the heartache that caused it to fade. In truth, before that moment in Honkers, I thought it was just that I was just getting old.
And here it was back. I guess all it needed was exposure to some high powered Universal vibrations, or maybe it was just because I had made the decision to jump back into that world of oddity and magic. What ever the reason, at that time, staring into the mirror, I recognized that it was the one thing that would never leave me. That Pan, for whatever reason, was just under the surface all the time, waiting for me to call his attribute forth.
That as good and bad, both. On the good, it meant that I would have access to the ancient knowledge and the vibrational manipulation to do whatever the heck it was I needed to do. On the bad, it meant that I was back to being a weirdo, back to feeling more cut off from normal humanity, whatever normal meant, than I had for the last couple of decades. I could already feel the guilt start to build from all the hearts and misery that I knew I was going to cause, and the thought of that responsibility made the light in my eyes fade, caused my heartbeat to slow down and I felt my connection with the Universe weaken.
'Good', I thought, 'I can control it. Much better than it controlling me.' Guilt, applied judiciously, can be very useful. The bad thing about guilt is that too many people wallow in it. Generally, I will admit to not having any guilt. Much closer to the truth, would be to say that I have too much guilt, but I refuse to let it slow me down.
Apparently, I have some issues to deal with, or so I've been told. My thoughts are that to modify any part of me would be to change the whole, and I'm pretty darn happy with who and what I am, generally. Like Captain Kirk said, "I need my pain."
I left the restroom, much more in control than I was when I went in, and wandered back to our table. I passed the smart aleck who made the comment about the fries, leaned down and told him to be careful of the salmon. This was, of course, what he happened to be eating. He looked up at me, his grizzled face a bit shocked. Then he looked back down at what he was eating. I did just a little push of energy his direction, and then, he too was headed toward the restroom like his pants were on fire. It's possible, when he was done, that he may have had to burn them, so perhaps they were.
A little control is a good thing, and I sat down across from Angelina chuckling.
"Uh, are you sure that you are all right?" She asked. "This has been a pretty freaky dinner, here."
"Yeah," I said, still smiling. "I know. But it's all right now, really." I picked up my cheeseburger, finished it in a couple of bites, slurped down the rest of my malt, nodded at her and said, "See? Everything is grrrreat!" Just like Tony the Tiger always said.
Angelina nodded, but continued to look at me oddly. "Well... as long as you're sure."
"Of course I'm sure, dear." I reached across and patted her hand. "Everything is just dandy. I just had a moment there, but I'm back and in the pink." I smiled at her, radiating charm. I stroked the back of her hand with my index finger, and she pulled it away, gently.
"You're acting just a bit odd," she worried at me.
And that was my danger sign. I was acting a bit odd. A bit too friendly. I reached to my seat of power, which for me is both the crown of my head and the bottom of my belly, two major chakra points. I grabbed them mentally and pulled them in, kinda of like deflating a balloon. I felt that strong attraction toward her fade away to something more manageable. It might be called familial affection.
In my head, I modified who she was to be my little sister. A very attractive, over twenty-one little sister. I slapped that thought down to where it belonged. She was just a little girl, young enough to be my daughter. Heck, from my younger indiscretions, she could have been my daughter.
I felt my eyes soften at the thought that somewhere I may have had a child. I felt the guilt rise and take control. It wasn't a crippling guilt, like everyone talks about. It was a good guilt, the sort that keep you from doing something that you knew you would regret. It's how we learn, it's what causes us to choose good over evil. The proper application of guilt is not a bad thing.
I cleared my throat. Angelina looked at me, caution in her eyes. "Look. There's stuff in my world that are a bit odd. I'm not going to explain it to you. We're not going to be together long enough for it to matter." I looked away. Somewhere a clock chimed two in the afternoon. "Just believe me when I tell you that I promised to get you to your family today, and that's what I'm going to do. Safe and sound." I turned back to her. "Things may get a bit weird, but I suspect you've seen a few weird things in your life, right?"
She nodded. I was pretty much back to my old self, talking like my old self and that familiarity seemed to relax her. I could still feel that surge of energy, the Pan aspect of myself, just lying below the surface, waiting like a child for Christmas to come out and play. I pictured a young girl, blond and pretty, very smart and artistic. "That could have been my daughter," I thought. Placated, the Pan aspect bowed in understanding, but indicated that when it was time, it would be ready, and if it was ready, then so was I.
"We have about three or four hours to go," I told her. "Where abouts do you want me to take you? Gold Hill? Or Prospect and drop you off at your doorstep?"
"I guess Gold Hill is good enough, since you're in such a hurry to get rid of me." Angelina pouted, while she picked up her purse.
"It's not like that, Angelina." I stood, dropped money on the table. "Well, it is, actually, but it's not as harsh as you seem to think. I've enjoyed most of our weird and little road trip." I looked at her face, and made a decision. "On the other hand," I said, "I don't see what it would hurt to drop you off at your doorstep."
I held out my hand to help her out of the booth. She looked at my hand, then at my face, then back at my hand. "You are not going to turn weird on me again, are you? For a second I could feel all sorts of strange things coming from you."
I laughed lightly. "No, Angel. I'm not going to turn weird on you again." I tilted my head, and smiled a crooked smile. "Well... if I do turn weird, it won't be a bad weird." She looked at me, suspiciously. "I promise." She still gave me that suspicious look. "Let's just say that you saw one of the effects of me getting ready for whatever it is that's coming. I've got it under control, now."
Angelina sat for a few moments, still looking at me, checking my face, looking into my eyes. She seemed to make a decision. She nodded and gave me her hand. I helped her up, getting a brief whiff of the freshness of her hair. The Aspect reared it's hungry head. I pushed it back under the water.
"Let's go." I said. "It's time to meet the Wizard." Only, I wasn't sure which wizard we were going to meet.
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Ok!! We. Are. READY!!!!
*rowr*
BRING IT!!
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I haven't taken time to think about it any more than you've taken time to fix spelling and typo stuff! *L* I'm just rollin' towards the vortex wi' ya, Bro!
Bring it is a phrase that, among young un's means "if you wanna fight, i'm THERE" or similar sentiment. It definitly (i can't SPELL today!!) means i'm NOT backin' away, DOOD! I'm all OVER this like a bear on honey! *L*
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Now, what I don't take much time to do is go back and add a lot of description, fix stupid grammar mistakes, things like that. I'll do that once the story is finished, probably early December, if not before.
The thing with "bring it" is that my character, up to that point, is NOT wanting to fight, at all. His normal response to the fight or flight is to flight. It's hard to hit a target that isn't there. Of course, things change....
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