Gryphons
Chapter One

Rating: G
Category: Original Fiction
Pairing(s):
Warnings: None, unless you count the over-all cheesiness of the thing.
Summary: What’s big, mean, ugly, and plays the drums?
Notes: The fact that the Visual (okay it’s a TV, shoot me) has an on/off button rather than a remote tells you more about the time period in which I grew up than it does the Sferkkaan culture. I am pleased to say that at least I had the foresight to make it look like a flat-screen plasma TV.

Rock myth alluded to in this chapter – Keith Moon flipping his car and getting found by a bobbie on a bike. The poster conversation between Dahli and Diza is frighteningly like many Shane and I had regarding Queen.

I have no idea whether it was Shane or myself who began the tradition of the audience ripping the stage apart at the band played. I suspect it was both of us. It is, however, very bad form to go to a Mortified Gryphon concert and return without a chunk of stage.

The cloud cover glowed softly overhead, giving away the presence of the Sferkkaan sun, a star most Sferkkaans had never seen. The perpetual cloud cover protected them from its deadly heat and glare, releasing the soft misty rain that now fell and scented the spring air. Warplanes flashed by overhead, brilliant white with gold-edged wings, silent save for the rush of air as they passed overhead, then banked like seabirds and were gone.

The young girl paused to watch the planes, smiling as they rolled, then shot straight up, disappearing into the cloud cover, out of its protective sheath and into the light. There the sun would turn them into creatures of light, showing them up on radar as birds of fire.

The girl waited to see if the planes would come back, but they did not, and she continued on down the paved road, clutching the thin metal cylinder. Her white boots clipped quietly on the sidewalk, making tiny splashing sounds in the small shallow puddles. She passed the tall hedges, then turned up the narrow, mossy walkway that led to her destination; an old house with a long set of stone steps leading to its bright red door. Grasping the gold door handle, she turned it, then poked her head inside.

"Any about?" she called, and Teirra sat back and smiled at the accent of her sister's best friend. It was definitely a North Continent accent; a strange sort of lilt that made the girl sound perpetually bored.

"Diza, have you heard of knocking?"

"I think I read about it once. Is Dahli home?"

"She's in her room. Supper's at the usual time."

Diza grinned at Teirra from behind her carefully constructed make-up, then headed up the stairs to Dahli's room, leaving Teirra to muse about how the girls were starting to wear so much make-up that they were beginning to look like the boys.

Diza reached a room with a sign on it reading; "Warning: Kyphisian Biological Experiment lurking within." She paused to read it, thinking that sometimes Dahli didn't know what was and wasn't funny. Diza failed to find humour in Kyphisians or biological experiments. She opened the door, and paused.

Dahli Sandiniti lay on her stomach, stretched out on her bed with a look of intense concentration on her face. Before her on the floor sat a youth of fifteen years, a good friend of theirs called Czamkiar. He was perfectly still, his shining white hair pulled back from his equally pale face as Dahli carefully applied a layer of paint to his cheeks. He did indeed look like a Kyphisian biological experiment. Diza pulled down the sign and showed it to Dahli.

"Not funny," she drawled, tossing the sign onto the floor.

"Not meant to be," Dahli drawled back in perfect mimicry. Czamkiar turned his head to see who was behind him.

"Diza!" he exclaimed happily.

"Czamki!" said Dahli, sitting up. "You just made me mess your make-up. How are you supposed to impress your girlfriend if your lips are on crooked?"

"Girlfriend, she says. She doesn't even know I'm on the planet."

"Well, how is she supposed to find out if all she ever sees is some beaker who can't get his make-up on?"

"I can't get my make-up on, that's why I'm here, remember?"

Diza smiled at the two, then strolled casually over to where Dahli sat. She drew the silver cylinder out from beneath her arm and showed it to her friend. Dahli stared at the length of metal, then said questioningly, "You got it?"

"I got it," Diza confirmed, her tone triumphant.

Dahli made a grab for the cylinder, Diza snatching it away. "Don't wrinkle it!"

"How am I supposed to do that when it's in a metal tube? Let's see."

Diza uncapped the cylinder slowly, watching her friend squirm in delight. She withdrew a roll of shiny paper and solemnly passed Dahli one end. Then she took a single step back, unrolling the paper. Dahli let out a thin screech.

"Aren't they beautiful?" said Diza. "They get better looking all the time."

Dahli nodded. "Except the drummer."

"I agree," said Diza. "I think rumours that he's alive are greatly exaggerated."

"No way, he can't get better looking because he's perfect."

"GET LOST! He's ancient. I bet he's thirty, and he's got a face like he didn't survive his last drug binge."

"Well he's my favourite, so you can just leave him alone."

"Fine. Let's hang them up."

Czamkiar climbed onto the bed, collapsing dramatically onto his back. "You're not finished painting my face," he complained loudly, upset at the interference caused by the poster. Diza and Dahli ignored him as the poster went up in its place of worship. Then the two stepped back to view it as it held reign over the head of the bed. They eyed it critically. Finally Dahli proclaimed her judgement.

"Another bad picture," she stated.

"Definitely," agreed Diza.

Czamkiar turned his head to gaze at the poster, images etched onto paper by laser lights of the five people who formed Sferkkaa's most famous and popular music group; the Mortified Gryphons. Five weird-looking people with a bad name, as far as he was concerned. Diza and Dahli seemed convinced that they were the New Empire all by themselves. Politically, Czamkiar thought the present emperor was doing just fine, and privately he agreed with Diza, the drummer did look like he hadn't survived his last drug binge. But the laser quinticord player, she was pretty easy on the eyes, and he informed his two friends of his opinion.

"She?" said Dahli, "She who? What one are you looking at?"

"The little blonde with the big blue eyes. Her."

"That's Khandid Stracona. He's a guy."

"That does it," said Czamkiar. "I now have absolutely no interest in that band."

"Oh, poor Czamki," said Dahli as she sat before him, reaching for the make-up. " Khandid wouldn't be interested in you anyway. He's married."

"Yeah? To what?"

Dahli pointed to another member to the band. "Yuri Stracona."

"Just paint my face so I can get out of here, will you?" He sighed. He sat up and noticed the sign that Diza had tossed to the floor. "`Kyphisian biological experiment'? I don't look like a biological experiment. What do you mean by putting that on your door?"

"I am morally opposed to High Northerners wearing make-up. It ruins their looks."

"I'll put anything on my face I like," he grumped.

Dahli finished Czamkiar's make-up. It was a long, drawn out ritual, the dramatic lines having to be just right. A boy's make-up had to be more than perfect, it had to be art, or no girl would be caught dead with him. Clothes were also a big consideration, but Czamkiar could handle that himself. Dahli had a light touch and an artistic eye, which made her an invaluable friend to the fashion-conscious youths in her school. To paint a friend's face, she charged three trinta an hour. If she didn't like the boy, the price went up to twelve. Czamkiar had the honour of not having to pay.

"There you go," she finally said to him, "you're beautiful." The words were slightly sarcastic.

"I like it," he said, grinning at himself in the mirror as he pulled on his long, heavily ruffled electric blue satin coat. Next came on the thigh high black boots over the blue satin pants. A black belt circled his small waist, holding captive the blood red ruffled shirt. He pulled on his black gloves, picked up his black and silver walking stick, then struck a pose. His heavily lined eyes peered at Dahli and Diza from behind small round rimmed glasses. "How do I look?"

"Really good, Czamki." said Diza. She cocked her head and eyed him critically. "Bit short, though."

"Short? You really think I'm too short?" There was panic in his voice as he looked down at himself. "I knew I should have bought the boots with the six-inch heels!"

"Czamki," said Dahli, "if people were meant to walk in those things then their feet would have been shaped that way at birth. If she doesn't like you, then she has no taste."

"Yeah," said Diza. "Lots of girls at school would love to be seen with an electric blue pole."

"Find a planet," said the thin youth, flashing her a rude gesture. He then smiled at Dahli. "Thanks for the paint on my face."

Dahli returned the smile. "Anytime. Have fun."

Czamkiar left the room, thundering downstairs in his boots with the three-inch heels, hitting the bottom step with a thump. "Bye Teirra!" he called to Dahli's older sister, and left the house. Moments later, the Mortified Gryphons came blasting from the upstairs bedroom. Left on their own, the two girls had gone back to their favourite obsession.

"Concert shots are always better than studio ones," remarked Dahli, studying the new poster. It was one of at least thirty; the walls of Dahli's bedroom were lined in them. Overlapping the posters in many places were articles regarding the band, and on the closet door was a map of all the cities the band had played on their last tour. The Gryphons had done two since Sferkkaa had become a free planet, and Dahli had managed to see one of the concerts by stealing ticket money from her now-absent mother and sneaking out of the window the night of the show. Dahli had been madly in love with the Gryphons ever since, especially the theoretically living drummer. This was something Diza never quite understood, especially since the other band members were so attractive.

"My word, but that man is ugly," breathed Diza shaking her head. But `ugly' was not really the right word for Draephus CZimcocious. She didn't know what word was. He was tall and rangy, a little too thin, and what he looked like without that long, beat-up rag of a coat, nobody knew. When he smiled, on rare occasion, he showed a row of badly chipped teeth. His large hands were scarred, the knuckles misshapen. He wore ugly, baggy clothes that always looked in need of a wash, and he apparently shaved on a very irregular basis. The sandy hair was either uncombed or hidden by a hat. His posture was bad, his facial expressions ranged from wary to defensive, and he always had a cigarette in his mouth. Diza decided long ago that if she ever saw Draephus walking towards her, she would cross the street.

"He's not ugly, he's beautiful," defended Dahli.

"You don't see very well, do you? Yuri is beautiful."

"Oh, sure, Yuri, the seven foot one who probably weighs all of thirty pounds, fifteen of which is hair."

"Leave him alone."

"Then leave Draephus. Look, there's a better picture of him, you can't tell me he's not cute."

"He looks like he wants to bite someone."

"He does not, he's perfect."

"He's strange," said Diza. "I read that the L.E.O.'s are so used to him doing crazy stuff, that one time when he rolled his conni into a ditch, a Legal Enforcement Officer stuck his head in the window, took one look at him, and said, "Oh it's just you, Donsa CZimcocious." Then the LEO went on his way and left him there."

"He is NOT strange."

"He is, too!"

"That's your opinion, and only yours." Dahli tugged her friend's sleeve. "Come on, let's go eat."

The two of them left the room, thundering downstairs and towards the kitchen. They struck with a vengeance, nothing was safe. Teirra remained in the living room, her study books before her, and wondered how Dahli and Diza could eat they way they did, and, not only have room for supper, but never manage to gain an once. The two in the kitchen meanwhile gorged and gulped in an orgy of feasting, desecrating the clean kitchen.

The door opened, and Teirra raised her green eyes to the hall, seeing her husband come through the opening. She smiled at him. "Hello."

Atterick Cruze smiled at Teirra as he came into the room, dropping his coat onto a chair. He walked over to her, seating himself wearily on the floor next to the chair she occupied. "Hello," he said as he rested his head against her leg. Teirra reached down to touch his soft, blond hair. From the kitchen there came a crash, followed by rolls of giggles.

"What are those two up to now?" he asked wearily.

"I don't know, and I'm not getting involved until they hurt someone. How was your day?"

"Wonderful. I think we found the quinticord player for our band. Here, I've a laser print of him."

Atterick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a picture, passing it to Teirra. She accepted it, then drew her breath in at the sight of the man. He was tall and slender. Intense blue eyes burned out of a pale, delicately shaped face. Fine black stripes spread in a careful array over his cheeks, jaw and forehead, disappearing into his mane of black hair and the collar of his shirt.

"He's beautiful. What planet is he from?"

"He's not," said Atterick, taking the picture back, "he's a Breed, something the Kyphisians came up with in their labs. He's got a quiet personality, which is good, and he plays incredibly well. The only problem I have with him is I keep wanting to ask him how far down those stripes go."

"You're married to me, remember? You're not allowed to go asking young men how far down their stripes go."

Atterick stared at his wife amusedly for a moment, then said, "I think I'll go get something to eat." He gave her a quick kiss, then rose and walked towards the kitchen.

"So what's new and exciting in you lives?" he asked as he walked into the kitchen.

"Gryphons poster," said Dahli, although with her mouth full it came out, "`ryphn pfter’."

"I see," said Atterick, "and the fact that my own band finally found a quinticord player means nothing?"

"That's nice, Atterick," said Diza.

"You'd better drum up more enthusiasm than that," he said, "or I won't tell you what time those five losers you two are so in love with are on the Visual tonight."

"Twentyhour," said Dahli, mouth still full, "station line 6, the Astellis Monct Show."

"Okay," said Atterick, nodding. He left the kitchen and walked over to the Visual, a huge square of convex glass, which projected sound and images. It hung menacingly on one wall, once a propaganda tool, now a source of amusement. Atterick reached up one hand and felt along its cool edge until he found the on/off switch, and carefully detached it. With the small square button in hand, he returned to the kitchen.

He watched the two girls eat, occasionally snatching and grabbing at attractive-looking morsels they'd arranged on a platter. He looked down at the knob in his hand, its black finish slightly chipped. He tossed it up in the air, catching it, tossing it once more. He attempted to balance it on his nose, and failing this tossed it into the air once again. Diza glanced up with mild curiosity, then froze.

"Dahli," she said, "he's got the on/off button."

"Oh Atterick," said Dahli, "you wouldn't."

"I might."

"We'd be emotionally scarred for life."

"I wouldn't be."

Dahli and Diza exchanged glances. "Gee, Atterick, tell us about your new quinticord player. We're really enthused."

Atterick reached over to tear a corner off of Dahli's sandwich, stuffing it into his mouth. "He's a Breed."

"So's one quarter of the population." said Diza.

"Yeah, but this one's stripped." He pulled the picture out of his pocket and showed it to the two girls.

"Are those real?" demanded Dahli.

”Well, I haven't tried to scrub them off, but I assume they are."

"Ask him."

"I will when I know him better. You two clean up that mess when you're done."

Dahli made a rude gesture at him behind his back. "Put that button back or I'm gonna have to hurt you," she yelled, hearing him laugh.

The two did eventually clean up the debris of their snack, even going so far as to wash the dishes, leaving them in the rack to dry. Then, with hours to go before the show started, the two donned coats and boots and set out for Diza's house. Using the telcom would have been faster, and there would have been no need to get wet, but Diza's father refused to have one in the house. Like many older people, he was leery of the devices, and two years of peace had not been enough after a lifetime of fear to convince him that they were safe. He also refused to have a Visual, the Kyphisians having had listening beams that could be projected through such devices, as well as windows, in order to spy on suspected Revolutionaries. So any Gryphon-watching had to be done at Dahli's house. It was not a pastime Diza's father would have approved of. He didn't want his daughter seeing anything on the Visual, especially not young men in tight pants.

The air was warm, and still smelled of rain, which had ceased to fall. The sky was still dark, however, promising more to come. Dahli and Diza ambled along, too old now to splash in puddles but unable to resist stepping in them. They walked in silence, but Dahli had the feeling her long-time friend was about to spring something on her.

"Parents sure are bizarre," Diza announced.

"I wouldn't know," said Dahli.

"I met this guy," said Diza, "but if Dad ever met him, I'd be on the street."

Dahli smiled. "What's he like?"

"Well, he's older than me..."

"Uh-oh."

"He lives in the Lower Cylinder..."

"Oh, Diza."

"And he's from Sirius."

"Crime of the century. They'll have you shot. Is he nice?"

"He's really sweet."

Dahli grinned, shaking her head. "Well I won't tell your dad, you know that."

Diza smiled in return. "Thanks." She kicked at a stone. "He's really nice."

"Do I get to meet him sometime?"

"Yeah," said Diza. "I'd like you to."

The rain had begun again by the time they reached Diza's house. They entered the silent building, the only sound within being that of the rain striking the windows. They removed their boots and coats by the door, setting these in their respective places before walking down the hallway to the living room. Diza peered around the corner of the doorway to see her father in a chair, reading a book. His feet rested on a padded stool as he turned the pages of the large tome, eyes fixed before him. Diza tapped her knuckles on the doorframe, and when this failed to get a response, she said, "Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I spend the night at Dahli's? There's no school tomorrow."

The man glanced up at Diza, staring at her. "Is Dahli here?"

"Hi," said Dahli, stepping around the corner to confirm her presence. He stared at the two of them for a long moment as though certain they were up to something, but he wasn't sure what. Diza stood in apprehension, then almost heaved a sigh of relief when her father nodded and returned his gaze to his book. Diza tugged Dahli's sleeve as a sign for her to follow, and the two went down the hall to Diza's room.

"Wow," said Dahli as she shut the door. "For a moment I thought he wasn't going to let you go. You would have missed the show."

"Never," said Diza as she pulled a bag out of her closet. "I would have sneaked out the window."

"No you wouldn't," said Dahli as she sat on the bed.

"Might," said Diza, smiling. She packed her bag, stuffing into it a pair of pyjamas, a change of clothes, her make-up, two packs of cigarettes, and her good luck charm. This was a bizarre contraption of feathers, a bird skull, bits of fur, teeth, and some small polished shells and bits of wood all strung together on thin leather strips. As she was about to drop it into the bag, Dahli grabbed it.

"What's this?"

"A lucky charm. Randish gave it to me."

"Is that your boy from Sirius?"

"Yeah."

"How long was it kicking around in his cave before he gave it to you?"

Diza snatched it from Dahli. "You're such a clart."

"Yeah and you hang around with me so what does that make you? Oh! I almost forgot. Atterick and Teirra are going out tonight."

"Yeah, so?"

"So..." Dahli grinned. "They're going to be gone for hours. We can go down to my grandmother's and get her conni. We'll go for a ride. Hey we can go to that fancy Inn. Of course we'll have to park away from the place just in case Atterick and Teirra go by."

"Okay," said Diza. "I know the place you mean. There are lots of places to hide a conni." She closed her bag. "Let's go."

They walked back to Dahli's, smoking heavily and dramatically, discussing plans to do in the science duone, (a known clart) what they would do with a million trinta, (get the Gryphons to play at their next party) and Randish's body. Diza lit her fifth cigarette with the ember of her fourth and as she talked about how strange he was, his large, long hands, his blue-white eyes, and the ridge of black, stiff hair that ran halfway down his back.

"It's really strange," Diza said, "it feels just like a brush."

"Brush," muttered Dahli. "I'm not sure I'd want someone who had a brush on his back. I have a hard enough time looking at facial hair."

"Well this is different. I don't have to kiss his back."

Dahli agreed that this was true, though she was well aware of just how strange the average Sirusian could be, and wasn't certain she could find one attractive. Cute perhaps, even humorous, but not something she would want to curl up next to.

"He's from Sirius, he wasn't born here," said Diza.

Dahli groaned. The ones who had been born on Sferkkaa were odd enough, but the ones from their native planet were too bizarre.

"Dizaaa...they eat...little crawly fuzzy things."

"So? I'll never need an exterminator if I marry him."

"You won't have babies you'll have litters."

"That's silly, Sferkkaans and Sirusians can't reproduce."

"THAT SHOULD TELL YOU SOMETHING!"

"I thought you'd be happy for me," Diza flicked away the remains of her cigarette.

"I am, as long as you're happy."

"Thank you. You're the only person I've told, so please don't mention this to anyone.”

"Sure."

The two girls arrived back at Dahli's to find the house silent, Atterick and Teirra having left by now. There was half an hour before the show started, and much to do. As Dahli began pulling food out of the cold box Diza began heating water to strain through shooberries. This was a fairly popular drink, one Dahli and Diza were not supposed to have. It was a dark red tea, lightly sweet to the taste, which produced a mild high. Most households had shooberries, they could be used for a variety of things.

Mostly people got stoned on them.

They loaded a platter with food, then, with mere minutes to spare, made it to the Visual after having turned off all the lights in the house so there would be no distraction from the objects of their adulation. Dahli turned on the huge sheet of glass, the volume up to an appropriate level. Shivers of anticipation went through them like cold tickles as they waited and watched. The programme prior to the Astellis Monct Show took forever to end. After an agonizing time the show started, finding both girls nearly sick with anticipation. The live audience was of a different calibre than usual; they were louder, more aggressive. When Astellis Monct stepped out there was a roar of enthusiasm, though obviously not for him. Monct himself seemed calm and rather pleased, with good reason. The Mortified Gryphons were not an easy group to contact. It was even less easy to get them to agree to come on a show. But he had them, all five of them, and virtually no household would be watching anything else.

"Why is he just standing there and smiling?" Diza demanded.

"Ratings," said Dahli. "Come on, clartblossom, nobody wants to see you."

Astellis Monct made a few feeble attempts to cool the audience, but without much success. The noise was at a mad pitch, and there seemed little hope of controlling it. Then from behind him a curtain began to slip across the stage, and the noise escalated at the appearance of the spreading set of drums with the Gryphon insignia. The decibel level then did the impossible and climbed even higher when Raski Jervyas walked out, sepulchord around his neck. Monct gave up and wandered off. The other Gryphons walked out after Raski and positioned themselves rather far back on the stage. It had become tradition sometime during the last tour for the audience to rip the stage apart, and barely had the first notes come from Khandid Stracona's flaming red quinticord than the first boards came off. Astellis Monct was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. The Gryphons didn't seem to notice.

"I can't hear them!" complained Diza, bouncing up and down from her seated position in agitation.

"The audience will calm down," said Dahli hopefully. She watched the lead singer, Mars David, stroll to the front of the precariously groaning stage. He smiled, then softly sang the first words of their latest song, `Nightfall.' Both girls recognised it instantaneously, clutched each other and added their own shrieking to the noise.

The song ended, the screaming causing the microphones to shut down, protecting themselves from the roar. The Gryphons moved over to where Astellis Monct sat, and almost miraculously, the audience began to quieten. Not quickly, but eventually the wall of sound died down to a level with which the host and his guests could compete.

"They like you," understated Monct, and the audience bellowed its agreement. Raski laughed his strange, crazy laugh, not that anyone could really hear it.

"I wish those people would shut up," said Diza.

"They will," said Dahli, sipping her tea. She felt a mild itching on her scalp, an indication that the tea was beginning to affect her. She then lit a cigarette, eyes focused critically on the five. She took in every detail about them, their appearances, their movements, the scene burning into her mind. It was Diza who put a small dark mark on the entire thing.

"What's wrong with the drummer's face?"

"There is nothing wrong with Draephus' face!" Dahli defended. "He's got a cute face!"

"I don't know about cute, but somebody sure thumped him a good one."

Dahli searched the shaggy figure seated furthest from the host. He was wrapped as always in that hideous full-length coat which looked as though it had survived innumerable trips to the South Continent. The other Gryphons always seemed animate and conversational.

`Except,' thought Dahli, `for Yuri, who looks to be just slightly less alert than the average kiska nut, though I would never say that to Diza.'

Draephus watched, but made no attempt to get involved in the conversation, surveying the scene coolly from behind his opaque glasses. Then as he turned his head, Dahli saw what Diza had been talking about. The bruise wasn't very noticeable from behind the glasses, but at certain angles as the camera drew in for a closer look, it glared into view. The camera operator must have also noticed the bruise, and for a time the lens rested on his face, revealing now a row of stitches in his brow line. There was no eyebrow to speak of; it had been shaved off before the stitches were put in. Dahli's searching eyes now also noticed a thin slice cutting through his upper and lower lip, extending a ways down his chin. This was also stitched. The knuckles on the broad hand that now reached for a pack of cigarettes were scraped and raw. The hand trembled slightly as he lit the cigarette, the movements stiff and slow.

"Wow," said Diza. "Wonder what he's been up to?

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw