Disclaimer: Some characters belong to Marvel and are being used for non-profit entertainment. Some characters belong to me and may be used with permission. And Subreality belongs to Kielle.

Note: This is an...explanation of sorts about why I seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. It doesn't go into much detail but the main thing is there. Enjoy.

A Night Out 1/1

   She walked through the streets, shoes making a sharp clap, clap sound on the pavement. Her eyes were neither focused up or down but stared straight ahead, gazing into the foggy night with infinite purpose. The girl knew where she was headed.

From a shadowy corner, a girl with skin like silk nighttime stepped out and moved to walk beside the other girl. The second girl had sharp claws, green hair, and eyes that shone violet in the suddenly darkened night. "You're not going to get in. They're not going to let you in," she told the other girl in a slow, crafty voice. "But they'll let me in."

The other paused and ran a hand through her hair. It was short, layered, and dyed a bright, dark red. Her intense blue eyes drilled into the violet eyes of the person in front of her. As she stared the colors changed and merged until the gold leaked out and stained the irises green. Then she spoke. "Get out of my way, Veil," she told the fictive in an even, level tone.

Veil (*) took a close look at her creator, she gazed through the thick lensed glasses to peer at the blue eyes behind them. As she watched the blue change to green and back again she was reminded of something she had overheard Ria saying to Hector.

All of the creator's original fictives were mentally and emotionally linked to her, they knew her thoughts and wishes for them, what she hoped they would be, or what the next chapter of the story would bring them. Ria was different from the others in one simple fact. She had been the first fictive made up by the creator and because of that the two were closely linked. It was said, whispered by the people who would know, like Gerildean and Cliff, that Ria KNEW the mind of the creator and that she felt what the creator felt.

So when Ria and Hector had been talking how everyone's stories were stuck in complete standstills, well, Veil just had to listen in. All she could catch though was "nervous breakdown" and "apathy, utter apathy" before Laurence had come and whisked her off to talk about whether they were a couple or not.

Now that she was standing face-to-face with the creator, staring into her eyes, watching her form every possible angle, studying her, Veil could not deny that the creator seemed cold, distant. There wasn't a single sign of emotion on her face. It was just a nothingness that spread from her eyes to the quirky smile that her mouth was trying out. And as Veil realized that there was no pain, no joy, no anything to be found in those bright, clear eyes, she looked away, she looked down.

"I guess I'll let you go then. But, just don't forget that I warned you," Veil murmured finally and took a step away from the girl in front of her.

Veil watched in slackjawed silence as the creator walked around her and continued up the street, eyes staring straight ahead, taking in nothing, just walking like she was searching for a part of herself that had been lost in this world long ago. As a wind blew through the night, Veil wrapped her arms around herself, careful not to cut her skin with her sharp nails. Something was very wrong with the creator and it looked like she was going to need all the help she could get.

The night turned darker as Veil slipped into the shadows, moving quickly and quietly. She had to find help and she knew just where to look.

The girl continued walking through the nearly deserted streets. But her concentration had been broken, her resolve faded. Now her eyes flickered down to the cobblestones beneath her feet and then up, to watch the sputtering of a streetlight.

"Magik! Hey Magik!" she heard someone call to her from another street.

When she glanced over, eyes still filled with nothing, she saw a cheery version of the Dazzler (**) who was linked arm-in-arm with Longshot. A small boy was with his mother's honey blond hair and his father's eye tattoo was running around their legs, engaged in pretend battles with the lampposts.

"Hello," the girl said dimly and then started walking again.

Alison waved again, her hand inviting the writer to come and join them. When she saw the look on the girl's face and the way her eyes stared dead ahead, she wanted to call out, "What's the matter, dear?" Instead she said, "Where are you going, Magik!?"

"Nowhere," the words fell like stones from her lips. They went nowhere, just dissipated into the night, just flew away like shooting stars.

The Dazzler just watched the girl walk away. There was a loud voice in her screaming at her to let go of her husband's arm and run over to the girl whose dreams had brought her family such happiness. But the voice died down under the harsh whispers that it hasn't a character's place to watch over the writer. So, Alison just clung tighter to Longshot's arm.

"Oh yeah," Magik! started as she turned around to look at the group huddled around the fluttering of the streetlight, "have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I mean, if you go for that stuff, and all." And with that, the girl disappeared into the night.

Her feet kept walking, their steps sure and taking her ever closer to her destination. The mind however, had left, had decided to take a break and fly away into the night where the stars shone so bright overheard and the moon was just a moon and had no connection to goddesses and power.

"`Cuse me, dearie," a voice said softly as an elbow knocked against her arm.

The sharp blue eyes glared out from the glasses at the fictive standing in front of her. He was tall and very leggy, shaggy, unkept brown hair covered his head and a way too sure of himself grin spread over his sharp, angular face. Without even thinking the words left her mouth, "Whose fictive are you and who let you out of the story?"

The guy laughed and shook his hair out of his eyes. As he offered her a cigarette from his pack, Magik! noticed the guitar strapped across his back. He looked about twenty and when the light hit his face from the right angle, his eyes turned an eerie gold.

"Oh no," she muttered. "Please tell me that you're not one of mine."

"Sorry, lovey," he answered back as he lit his cigarette and smiled at her.

Quickly, she looked him up and down. Ratty jeans that were covered in an assortment of patches, a flannel shirt that was three times too big hung over a faded black tee, and he was wearing black, cast-off boots that had been cut down so they only came to his ankle. Then she bit her lip and spoke. "I don't remember creating you."

The guy only laughed and took a step closer to her.

Magik! stepped back.

He laughed again and murmured, "Bloody shame, that is."

After shaking her head and rubbing her temples, she looked at him, smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and questioned, "Are you supposed to be some Chamber/Fox Mulder clone?"

"Nah," he answered, flicking the cigarette to the pavement. "I'd say I'm more like...bloody hell, maybe I am."

"This is just too much. Well, goodbye cheap character rip-off, I'm heading out." Her voice kinda flowed easily around the sarcastic words. It was getting easier and easier to sling around mud, to badmouth people, to trap her problems into mean, cynical words. She needed to watch that.

"Don't ya want to know what my name is?" the rip-off fictive called to her.

After walking twenty paces, she turned around and considered flipping him off. Then she shook her head and yelled back, "I already know. It's Ewan."

Another daydream heard from, she thought and continued walking.

The numbers of people on the streets started to multiply and she felt herself grow uneasy. Crowds were one of the few things that she truly hated. So many people, too many people, pushing, shoving, touching. It was like some giant...orgy (for lack of a better word). An orgy of touching, writhing, moving bodies. And that was something she didn't quite fancy.

So, she stuck to the shadowy walls, moving around as slyly as her clumsy body allowed her to. At one point, she nearly ran into the crowd, glad to be touched by all those hands, if she could just get away from the pair of glowing eyes in the darkness. But once she recognized the eyes as Eric's (***) she calmed down considerably and even allowed herself to speak to him gently, trying to draw her own fictive, a lost and battered one, back to her light.

Eric watched her through his eyes. He knew her. He remembered her. She was the creator. It was she who had invented him, who had cursed him to such an existence. It wasn't fun being a lone vampire, traveling through the darkened shadows, alone and with no friends.

But he had to love her. All the fictives did. They had agreed on that at the start, the creator, and her dreams. She had sat each one down as she thought of them and they drew the pact. They must love her and appreciate her. And, in turn, she would not forget them; she would work on their stories as often as possible and she would respect them always.

The creator had broken her own pact. She had left her stories; she had let the characters run off into oblivion until they were scattered across the worlds of ficdom.

Eric stared into her eyes and saw nothing. Once she had shimmered when walking across the lands, once she had glowed as bright as a star. Now she was walking in the shadows, looking for a familiar face to talk to, someone to share her problems, someone to be there.

He still loved her. They all did for she had made them, given them life, and stayed there for them. And they had done so little for her in return.

Just as she was casting a last look at him and starting to take a step into the light, Eric called to her. "Magik! Creator, we love you still and we are here." His voice rasped across the night, threatening to rip into the black tarp that was the sky.

A sad smile twisted her face as she nodded and mumbled, "I know. I know. But, right now, I want, I need, more than that."

Eric nodded only once before disappearing into the thick night, leaving the girl to continue on her journey.

The doors of the Subreality Cafe were looming in the nearby lights. Big groups of fictives kept flitting in and out, in a steady, continuous stream of chaos. And it was so loud.

As she neared the doors, the throngs of fictives seemed to dwindle away, moving to the edges of streets and into the darkened alleyways and overhangs of nearby buildings. The noise fell to a hush as they looked at her, gazed upon her. The tremors of noise shot through the crowd like streamers of velvet and despite the hushed voices, she still heard them.

"Who is she?" "A writer." "But who?" "Magik!, I think." "Who's that?" "Some writer." "Never heard much about her." "She mostly stays by herself and her fictives are just as solitary." "Which ones are hers?" "They don't show up here often. Melissa Burgross, Ria..." "I know Ria. She's a stuck-up brat." "Melissa's really nice." "Quiet, but still nice."

The lull of the conversations filled the girl's ears, assaulted her mind. In the beginning, she had wanted her piece of the night, her dance in fame's spotlight. Now she just wanted her stories to be read, her ideas to be appreciated and her characters to be true, true to themselves and to her. So she could now walk through their comments unscathed because of the jadedness that had already overcome her.

The bouncer glared at her as she neared the door. He was a large man, rough and tumble, with big, muscular arms that were showed off perfectly by the short sleeved T-shirt. In the fluttering lights of the cafe, his eyes took on a strange angle, a slightly menacing glare. But she wasn't afraid. Not of him, not of his threats. For all he was, in the end, he was just a character thrown from somebody's head.

"I'm going in," she told him quietly as she stepped up to the door.

After taking another look down at her, he sighed, "It's not Writer's Night. Go somewhere else."

One of her pale hands drifted up to push her glasses back up her nose and tuck stray locks of hair back into their places before she sighed and spoke again. "It's not up for discussion. I'm going in."

Now it was the bouncers turn to look severely pissed as he glared at her and ground out, "Stealing your name from one of the New Mutants and writing some lame version of yourself into a Generation X story doesn't give you fictive status."

"I'm not looking for fictive status, sir. I just said I'm going in and you're not going to stop me."

"Only fictives allowed in the Subreality Cafe unless it's Writer's Night or whatever. Topic closed," he said, an air of finality dripping over his every word.

Magik! nodded only once before she agreed, "Topic closed," and slipped under his arm and through the door.

The bouncer only looked after the retreating form of the writer, wondering if he should go after her or not. After a second's pause, he decided against it. She was just a little nuisance, really. There was no reason to worry about her causing any big trouble.

It was a tad bit loud in the Subreality Cafe for Magik!'s taste. Everywhere around fictives were laughing, talking, and arguing. It was almost like stepping inside one of those British pubs you see in the movies and the only thing missing seemed to be the accent.

Someone laughed behind her and whispered, "I know you."

Magik! turned around expecting some old cast-off fictive to be ready to bust her in the face. What she got was a smile from a somewhat happy Illyana Rasputin (****). The blond mutant laughed and then started talking again. "Thank you so much for finally getting Bobby and me together. I mean, I know you were going for it all along but it was just taking too long in the other stories. We're quite happy, you know?"

"I know," the girl tried to tell Illyana but she had already walked off.

Magik! bit her tongue softly so she wouldn't say anything she might regret. One should never engage in a battle of wits with a demon sorceress, no matter how much she owes you.

Instead, the writer was content to drift lazily through the haze of voices and noise that was the Subreality Cafe. This wasn't the place for her, though. There was no where to perch and just watch, no hole to crawl into to get away from the noise and you had a heart-to-heart chat with some little, gray mousie.

Finally, she found herself sitting at a table in a corner, as far from the main patch of fictives as possible. The characters around her were either cast-offs or poorly written main-streamers who had been abandoned and left to this limboish hell. It was almost relaxing to be around them, for they were quiet and introverted. They would not bother her with petty comments of questions for they were contented in their own little conversations where words wrapped around and around in some giant circle.

"This isn't the place for you, creator," a young male voice said from the doorway.

Magik! looked up to see Hector (*****) facing her, a small frown on his face and worry tracing his eyes. It was strange to see him with her eyes, instead of the picture in her mind. He seemed so much more clear here, the lines stopped looking fake and collected together to form a human shape.

"You shouldn't be here. This isn't the place for you," he repeated, urgency in his voice.

"The bouncer didn't care. He just let me in."

"Go home, creator. Spin your tales, weave your webs, but just go home," Hector pleaded.

The creator looked away from his deep brown eyes, she looked down, staring at the table as the light shone down on her blood red hair. "I don't belong anywhere, do I?"

Hector couldn't answer that. This was his first meeting with the creator, the first time he had dared to step out and look her in the eye. It was awe-inspiring to look upon the person who had made you, shaped you, dreamed you up, you out of all the ideas in her head. So he finally breathed, "You don't belong here."

The creator sighed and looked at him just a second before taking off her glasses. "Seems like I don't belong anywhere anymore, Hec. But I guess you are right. I should be heading off. This just isn't the place for the likes of me."

She pushed away from the table, away from Hector, and ran her hands over her pale blue sweater, desperate to straighten it, to make it picture perfect and right. Still the shadows clung to it, to her, dancing in the smoke filled night. It distressed her and she walked briskly through the crowds, never stopping at the sound of her name being called and called and called.

"Thanks for leavin', kid," the bouncer growled as Magik! pushed her way through the door.

The eyes that bore up at him have gone slightly green but have no power, no control anymore. She is a child again, now. Just another character in some petty make believe story stripped of her armor and shown as a traitor before a righteous king. And that's not right, that's not fair, but she faces it anyhow because life isn't fair.

"I won't be troubling you again," she murmured as she walked quickly down the street, her feet carrying her away from the city, away from the lights. She knew where she was going but her eyes could only stare at the hard ground.

In silence, she walked into the country. Her feet strolled with the grass and the hills of this imagination created world, of this dream realm. It's nice to loose yourself in the dappled skies, filled with endless sparks of shinning stars. But it's even better to come home to find that you're heart is still there, you're soul still intact. It's nice to be whole again.

And as the sun rose over her head, lighting the sky and dimming the stars, pouring its colors over the fields, she lowered her eyes and looked away. For human eyes cannot look at the sun. The tears flowed quickly down her cheeks, in a rapid succession. Soundless sobs of joy racked her body and each teardrop was a balm to her wounded being.

Finally, she looked up into the sky, staring at the blue spreading across the ribbon of pure night. It was another day and now she was ready to face the world again. She was back, her soul mended, her faith restored. For Magik! could never truly abandon her post, she would only take little vacations.

Character references:

*--Veil from "The Course of Time"

**--Daz from "Stars Always Shine Again"

***--Eric from "Reflections on Sara"

****--Illyana from "If I Turn This Way, Maybe You Won't See My Pain" and

*****--Hector from "The Course of Time"