From: li@Data-IO.COM (Phyllis Rostykus)
Subject: Re: CD's Early Thanksgiving Ramblings
Organization: Data I/O Corporation
Date: Thu, 12 Nov 1992 19:45:10 GMT

	The rain falls.

	Puddles have grown into small ponds, and Fezzik splashes through
them, almost knee deep in some of them.  

	The sky lights up in a flash, and then the world *roars*.

	And Fezzik, being only a dog, roars back... barking his huge head
off, the sounds beginning deep in his black furred barrel of a chest and
bursting forth in a complete convulsion of his huge body.  The barks are
loud, fast and furious.  His tail is a pennent in the wet air, waving high
and wildly.  He takes off in the direction of the thunder, water spraying
up from his sturdy feet and legs, and barks at it all the harder when he
plunges chest deep into the cold lake.

	Or is it a Lagoon?

	A figure swims toward Fezzik, and a figure Darker than the darkest
night climbs, shivering, from the grey waters.  Blammor's white eyes light
on Fezzik, and he smiles a faint smile.  The big dog, waving his tail at
the fact that he has chased the thunder away (for now) comes up and licks
the Dark figure on the knee.  It's been a while.

	For a while, Blammor simply stands in the warmish wind, breathing
the rain thick air.  The world flashes and the sky roars, and Fezzik takes
off in a different direction, barking his furry head off.  From the
darkness after the flash of light, Blammor clothes himself in a pair of
blue jeans, a Sting concert t-shirt, and from dirty white and blue Reeboks
peek amethyst rich socks.  A dark blue jacket is thrown lightly over the
utterly mundane clothing.  A white towel, almost standard lockeroom issue,
and soaked with water is used to rub the worst of the water from black hair.

	Fezzik trots up, again, pushing with his big nose against the
denim clad thigh, and Blammor rubs the dog on the head and then heads for
the Place.  He stops by a bush with purple roses, and plucks one.  With a
small smile, he kisses the blood away from a finger pricked by a thorn and
walks the rest of the way to the door to Callahan's.

	It's been a very long while.

-------

	The door opens quietly.  A medium tall man in average clothes walks
into the Place with a purple rose in Dark, slender hands.  Fezzik nudges
his way back into the Place behind the old newcomer.  Mike quirks a grin
and layers three layers of liquor, Kaluha, Bailey's and Grande Mariner,
a.k.a. a B52.  Blammor lays a faded, damp dollar bill on the bar and looks
at it for a moment before taking the shot glass in slender hands.  He nods
his thanks to Mike and looks around the Place.

	It's been a while.

	A very long while.  The Pie building in the center, the hot tub
with it folks, the number of soapboxes.  He nudges a soapbox with a foot
towards the fireplace, and with a singular movement, smashes it into
pieces.  With his unburdened hand, he feeds the fire, piece by piece by
piece and watches with unblinking eyes, as the flames take the offering.

	The door opens again, to the storm, and Blammor watches as CD
shakes the water from his jacket and runs a hand through his soaked hair.

	A smooth movement, a combination of arm and body, and two smooth
swallows.  A sigh and the drink is gone.  The shot glass is gently set on a
table top.   Blammor pulls a chair out for himself and settles in for a
listen even as he watches the dancing of the flames.  A hand touches his
shoulder.  He looks up.  Liralen looks at him with concerned eyes.  He
gently grasps her hand, only a light pressure on hers.  Only a flicker of
light, and she disappears.

	For a moment, his white eyes close.  In pain?  Or simply for a
chance to rest?  Then they open to watch CD drink his Scotches.  Quietly,
Blammor listens to the list of deaths, the shot glass twirled and danced
among Dark fingers.  

	A co-worker... the last time Blammor saw him was as rail thin as a
scarecrow from chemotherupy.  The man had gone into the hospital for what
he had thought would be an apondectomy, came out finding that he had a
tumor in his gut as big as a grapefruit and *it* had been causing the pain.
It was on a lymph node.  They had gotten the mass of it out; but no one
really know if they could get it all out.

	A friend in the grave now.  AID's.  Irreconcilable difference with
the parents.  At least he'd died with his lovers and his friends around him.

	Stories over a campfire... disappearing with the Smoke...

	In the last summer news of 20% layoffs from the company that
Liralen had just left.  Not everyone has a job from then, but most did, and
most lived comfortably off the benefits for the time they were away.  The
hard part wasn't the financial stuff, the hard part was the rejection.

	All Blammor does is listen.

	And toss his glass after CD's into the fireplace.

	The thunder rolls and rumbles through the sky after CD has left,
and Fezzik barks in defiance.

------
Blammor