Gregory Glimpses

[Gregory]

Gregory is comfortable with heights. Gregory likes looking down on things. He feels that at some point he was looked down upon in some far off distant past. No one looks at Gregory when he is still, he isn't meant to be seen.

In the early hours of the morning, when the streets are still, a man in a tattered coat and smelly old suit sits at the top of the Tower Bridge gazing towards the city of glittering lights. He is hunched over and perched at the edge of the stone wall of the east tower, marveling silently. Something stirs in him, in the deep dark recesses of his shredded soul. Is it a memory? He knows he has never been to the top of this bridge before. He has never seen a city quite like this in quite this way. But it feels...

Before he realizes it, new nearly imperceptible shadows have taken form on the ground. Long stretching things that recede into the streets and walls of buildings. He notices these things and gets to his feet, oddly spry considering the look of him. Gregory turns and sees the warming colors on the horizon. Dawn is breaking. Would this be the one? As the orb of light rises, the colors blossom on the few wisps of clouds that adorn the California sky from orange to purple. When it reaches the curvature of the Earth, Gregory has to close his eyes, wincing at the brief pinpricks of pain. But he revels in this, his coat is flung off his shoulders and his wings extend as if warming themselves in the light.

"Freeeeee..." he whispers to himself, reminding him of why he is here now. How he had eluded his captors, how he had endured the Hedge and its horrors. His eyes part once more, squinting as they adjust to the new day. Something familiar... He would stay here, for now. Whether it would be an end to his journey he no longer could tell.

A morning dove flutters past, landing a few feet away. Gregory eyes it, standing still as a statue. Silently he creeps towards before pouncing. "Breakfast!"

[Gregory]

It is nightfall.

The Capitol Mall stretches widely through the center of Sacramento, a park of many walkways, large trees, gardens, memorials, and a museum. On the southern side is a large strip of storefronts, alleys, and the Westminster Presbyterian Church. Scaling the building gave Gregory no trouble at all. The hard terra cotta roof barely made note of his weight as he padded across it. He sits beside the base of the bell tower. While he is tempted to climb it, there is no real footholds save for thin slit openings that act as windows, and he doesn't wish to spend the Glamour to save him should he fall.

He stays hidden here, looking across the street at the lights dotting the walkways of the park. Glamour is not a thing so readily used, but it is an advantage. It helps one be prepared and Gregory needs it for his purposes. The humans, the creatures he once counted himself among, supply this to him.

There are not many methods Gregory has to acquire this. But he knows of one that has always worked before. He stealthily moves to the edge of the room and gazes down, a familiar pose for him. He sees a man, standing at the bus stop below. Middle-aged in a long coat and holding a briefcase, he looked like the type to ignore Gregory when he asks for change in the streets.

They say you have to give a little to get a little.

His Turncoat's Tongue causes his words to fly to the ears of the man. They whisper hauntingly in raspy tones.

"Half a pound of tuppenny rice
Half a pound of treacle
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop goes the weasel.

Up and down the City Road
In and out of the Eagle
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop goes the weasel."

The man snaps his head around, looking wildly for the source of the off-key rhyming. Gregory can hear him distantly asking who is there, trying to make sense of this bizarre voice. The fear is palpable, potent as it rises off like heat waves in the night air. Gregory climbs carefully down the side of the church into the neighboring parking lot while the man breaths in a panic that is slow to leave.

Walking towards the man, Gregory stops a few feet away, feeling the fear sink into him as if he were a sponge. "Spare some change?" he asks the man in the same raspy voice, smiling a wide grin that contained something between mirth and malice.

[Gregory]

A mind drifts on the dark ocean, afloat on dreams where nightmares swim just beneath the surface. Voices echo distantly, muffled, mumbled, or muttered incoherently. With the sound comes the ache and the chill air as Gregory wakens to find himself in his stone-colored body.

"Ah, sorry ta wake ye, friend," says an unfamilar voice in the gloom of an alleyway. "Don't think I've seen ya before. Ya just come ta town or hiding from ya problems?"

Gregory blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tries to focus on the voice and the man it comes from. His shoulder is sore, pinned against a thin layer of cardboard over concrete and the rest of his body. He sits up slowly, carefully.

"Name's Doug. I wer just passing through, so if I'm botherin' ya..." The form that is Doug starts inching away further down the alley, promising to leave.

"No, wait," says Gregory calmly in his low rasp, still adjusting to the waking world. "You're no bother to me. I just be half-dreaming I think..." Gregory gets a full look at the man now. Old and unwashed in a sweatshirt and jeans, he is much like Gregory in his Masked apperance, though standing straight rather than hunched and more wrinkles on his brow.

The man lingers still, smiling with a friendly air. "That's fine, that's fine. Take yer time, friend."

Gregory slowly gets to his feet, standing now before addressing the man once more. "I be Gregory, Doug. And yes, I be new to this city." He pauses, wondering offhand what time it is at night. "You said you do not know me. Did you expect to? Are there not many of those with no place to go?"

"Ya, there be plenty of us in the city. More than a thousand I'd say, and some others say more than that. But 'round here on these few blocks there be few enough to remember." Doug shrugs subtly, wringing his hands a bit before stuffing them into his jean pockets.

"So many as that, eh?" asks Gregory to fill the silence when no other thoughts came to mind.

"Ya. So you got a story, friend? You don't have to say, but there ain't nothing to be embarrassed about. I've heard them all."

You might think so, thinks Gregory wryly.

"Been moving along Interstate Eighty to the west. Was hoping to see the sunset on the ocean. Only made it this far, but I've got reasons to stick around for the time being."

Doug nods at the explanation, respecting Gregory's leaving a good many details out. "Fair enough. Lotsa folks go searchin' for the open road and a taste of freedom." He rocks back and forth on his worn shoes for a moment before continuing. "Say, if you haven't been around town much, how 'bout I show you a few good spots for keeping fed and warm? I wer about to head to Loaves & Fishes just 'round the corner. Yer welcome to join me, a'course."

Gregory cocks his head to the side thoughtfully at the invitation. "I suppose that does sound...pleasant, being fed and warm. What is this Loaves & Fishes?" he asks curiously.

"Just a nice place with a lot to offer for a weary soul. Looks like yer a bit weary, if ya don't mind me sayin' so."

Gregory certain is not one to pass up a chance ease his condition and so agrees to follow Doug through the alley and out onto the main street. It's late enough that few cars are on the roadways and the noise and bustle of the city has quieted. An orange haze from city lights hangs in the sky above.

"And what is your, erm, story, Doug?" asks Gregory after a few minutes travel. "How do you find yourself in this humble state?"

Doug smiles to Gregory. "Well, truth be told I'm a recovering drug addict," he says openly without unease. "Made some stupid choices when I wer younger and now I'm just trying ta get by like any other feller. Not much of a future fer me, so I try ta share what I do get. It's a shame so many fall through tha cracks."

They make their way along the road for another mile or so until they reach the bend at Lincoln Highway just south of the American River. A two story rectangular building sits among several other unimpressive buildings besides a fenced in empty parking lot. Lit up by a ground light, the Loaves & Fishes insignia stands out in green coloring.

"They've got food, showers, and even a place ta do yer laundry. Got a library too fer if ya want ta keep up on the news. I come 'ere fer my NA meetings. They're good people, just lotsa problems ta work through."

"It sounds most generous," replies Gregory though his voice is laced with uncertainty. "A warm shower would be much preferred than bathing in the river..."

Doug laughs jovially at this and nods, "Yeah, amen to that. Though the river folk don't seem to mind it out in Tent City."

"Oh, what is this Tent City you speak of?" asks Gregory as the men enter the doors of the building. Perhaps the mundane downtrodden may know of better ways to ease Gregory's life on the streets.

[Gregory]

Tent city. The night brings with it the cold, though thankfully they live in a state without the frigid winds of the North or East. Gregory had spent winters in the snow, both in Durance and in escape. He is thankful it is only thus. Yet the fires burn in their barrels or in makeshift campfires along the riverbed. Park woodlands surround the American River, masking their undesired presence within the city.

It is true to its namesake as many tents have been pitched close together. Some shared, others defended aggressively, and yet they seek out the company of other lost souls. Gregory does not weep for them for they are still a hearty bunch despite their lowly status. They have created a world of their own here, one that comes into being all at once and then disappears the next day.

Some make due with makeshift furniture of wooden stack boards, stumps, plastic crates, and discarded cushions. Whatever possessions they have, if they have any, are wheeled around in shopping carts. There is trade here too, an exchange of found goods. Perhaps one has extra clothing and the other a can of soup.
And yet they all live in fear and paranoia. Police are one call away from showing up and attempting to disperse their gathering in a show of violence and authority. Drug lords search out old and new customers, spreading the addiction that may have caused their sad state of affairs.

The sorrow and fear mingle with shame and confusion here. The emotion is tangible in every face he passes.

"I be Gregory," says the Gargoyle, shaking a man's hand, filthy with a worn baseball cap over his brow. "What be your story, friend?" They all had one, and only each other to tell it to. No one else would care or understand. A crime committed when he was not much more than a boy. An unempathetic court, an abusive rehabilitation, and finally a society that rejected him. Even as he spoke, the man cries into his hands, reminded of the pain.

The emotion drifts like smoke from the poor wretch, and Gregory breaths it in as Glamour. "You be not alone. You be still here. Though we seem helpless we be still here. Do not forget and do not lose hope." His own words feel hollow, however, as he knows that he too must try and adhere to them.

[Gregory]

With the Christmas Season right at hand
The yule-time joy spreads 'cross the land.
Joyous carols fill the air,
That free the wretches from despair.

"This feeling", says Gregory, "brings life to these old bones."
"I'll jump and play upon this day wherever Christmas roams."
A smile, a wink, a mischievous glint in teeth and glassy eye,
The Lost did prance and bound and dance with glee and nary a sigh.

"What's this?" he asked upon a glance into an open trash bin.
"Why Santa's suit, without dispute. Nevermind the scent of gin."
He donned the costume in a flash, boots and button from head to chin.
Between the ratty cloth and stained beard, the end result proved rather weird.

Despite chagrin, he wore a grin and sang his "ho ho ho!"s
While children excited over him, the parents said "oh no no!"s
"What will you be a'wanting," he asks the children nicely.
"A doll!", "A truck!", "This Santa sucks!" the third said imprecisely.

The joy of the naive and young he felt spread over him
While fear and loathing brought forboding looks from elder kin.
Though night descends, it brings no end to Gregory's shenanigans.
Upon the rooftops he ascends to creak and groan the wooden beams.

"They'll think that I be old Saint Nick," he laughs and carries on.
Though woken children giggle, parents are shocked and stunned.
A little wonder he does bring to a few spare residences.
But be it such a worthy thing or simply deviances?

[Gregory]

"Don't do it," says Gregory to the man perched on the edge of the building's roof. "Don't jump."

The man, recently homeless, is a middle-aged disheveled man with a beer gut and receding hairline. "I gotta. Don'tcha understand? There's no point anymore. No point in any of this! Why'd Nancy have to leave me? I'd have done anything to make her happy. Why couldn't she see that?"

Tears pour down his cheeks as he answers Gregory with only a twist of his neck to view the unimpressive Gargoyle, his mask only revealing him to be just another homeless bum.

Gregory had been resting easily on the rooftops of Sacramento's buildings, finding he could climb their structures with ease. He found it quite strange one evening to awake to this dejected soul preparing to end it all. Still, he could not simply stand by wordlessly.

"It cannot be worth all that," he says in a force effort to console the individual. "One should live for oneself. Surely there be more to life than the affections of..."

"Shut up! She was the only one for me! First the divorce, then the kids. They all hate me now. That damn restraining order...I just can't bear it. They're my family! Mine! It's just not fair!"

Gregory can tell his words are of no comfort. The emotions are wafting off of him, mixing sorrow, fear, and anger at his loss and his current course of action. It is perhaps shameless that Gregory now gathers those emotions about him to feed his well of Glamour.

"Just step away from the edge and we can talk it over. Nothing be solved by this."

The man, in combat with his survival instincts, looks down over the precipice once more in consideration.

The soft-footed Lurkglider uses the distraction to creep towards the mundane malcontent in hopes of catching him from taking such a drastic step. It takes only a moment until he is upon him, grasping at the man's coat to pull him back. But the man resists with a shout of alarm, pulling away violently causing him to teeter off the building's edge.

His eyes bulging with shock and concern he watches as the man slips over. Without a thought, Gregory leaps after, falling with the man only a few feet before the Lurkglider latches back onto the man around his chset and invokes his Contract with Darkness in an attempt to stop their descent. But the man is too heavy and Gregory too weak to hold him. Each second passing causes him to slip.

"Let me go! I want to die!" he pleads, despite the fear filling his voice.

Gregory too had once known the longing for death's release. But this man had no such excuse as he did. "Have...you...no...dignity?" he groans under the strain, taking a step back up the wall. Gregory had endured far more hardship to escape his Durance and still tried his best to survive despite those difficulties. Yet this man would give up his life because he is not wanted?

His grip fails him and despite his efforts the man plummets. Gregory cannot help but be shocked at witnessing the act and gapes helplessly from the side of the stone building. A sickening sound is heard a brief moment later as the man's body meets with the cement below.

"Tragedy and consternation. Love is lost and life forsaken," whispers Gregory in the night air as it whips about him. Without another word he climbs back up to retrieve his small sack of found foodstuffs before setting off to find another place to rest.

[Gregory]

The experience from the Hedge fresh in his mind, Gregory returns to the Blue Note the next evening with his bounty in hand. It is interesting to observe the pear-shaped fruit, to smell it and feel the texture of its surface. He had been tempted sorely to sample its succulent flesh, but he knows there is a greater prize ahead of him. There will be other chances to taste the fruits of the Hedge.

How interesting also that the Satyr, Billy Gruff, cultivated these fruits so efficiently. But a strange fertilizer indeed. Gregory wonders if Billy gave his own away to raise it. If so, it is a sacrifice Gregory is uncertain he would imitate.

Best to be rid of them and claim his prize for the time being.

The cocktail lounge has a cool atmosphere as he enters, giving his breath a smokey aspect despite midsummer's night heat. It is last call for drinks and only a few figures linger still at the bar.

Gregory carries his Wyrmthumbs in a sack at his side. It's a simple thing to ask for Harvey. Once the Shadowsoul meets with him Gregory is brief in his explanation but assures Harvey that he has the items he asked for. The Gargoyle is then asked to wait until the rest of the patrons leave before addressing him once more.

As promised Harvey provides Gregory with a fake Birth Certificate, a Driver's License, and Social Security Card, all under the name 'Gregory Stone'. The Sun Banisher then explained in simple terms how Gregory aught to use the documents to set up a bank account and apply for credit cards in order to provide the new identity with a credit history. Everything that a mundane man in his forties aught to have when starting a new life in the city.

As for the Wyrmthumbs, they disappear behind Harvey's counter with no explanation as for their need or purpose. Gregory doesn't press him with further questions, being quite satisfied with the reward for his efforts. The Lurkglider's heart soars with excitement and hope for the future. Now he could work with Lynn and apply for work. He could be his own man and not just another cruddy street bum.

But before they part ways, Harvey once again warns Gregory that these documents are not foolproof. An extensive background check could easily reveal the forgeries. If they are to work, Gregory would have to stay out of trouble and refrain from applying to any high-profile jobs.

It is more than enough for Gregory though. He couldn't even fathom taking on that sort of occupation. With a kind and thankful farewell, Gregory departs the cocktail lounge, the paperwork hugged tightly against his chest and a satisfied glint in his eye.

[Gregory]

Fear came in many forms. One does not realize it until they have sampled the flavor of each. The bite of adrenaline with an astringent aftertaste. The one he samples now is different than he is used to.

Gregory sits in a room, wearing a new black suit provided to him by the shelter. Now armed with a name and identity, Gregory does not hesitate to acquire the occupation he so desires. Yet even with a name he must prove himself an adequate candidate. Janitor. Busboy. Sanitation engineer. A name isn't much without a reputation, or more importantly a resume. He must start at the bottom with the rest.

The room is filled with others in the same position as him. Many had reached this waiting room by the same method of workforce development and placement. But that building had a more depressing feeling saturating the air. In this room there is a heightened energy, a panic that builds and compresses as each second beats on.

"H..hey, pal," says a thin nervous looking man next to Gregory. A hand is shoved awkwardly towards him and Gregory tenses before reluctantly clutching the sweaty-palmed appendage.

"H..hey," replies Gregory in much the same awkward turn of phrase.

"Lots of folks lined up, I see. Gee, I hope they have a lot of positions to fill. I mean, this is my fourth interview this week. No callbacks at all, but fourth times the charm, I'm sure."

The prattling is assuredly a method to calm his own nerves. But Gregory does what anyone can do in such a conversation. "Yes," he agrees. "But be it not three times the charm?"

The fragile smile that the man wears shatters as he explains, "Y..yeah, I know, but maybe the fourth time is even luckier?" The desperation is palpable.

"Perhaps," answers Gregory, working his tongue against the inside of his teeth. After a pause he adds, "But even if not, there will be others."

This does not have the effect Gregory hopes for as the man begins to blanch at the thought. "No, this time it's going to happen. This time they'll see that I'd be great for this job. You know, you shouldn't be so negative about this. Think positive like me or else they'll know. No one wants a negative attitude in a workplace like this."

Gregory blinks and then turns away, deciding the statement is not really worth a reply. The man's composure is shaken though, not that it hadn't been already. Clearly the man is trying very hard to be positive and doing very poorly at it. "This time..." he mutters softly under his breath as he stares at the floor anxiously.

The anxiety, the fear. Gregory can see it, the avalanche of bills and responsibilities. Perhaps he has a family that depends on him, or a mortal wound to his pride for a past failure, or simply a lifestyle he isn't willing to give up on. Whatever the case he believes he needs this job and that need creates the fear. Every other scenario of failure is like a red hot poker to his temple.

Gregory soaks up the waves of anxiety for a moment before standing from his seat. It isn't his turn for an interview. Instead he makes his way to the exit. Gregory knows what life is like on the bottom of the ladder. He knows he can survive it, but he's seen the results of desperation, and he won't spend a minute longer next to it than he has to.