Puck was invited into interview room 2. There was no recording there they said, it was just a quiet space for them to talk in. Puck saw cameras and could only assume they had audio too.
The officers - one young and one older - were both women. They seemed to enjoy looking at him, he noticed, and would pause in-between sentences with deliberate, flirtatious glances. His charisma was magnetically potent - this always happened when he was intent on something especially, and when his energy levels were high.
"Name and address please Sir,” purred the younger one, fidgeting playfully with her pen.
"We ask this of all of our visitors, even though there is no legal requirement at this time ... it's just a formality."
Puck obliged - he wanted information as badly as they did - if there was any to be had.
"R. G. Hode, Apartment A 177 Blaxland Terrace, South London."
The older policewoman shot a glance at him and excused herself momentarily from the room ... she then returned with a grey folder in her hand.
When opening it onto the table in front of him a pile of photographs tumbled out. They were body shots of a woman lying in peculiar angles; twisted, slumped, unnaturally, like a rag doll, in peach satin pyjamas.
The policewoman gingerly picked up a picture from the file that showed the face of the deceased. She asked softly, "Do you recognize this woman Sir?"
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
Puck felt so much more 'together' when he was wearing his war-suit undergarment. This shimmering body-hugging gunmetal barely covered his nudity and sat upon him like a silvery second skin. The Fey use them for protection, concealment and containment.
For it is that the immortals' sense of consciousness is so expansive that it reaches far past their own body's perimeters.
If you were to ask a man where he is, he would point to himself. If you ask him where he thinks from, he would point to his head. If you ask him where he loves from, he would point to his heart.
If you asked the same from an immortal they would tell you that their being is everywhere, and that their thinking travels to the person or place or thing that they are thinking of at that time.
Their awareness is far-reaching, comprehensive and sensitive to that which they engage with. And as for their love - it resides with that which they love. They feel their love in the beings of others.
And so, when the Fey need to be more alike to mortals and focused upon themselves, they slip into their war-suits.
Puck also resumed his real height of six foot eleven inches. He now stood out from the crowds, dwarfing practically everyone on the street around him. They kept their distance and it psyched him to walk tall. Needless to say, his war-suit was a one-size-fits-all.
His street clothes bore a strong resemblance to Neo - black with a tailored long coat, dark glasses, and well-polished boots.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Did you leave someone to watch the apartment in case Marley returns back there tomorrow? She has no where else to go right now." Goober asked, just as Puck was about to leave.
"Oh, the rabbit will be fine" he said, "he knows how to get hold of us if she does."
"No, that can't be right, he's back here with us - Charley has him in her room upstairs."
"She must have wished him back. That's alright, I'll stop by and leave a note."
"Message me with any updates."
"I'll do the same" he was tense now - and as he walked out into the half-light of the forest he was feeling very definitely that he could kill someone right now.
The ages weighed on Puck's heart and all of the harm this Demon had done was crushing him. He wanted Forsythe to be gone for good, expelled from the world - to another cosmos preferably.
He looked back at his woods and saw the ethers flicking around the base of the trees like misty flames. The flowers were expiring rich fragrant vapors from their labella and their perfumes of twilight were hazing all over the ferny growth. There was a certain peace one could find with immortality, he mused.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Your uncle Gordon will take care of you until I come back" Puck softly said to Charley, who was drinking her juice contentedly.
They had returned to the treehouse immediately after their escape. The air there seemed to agree with the infant's temperament, and she had settled there quite happily.
The Troll Security Services were replaced with a blue ribbon, top Elvin Guard, who were more costly to hire, but well worth the peace of mind that came with them. Unlike the Trolls they were faithful to their employers and would not be paid off.
Puck was angry, yet cool minded. His ringlets had grown wildly down his shoulders; his eyes had turned indigo with sadness.
From his storeroom he retrieved a fighting suit that the Fey often wore under their street clothes when danger is felt to be imminent. It was woven from a fine spider thread, yet its outer was stronger than steel. It was the very kind that comic books based their costumes for superheroes upon, but much better looking compared to a Lycra counterfeit.
Three hours had passed, yet he still had no feeling as to where Marley might be or how she was. Losing this connection with her was making him agitated. He mentally ran through his plans.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
"Young man, you have a devil at your back!" he exclaimed rather fearfully. Puck's immediate thought was that this guy was being plain unkind.
"I was not mocking you old man - I was just trying to tell you that I have met Him and I agree with your sign right there."
"Look, look behind you!" he pointed, semi-hysterically, "the way he constrains that child, he is dangerous and ought to be stopped...”
They had been at cross-purposes. Puck turned around in a flash to find Forsythe travelling in the opposite direction, hurrying down the street, moving very clumsily, struggling with Charley who was trying to wriggle free from his hold.
Both Puck and the old man caught up to them very quickly. Charley outstretched her tiny arms to her father, but Forsythe had clamped a child restraint around her chest - it looked to be made for a dog, and was pinching her neck, pulling her back.
"Aye Robin Toad Fellow - look who I have" he said smarmily squeezing her tight.
Charley threw up all over the pavement. Puck quickly scanned his mind for Marley hoping she might be following behind and could help the situation, but could not feel any sense of her whereabouts.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
As Puck walked out onto the main street a light rain tumbled scantily down, refreshing the musty city from its staleness. Happily preoccupied, he walked bang into an evangelist who was giving out flyers beside a large sandwich board that read "HE LIVES".
Puck smiled at the old man apologetically for nearly knocking him over. He had been distracted in a blissful haze, overjoyed at how things had all turned out. Finally, it seemed, a little happiness was coming his way.
He glanced down at the sign and remarked to the elderly man:
"He does, you know."
Puck had said this agreeably and then added, "The last time I saw the Master he was looking real buff - as though he works out." The blue truth dust was still making him talk carelessly.
The old man handed Puck a pamphlet and gave him solemn directions to his meeting place that always offered a free cup of tea. What Puck had said seemed to pass right over him ... it was as though he had not heard it at all.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
All was calm, the silver bells were silkily tinkling; the Angelic host moving about, performing their unseen duties; the spheres rotated in perfect obeisance and marshmallows dripped from their sticks with a tacky glistening sweetness.
All was well with the world, in between its calamities.
There were those gentle, quiet moments, when one forgets death and all of the inevitabilities that dog each move into the future.
The ordinances of life contrive to multifariously disarrange our perspectives - enough to communicate the firm earth of our spirit-land with the sweet aroma of its cordial symphonic ethers.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
