You're WHAT?!?!

[ωΘĿƒ]

Coyle peeked his head into the room he'd seen only once before. The door was locked, but that never stopped him. He didn't even need to pick the lock. Phasing through the wall was easy enough without learning how to "pick" something.

Interacting with solid objects was a lot harder than ignoring them.

So, head half in and half out, Coyle looked kind of like a ghost flitting through the wall. He soon remedied this by scooching all the way in and then phasing back into focus on this plane. Nice and simple.

The first thing he saw was Moss, just like he wanted to see. But why, you ask? Why come back to the scene of an already victorious battle? Well hell, to check out the bloodstains, godammt! Coyle, if anything, was a big believer in trophies. A bit psychopathic, if you wanted to get all technical. He just loved the memories, and seeing as he had such a sucky memory himself, he liked to come back to places that reminded him of what he'd done.

This place, for example, is where he manipulated the great manipulater. Oh yes, he was good... He'd done that **** drunk too. He was very good.

And now it was time to gloat, a few weeks after the fact.

"How's it hangin', Moss?"

Coyle's smile was like that of a hungry animal, as usual. And the voice that issued forth from it was still that of a benevolent being. He took as seat in the chair at Moss' desk, playing with a pencil there and putting his feet up to make himself more comfortable.

"Nail anything since we last met?"

He picked at his teeth with the pencil, completely ignoring anything that Moss would say next.

He didn't need to listen. It wasn't important anyways. What was important was soaking in his newest victory. Maybe he'd move on after this and go get cozy with that girl Elle. Who knows, he did know how to do that now...

[Anzeh]

Ever since that night, Moss hadn't been able to get out of bed for more and a couple minutes, let alone go to classes, do homework, or sexy himself up for girls. The sickness had gotten worse now--he often found himself at loss for breath and throwing up something that definitely wasn't stomach fluid. In fact, it didn't look like any type of body fluid--it looked something like lengths of pale twine wrapped into a ball. And he had no idea why this was happening. What had he ever done to deserve this other than screwing any female (or male) thing that walked on two legs?

...

Oh... this was karma wasn't it? Damn Moss hated karma.

But that wasn't all! He'd been having cravings for pencils! ****in' pencils! Who craves pencils other than the criminally insane? No one, damn it! Something was wrong, something was seriously wrong. Now, at least, he didn't think this was the doing of any STD. No STD Moss knew of (and he knew them all, you had to when you were as much of a promiscuous rat as he was) caused symptoms like this. Some didn't even have symptoms and he was clean the last time he got tested.

So with all his old ideas ruled out, only one was left standing. Only one, the most illogical and impossible one, remained. It glared him in the eyes and it had a face. It's face was plump and pudgy with large eyes and a toothless smile, tiny hands and feet both curled tightly. Yes, the face was the face of a baby.

The barguest was pregnant.

And he blamed Coyle.

Who else was there to blame? No one else on this plane could have gotten a male pregnant, and he'd said it himself, he wasn't really male; in fact, he didn't have a gender, he just made a male body.

Damn, this was all so effed up...

And, speak of the devil and he shall appear--Coyle appeared out of nowhere. The barguest had been laying with his back to the door and scarcely had enough energy to roll around and tell the temporal demon off, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to stand to his feet and strangle the other, he didn't have the energy, nor the will. How was he supposed to explain to Coyle that he was gonna be a dad? How would he explain this to the headmaster, to his friends and to the baby when it started asking where was mommy? How was he going to explain any of this?

But he had to accept that this was his punishment for whatever he did to make the gods above angry.

Coyle's first question was answered with a noncommittal grunt and a slight creak of the bed as he tried to make himself somewhat more comfortable.

The second was answered with a hoarse croak that sounded something like a "no," but it was hard to be sure.

[ωΘĿƒ]

Coyle's impeccable smile only dwindled slightly as Moss... gurgled something.

Why did he sound so sick? It confused Coyle. Well sure, he'd won his petty game, but where was that morally upright "at least I still have my soul" banter that everyone played down on him? Not that he cared whether this soul thing was important or not, but the point was; when you went hunting for the prey, it only lays down quietly as you tear out its throat. When yo ugo hunting for the hunter you get a little nip and a kick in the ass for your trouble in trying out some harder game.

In short, Mossy should be trying to kick Coyle in the ass, not glowering in bed.

...and what the hell did "no" mean? He hadn't nailed anything since they last met? Nothing? What...?

Still picking at his teeth, he sighed as he shifted to let his legs fall on top of the expensive looking computer, not breaking it, but making it damn look like he was trying to.

"Aw, don't be a sore loser. I never gripe when I'm beat."

He paused a second, then chewed the end off the pencil.

"Then again, I'm never beat!"

Laughing, he flicked the nibbled pencil at Moss.

"What you need is a nice girl to take your mind off things. Or a guy. Ya know, whatever works best for this kind of... sadness..."

It was obvious now that Coyle had been trying to understand this foreign concept of sorrow from Moss' perspective. Having failed, he only shrugged, wordless for the moment.

Why were mortals sad, eh wondered. It seemed kind of pointless to him. Hmm...

[Anzeh]

If only Moss could do what he really wanted to do get out of the bed and sock Coyle in his face before screaming that he was pregnant with the demon’s little hellspawn. He wanted the little thing terminated so badly, but they didn’t have that for men yet. Besides, every time that thought crossed his mind he could feel something inside him turn where his face would be and pouted at him, as though to say that wasn’t fair. And then the thought would pass and so would the pain. These bouts happened a couple times an hour, but the spaces weren’t long enough for him to actually think something, but long enough for the little being to turn over again.

... What had Coyle just said? Something about not being a sore loser? He opened his mouth and gave speaking another try, but nothing came out of his mouth even though he made the shapes of words in with his lips. Eventually he just gave up and let Coyle talk to himself. He was more focused on not hurling up pencil shavings and raw meat, which was then entirety of what he’d eaten the past few days. He was waited to die, but had the feeling that nature wouldn’t be that gracious until much later.

The Barguest peaked out of his covers to see the other leaning back in his chair with his feet pressed on Moss’s EXPENSIVE computer. He wanted to yell at him to stop, but already knew that wasn’t happening. He threw a pencil at him and Moss pulled it under the covers, biting at it idly.

That is until snapped in two.

Moss pouted and gnawed at the end of the pencils, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what Coyle was saying even though he knew he was being addressed. Somehow...

[ωΘĿƒ]

Coyle continued to sit there and stare blankly at the wall for all of five seconds. It would have been shorter, but pondering human dilemmas always made him sluggish. In any case, when he finally did get bored of staring at the wall after five long brutal seconds, he kicked his feet off the computer and prepped himself to batter Moss with another barrage of insults.

That is, until he heard the pencil snap.

It's kinda odd, what the smallest details will do to you. Like for instance, when he first came here, the very first time mind you, the very first thing he could smell was the aroma of fine cherrywood bookshelves. Strange, this; because after that moment he could never love any other smell more than those cherry bookshelves. He had no clue why, but that's just the way it went. He didn't love the sight of 'em, or the feel. Just the smell.

Like that, when Coyle heard the pencil snap, he was forever imprinted with that one, singular sensation.

...why was Moss eating pencils? Only he ate pencils. Only he liked pencils!

"Eh, got a problem there, Mossy?" Coyle mumbled, scooting off the chair and up onto his feet.

"Barguests don't like wood and graphite, do they?"

No. Of course not. That was a stupid question, but then again, Coyle didn't care. He was too focused on... that pencil.

More quickly than the eye could see, Coyle shifted only his temporal claws out of their human guise, using them to feel about for something specific.

And there it was. Coyle yelped in terror.

"What the hell, man?!!?" the beast growled, more in confusion than anger. "Why do you smell like me?!!?"

[Anzeh]

Moss was thinking as her gnawed at the pencil. It was so nasty but it made the little thing happy, and as long as it was happy the less grief it put him through. So though his breath may smell like wood and graphite for the rest of eternity, if it was for a few moments of peace, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He didn’t notice when Coyle got up and walked over to him and didn’t see his temporal claws, but his little monster did. It made the bear spit out the pencil and double over in pain. What was going on?

It was only couple seconds after that he heard Coyle yell out. He’d expected that... but... he didn’t sound mad, only confused. Join the club Coyle. You’ll get member benefits.

He pulled down the covered slightly, and glanced up at him with bleary confusion. Then he got what Coyle was referencing. The male somehow found the strength to sit up and glanced at the mirror behind the demon. Despite the fact he was sure his skin had turned gray, it was the same shade it had been when he was out chasing girls. Odd. It looked like he’d just woken up and was getting ready for school or a night out.

“Oh, why do I smell like you? For the same reason I haven’t been chasing girls and have been trapped in my room for the last week!” In anger he kicked at the headboard which snapped cleanly. Huh. Weird.

A pause as he wondered if the other understood. He guessed not. “ Congratulations Coyle!” The sweetness in his voice was so fake he felt his teeth rotting away. “You’re a dad!”

[ωΘĿƒ]

All the small, irrelevant things that always went though Coyle's head comforted him so. And they had to. Where he came from, you were thinking about everything and anything at any given time. If that suddenly stopped, then you were feeling one very small and bored as crap temporal demon... Which is why you really had to make an effort to pipe up every little train of thought all at once and send it all flying through your brain at ten million miles an hour. That helped a bit with the quiet. Not much, but a bit.

It was a good thing, then, that he could think just as well as if he wasn't severed with the Others. That made him one smart cookie. He could ponder every difficult human problem ever conceived and then what he should have on his toast in the morning, and still be fine and dandy enough to watch an episode of Lost half way through the season and understand what was happening.

In short, he loved the sound of noise. So much noise. Static energy. Screaming, yelling craziness. Chaos...

And then all that chaos stopped, his brain stopped, when he heard that last bit.

..................................dad?

The hollow sound was horrible. Coyle felt that he was collapsing in on himself from the sheer emptiness. And then came that one thought, echoing in the void.

How could he....? What did he.....?

"You're lying."

The sound was very small and timid sounding to him; which is why he was damn sure he didn't make it.

"Don't mess with me like that, Mossy... That's a dirty trick to play."

That echoing sound. It was kinda ominous. Kinda shocking and terrifying to him. He tried not to listen to it.

"You're crazy. That's impossible. What a stupid joke!"

A little louder, and he shook his head to try and clear it. What was that? Nope. Not hearing it.

"You know what? I think you're just jealous. Jealous because I beat you, or I poisoned you... Or I did something really bad by ****ing you, and now you're mad at me."

What? He could almost hear it. What was that?

You're a father!

Coyle shifted out of his human form.

"The hell with this... Yeah! The hell with it!" He was kinda wobbly on his feet, but he tried to ignore that too. "Ehehe... Yeah right. Right! You're crazy! I can't do that! I know I cant! It's impossible! Impossible! No way!"

Coyle backed away, phasing through the desk and the chair and the wall completely. He might have even phased through the floor if he still had any weight for gravity to drag him down with.

"Buh bye." Coyle sneered, purely out of habit; and then he was gone.

That one sound was still echoing.