Location Unspecified (Ixen)

Most folk these days were uneducated slobs. They never ventured outside, and explored the wonders of their world. Or even explored the interests of their town. So many entertainment facilities to discover. The sports hall! The shop of Chinese remedies! The theatre! The sewers! Portions of Scapegoat's mind withdraw at that last suggestion. They were with him, right up until the latter statement. Who in their right mind (present company accepted) spent a day out at a stink-hole?

What people failed to notice, amidst the smell, filth, and utter darkness; were the acoustics! Scapegoat could make a tune echo down here. Reverberate for miles with his purposely off-key singing voice, "Oh give me a roam! Where the buffalo home! And the deer, and the cantaloupe play! Where seldom is heard! Just like a swear-word! And the skies are from Saudi Arai! Hooome! Home is - real strange."

The young ghoul was following the trail of a corpse. Either this was a cheap burial-at sea, or someone had disposed of an unsightly murder victim. Garbage to them, food for him. If only this place wasn't such a labrynth! Vernon had never been very good at puzzles. He would quite happily make the same wrong turns on the optimistic hope it would be right a second time.

Thank goodness his visibility was not impaired. Of the many ghoul curses, night-vision was not one of them. The undead wanderer paced sure-footedly, manacles rattling. He'd lost track of time, but judging by the length of chain, he'd been underground for more than a day. Lost. Or rather location unspecified. He was hopelessly location unspecified.

His stomach growled. Smelling the body but not being able to reach it was pure torture for the ghoul. He was running out of things to keep his mind occupied. Slowly devolving into bouts of wall scratching. If these bricks didn't move soon, Scapegoat decided he was going to come back with a wrecking ball. A small one, that could fit in the sewers. Then - BLAMO!

But as he despaired, a new sight came into view. Something curled up in reletive comfort. Another lifeform! Oh thank goodness. The stranger would know what to do. Strangers always did. Fact of life. He would solve everything, "Oi! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Are you awake?" Oh good, they were, what luck. The sooner he got his answer, the better, "How would I get a wrecking ball down here?"

Tarnalus heard the voice wandering the sewers it was a very unusual sound. He listened quietly to the singing, it was the first he'd ever heard so he had no idea it was bad. Before Tarnalus even realized it the voice was talking to him. He jumped to his feet well it had looked like it, he just sort of hung in the air.

He watched Scapegoat a second confused his green skin and solid black eyes a very great contrast to the humans, the gills on his cheeks made him stand out as well. "Wrecking ball? What is a wrecking ball?" Tarnalus was floating backward slightly to get away he didn't like people much his father had told him all about how they always attacked their kind.

"I don't have any money if thats what your here for." On saying that he seemed to have a near translucent film appear over his skin. He waited watching Scapegoat intently.

A little politesse would go a long way. Scapegoat made sure he maintained eye contact with the stranger and adjusted his posture. He had an urge to wrinkle his nose at this gentleman's odor but suppressed it. Obviously the guy spent a lot of time lurking about sewers. A stench was sure to linger.

"It's a bit hard to describe." Scapegoat conceded, nodding sympathetically, "If one ever passes through, I'll point it out." Socialising was difficult. Scapegoat had a single tried and tested method for breaking the ice. He would interject light-hearted jokes where possible, and given his aptitude for silliness, there were many opportunities.

"No money? Damn. They told me there'd be an ATM down here." Vernon pumped his fist sideways and made a slight tsk. He held his genial smile so as to portray his humor as good-natured rather than sarcastic. Delivery was important, "And just to get this off my chest. But dear gosh please don't eat me I want to live!"

It was a natural reaction. However delayed, it was a natural reaction. In case he'd failed to mention earlier - Vernon was speaking to a frigging lizard-man! A lizard-man! Oh crap! This wasn't normal! Creatures like that weren't suppose to exist outside of demon realms. Why was Scapegoat just standing around? He should be running! In a sort of 'anywheresy' direction.

Yet one stray thought made him hesitate. He unclasped his begging hands and pursed his lips in thought. Scapegoat second-guessed himself, "Oh. Assuming you're of the persuasion of monster that butchers helpless victims." Great, he had hastily judged this creature and now they probably thought he was a racist jerkface. Running away would only solidify that opinion. Vernon couldn't deal with some random paranormal being thinking bad of him.

He raised his hands in pleading innocence, "I'm not a racist. Honest! Some of my best friends are repulsive sewer mutants." Wait. Damn! They probably took offense to that too. What did these people prefer to be called? Humanity Challenged? DNA Alternatives? Freaks? Probably the latter. Freakazoid rocked, "We cool?"

Tarnalus took all the incoming information in and just looked further and further confused. He glanced around and asked. Wait am I the sewer mutant? I am one of the Ixora, I just stay here because it's too noisy down below." Tarnalus flew toward Vernon slowly and then drifted back away again being extremely confused.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a stop watch and checked it before putting it away again. "Umm I have to go return some books. Do you want me to lead you out?"

The franticness of Spacegoat's replies died away as his fears were proven to be baseless. This creature was obviously intelligent, blessed with a degree of civility. Far beyond the kind of mindlessness attributed to a savage. Vernon began to feel safer, and listened to the reptilian with a growing degree of interest, "Oh wow. Never heard of them." Ixora? It wasn't demonic, he knew that much.

Kindly the Ixoran (Ixorian? Ixorese?) offered to act as a guide. He had correctly identified that Vernon was resoundingly lost. Scapegoat appreciated this display of neighbourly concern. He took a relieving breath and smiled, "I wouldn't say no." If he didn't commit a sin soon then demons were going to drag him back to hell. So either way he was getting out of here eventually.

"There was something down here that I was after. But I couldn't find it." Scapegoat sniffed again, a thought dawning, "Oho! I've just realised why." He rapped his knuckles against the sewer wall once more, "Someone bricked the poor bastard in. Quite smart. Who but a ghoul could sniff out a dead body in a sewer?"

Tarnalus flew over and asked Vernon. "Is this wall in your way sir?" He eyed it up and down and put his hand to it he focused a blast of power through his hand blowing the section of wall into rubble. Tarnalus then took a moment and his barrier reformed.

Tarnalus said softly. "Well I suppose I'll let you eat him and then show you the way out. Do you like to read? I spend most of my time in the library."

Vernon deftly stepped aside as the Ixoran took a look at his problem. Maybe the guy knew a secret passageway? Like in Scooby Doo. After that they would find out it was only a lizard-man costume he was wearing and Scapegoat would be fed a Scooby Snack. However, something even more unexpected than that occurred.

A telekinetic pulse took out the obstruction. Vernon jumped in surprise as it gave way and collapsed into a spray of clay dust, "Jinkeys!" Then there was an opening. Hesitantly he made his way forward and sniffed. An overpowering stench of decay misted his self-control, causing the ghoul to lunge inside the narrow crevice.

Within seconds he had dragged out a mess of bones and rancid meat. Rats had nibbled clean the corpse's feet, but the greater portion of this meal was intact. Gleefully Scapegoat tucked in, not waiting another moment before chowing down. The deep seated hunger at the pit of his stomach was temporarily quelled as he wrenched pieces of gristle free.

"Mmm. The reincarnated ones always taste best." Scapegoat became aware his gluttony was being observed. He shifted so as not to have his back to the Ixoran. This stranger was welcome, anybody who fed the ghoul was a friend of intarnishable reputation, "Boy do I! What's that book where the caterpillar got fat and grew up?"

Tarnalus asked smiling at the ghoul. "Do you mean the book the hungry caterpillar written and illustrated by Eric Carle? Published in June of 1969... on the third I believe." Tarnalus sat down by Vernon as though eating a rotting corpse weren't unusual at all.

He thought for a moment and said. "In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning, the warm sun came up and 'pop' out of the little egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar. He started to look for some food, on Monday he ate through one apple, but he was still hungy. Is that the book you mean?" Tarnalus was eying Vernon with intense curiosity.

Vernon really needed a bib for all the mess he was making. Unfortunately rotten flesh dripped more juices than a raw beef steak. It would take forever and a day to get the stains out of his clothes. Thankfully Scapegoat could make that someone else's problem. He often exchanged clothes with another unsuspecting person via his ability. It left them flummoxed and smelling worse than a crypt-keeper's underwear draw, meanwhile Vernon got to walk off dandified.

Polishing off a hand, he crunched the joint bones before turning to hear the recital. It all sounded very familiar to the ghoul and he nodded thoughtfully, "Yeah, that's it." He was certain, "I find I can relate to the characters." Another mouthful was taken.

"You have a good memory." Scapegoat remarked.