
*Thump thump thump*. Diego's hands drum a staccato beat on the Anu-Bus seat in front of him. He grins, remembering the cool drizzle of electricity down his arms, the thunderous explosion of contact, the happy solidity of simple violence. He hadn't ever just let go like that, not when it mattered, not with so many people depending on him. And it had worked! They'd won!

*Thump thump, thump thump*. Leading with his fists, drawing the thunder, it had all worked out. He laughs along with the others at some joke that immediately melts from his brain, continues to tap on the seat.

*Thump thump thump*. Glancing around in the afterglow of the fight, Diego sees behind the big talk and sees pensive faces, hunched shoulders.

*What's up with them,* he thinks. *Didn't we just win?* Diabolox had gotten away, but that didn't mean they hadn't won.

*Thump thump thump*. Remembering The Mirror's awesome display, he turns to glance her way, beaming. Her "face" shines back, distorting his grin to something monstrous, too-wide mouth in a tiny head.

His grin fades.

*Thump, thump*. Fists and lightning and thunder and rain are clean, loud, fast, and simple. In and out. Over and done. Here and gone.

Glancing down, he sees the crabkin ichor splattered on his pants, staining his boots. Not clean, not over. Still here.

Sizzling quick from some well deep inside, the anger comes as a bolt, a roar, shooting up and billowing out, drowning out the sound from his ears, rendering their voices a buzzing left far below him.

The edges of his vision glow blue. His fingers squeeze the restored pleather of the seat. His knuckles creak.

A memory clouds his sight. Stone walls, stone altars, bulging eyes, fangs, the bronze skin revealed in firelight. The scent of marigolds. The roll of thunder.

*No.*

A deep breath. Two.

*Did anyone see?* A peek. *No.*

He relaxes his grip on the seat. The pleather is scorched where he was touching it.

He stares at his hands.


After the first big fight, and what have we learned, children?

Diego's Hands


Diego staggered up the narrow aisle between seats, clutching at the metal seat backs for support. *Can't let him see, can't let him see.* The mantra kept him upright until he made it to a seat near the front of the sub and could drop into it. He took a few deep breaths and surreptitiously massaged his shoulder where Timberwolf's jaws had closed on it before throwing him bodily into the side of a plane.

*"Nigh invulnerable" does **not** mean "cannot be hurt",* Diego reminded himself, drawing a shuddering breath. His skin was fine, but there was a deep ache in his chest on his left side, close to his heart. It was fading now, but brought the occasional swift stab when he shifted around.

Diego looked out the porthole into the dark sea beyond, the running lights of the sub illuminating passing fish. He didn't know how far down they were but little light filtered down from the surface above. Here they were, passing below the surface, bundles of nerves, recovering, all wrapped in their thoughts.

Except Stellar, his face lit from below by the blue glow of a phone. *Where the hell did he get a new phone down here? Does his body make them or something?* thought Diego, frowning. Stellar's eyes were wide with glee, his thumbs eagerly tapping, probably making some kind of mischief, inserting himself where he didn't belong. Diego shook his head.

His gaze shifted forward, to the pilot's seat, where Red Rogue lounged, heavy-lidded eyes staring forward, hands barely on the controls, the picture of indolent, deadly grace. *How did we let her get in control of where we're going again?* he thought, his frown deepening.

Diego looked back out the porthole. His eyes found his own reflection staring back at him. He made a face, eyes wide, pulling his lips down with his fingers and waggling his tongue. The *tlaloque* hated that face, knew exactly who he was apeing when he did it. Their lord and master.

The shopkeepers in the *mercado* hated that face too, especially when he'd just stolen from their shelves, maybe a mango or some *chicle*. On the street as a kid, Diego had scraped by, but he'd had his friends, some on the streets, some in the houses, some with goodies to share, some who never brought anything to share but needed the most help. And then he'd been found by his *tío*, his "Uncle", the one who looked at the cowlicks in his hair and smiled that ghastly smile, full of plans, whisked him away to the mountain, away from everything and everyone he'd ever known, down into the dark of the temples, surrounded by the shells and marigolds. Waiting for the *Atlcahualo*, not the yearly ritual, but a special one, the one written in the stars.

Alone in the dark.

His chest twinged again, a quick flash of pain. Timberwolf, pursued by admirers. Mary, twinned with The Mirror, a normal life outside her door when she needed it. Mack, with a whole family to support her. Stellar, his aunt and his social media followers validating him whenever he needed it.

But not Diego. Diego lived in a mansion, an investment by a Halcyon hero who kept him as a hedge against villains, like she kept her labs full of inventions and scientists, who thought his favorite drink in the world was chocolate milk. A mansion far from the city, with soft beds, soft towels, acres away from any other person he might connect with on any kind of deeper level...

...except Timberwolf. He turned, grimacing with pain, to glance back at his brother, still crouched at the back of the sub, panting, eyes on the floor. They understood each other in a way the others didn't, couldn't even. He knew, sitting in that cold metal seat, that he would defend his brother to his own death. Who else would say that?

Diego settled back down, staring at the porthole again. This time, his reflection's eyes were a lambent blue, the grin below feral. In his head, the echoing roll of thunder, of stone cracking before his fist. The pain in his chest was almost gone now.

"Oh my god, what is that horrible stench?" Red Rogue said. Diego saw that she'd spun around in her seat, was staring into sub's confines at the three of them, an accusation in her eyes for the three teenagers in the back.

"Marigolds," Diego whispered.


Diego's Pain


1. Before you met this crew, who did you hang out with?

When Diego was younger, he lived on the streets of Mexico City among a small herd of street kids doing whatever they wanted and whatever they had to. He was probably closest to Chico, a small guy who was great at looking helpless when he needed to. They use to lie on different roofs at night and watch the stars, make big plans about when they were grown and off the streets. Chico watched him get herded away by his _tios_ from behind a stall, a terrified look plastered all over his face. At night, he sometimes wondered what happened to him.

At his new school he's floated from social group to group, not really settling down with any of them. He watches the other kids and doubts they have serious problems at all, like maybe the most serious thing they worry about is homework or who they're going on a date with on Friday.

2. What's your character's favourite place in the city?

The public answer is a particular ironwork bench that has somehow managed to escape destruction in the past few dustups downtown. It has a great view of the General Hydrodynamics Memorial Fountain, built by the city to honor the Wave after she managed to save the Red Bay Bridge from crashing into the ocean, destroying a Bay Tours charter. The leaping orcas make a pretty shape that he likes.

The private answer is that one spot on the underside of the Red Bay Bridge. He can reach it by climbing the steel beams sunk into the concrete on the city side, a nearly hundred foot vertical climb that is relatively easy for him, and then a quick scoot a few yards until the ocean is below him. Up there he's closer to the sky and the water, away from anyone who might see, but still close to the action and the thrum of cars zooming by above.

3. What's something about your character that they haven't shared with the group yet?

Diego is, at most, 14 years old. He's lost track of time during his stay with the _tlaloque_, but at the time of the ritual he was maybe 11 years old. Physically, he looks older because of the ritual, but his time on this planet does not match his outer appearance. Anubis knows, hence some of the childishness of the "clubhouse". But, also, y'know... Anubis.

I'm not sure about this one yet, but it could be fun. He hasn't talked about his past much except to maybe say "ritual gone wrong" and change the subject. That's its own big deal for him.

4. Who was your character's first crush (if any)?

Is it Mary or Maichiru? He's pretty sure he's hetero, and he's lately been leaning towards Maichiru... but he might have a crush on her family, mostly? Totally open to a surprise crush on Stellar, though -- an emotional life on the outside despite being "fragile" is something he respects but doesn't know how to express.

He (seems) like a late bloomer but has a sense that he should've already had a crush on someone by now.

5. When's your character's birthday?

Atlcahualo is Tlaloc's month. That's roughly, kinda, sometime around February or March. How about March 1st? He probably had to pick at some point when Anubis took him in and picked this date without realizing its significance.

6. Which school subjects are your character's most and least favorite?

He's surprisingly good at math, but has a head for tales and characters and poetry, so is doing very well in English Lit. Science goes right over his head (ha ha). He's been banned from the computer labs at Halcyon High, whose normal shielding repels anything incidental he puts out as long as he's not inside the actual room. He hates history and social studies. He wishes he were better at art.

He's signed up for tutoring math at school, but hasn't had a chance to attend a session yet. He's helped Timberwolf at home.

7. What are your character's favourite foods?

Enchiladas are the test he uses for any Mexican restaurant, and chorizo and eggs are his comfort food. He adores sushi and dim sum. He likes noodly dishes, but has steered clear of anything too "weird" in Asian cuisine. He doesn't know what he's missing.

8. What kind of music does your character listen to?

Whole ranges of classical fascinate him -- he finds it powerful and delicate, emotional and refined, overall very moving. He's self-concious of his taste, there. He appreciates pop music. He's a little suspicious of anything that gets too "dancy" or too "oontz oontz oontz"-y, claims that if it doesn't have strings in it (guitar or fiddle or whatever) then how can it pull on your heart?

9. Describe a hero (not one we've seen yet) that your character admires or respects.

He admires the hell out of The Wave. The level of control she has for elemental water amazes him (she's more knife to his sledgehammer), and the way she reaches out to the community (bypassing local government or corporate middlemen) is an approach he admires, bottom-up. He had a poster of hers up in his room until Anubis teased him about liking her for her outfit, so he took it down.

He thinks he admires Shadow Ash because of how "strong" they seem, how they work alone and get the job done, but that's more projection 'cuz Shadow Ash is actually an insufferable jerk in person.

10. What does your character fear? What do they love?

He fears that he's "only" a really strong punchy hero, that he's a shallow pool. He fears being vulnerable and asking for help from anyone. He's scared to let people down. He's deathly afraid that the _tlaloque_ will find him and find some way to pull him back and complete the ritual -- what will happen to his self when that happens?

He loves his powers, though: he never gets tired of the scorching purity of lightning or the simplicity of a thunderous punch. He also loves being a part of a team, a family, with people who depend on him and wants that more than nearly anything.


Diego's Questionnaire

> My first rule of role-playing games is to care more about the people at the table than the story.
>
> The players matter more than the fiction. The danger is getting caught up in the wonderful story and forgetting that.
>
> -- Ben Robbins, http://arsludi.lamemage.com/index.php/2003/first-rule-of-gaming/


First Rule of Gaming


What if?

I'm not going to define precisely what I mean by spell here, but it might not be what you think. [Or
it might][sass].

There's this great-game-I-haven't-played-yet (there are a lot of those) called
[Sleepaway][sleepaway] written by the improbably named Jay Dragon. I'm sure he and Jason Morningstar
have a lot to talk about. It is based on "Dream Askew & Dream Apart", another member of the
great-game-I-haven't-played-yet club.

I was listening to an episode of the [Oneshot podcast where they played Sleepaway][oneshotpod].
After making characters, just as they were starting to play, they sort of... *invoked* the Lindworm,
the monstrous enemy of the game. From the rules text:

> At the beginning of each session, someone must ask the space you're in if the Lindworm is there,
> and if it would like to play. Give it around thirty seconds to reply.
>
> -- Sleepaway, by Jay Dragon

This struck me as an invocation, an invitation, an opening. Metaphors are powerful things, and
conceiving of a monstrous being from your childhood and *inviting it to sit down with you and play*
is powerful stuff. Even if it doesn't always respond.

I'll quote a quote here, from [Wikipedia's page on Chaos magic][chaosmagicwikipedia]: "...The
central defining tenet of chaos magic is arguably the 'meta-belief' that 'belief is a tool for
achieving effects'". This procedure echoes some of that for me.

It also echoes a bit of [sand tray therapy][sandtraytherapy] for me, the clearing away of a space
and putting symbols in there to communicate something to others.

I'm thinking about writing a [[solo-rpg]] right now, and I want to borrow some of this, I think. I
think spelunking into your own head could do with a little magical protection borrowed from these
other traditions.

[sass]: https://www.reddit.com/r/SASSWitches/
[sleepaway]: https://possumcreekgames.itch.io/sleepaway
[oneshotpod]: http://oneshotpodcast.com/one-shot/369-sleepaway-part-1/
[chaosmagicwikipedia]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaos_magic
[sandtraytherapy]: https://www.goodtherapy.org/learn-about-therapy/types/sand-tray-sand-play-therapy


RPGs as Spells


Thinking about solo RPGs. Seems a natural extension of where I am now: I like RPGs, I like writing
short bits of fiction, I can't play with other people enough: why not give it a try?

Collected [some links about the subject][solorpgtag] for deeper reading.

I think the [Cortex system][cortexrpg] would be a good fit for what I'm thinking about currently.
The dice tricks can push the story in interesting ways without creating a hole where a GM and a
table of other players should be.

[solorpgtag]: https://pinboard.in/u:drhayes/t:solorpg/
[cortexrpg]: https://www.cortexrpg.com/


:rpg: