DC’s Dawnstar: Awakening

“Mabel? What’s wrong? You sounded urgent on the phone and now you look as white as a ghost.”

“Sheila. Quick. Come in.” Mabel ushered her sister into the hallway and quickly checked left and right up and down the street. She looked at the bus stop in front of the house. “Were you followed? Was anybody in the bus shelter?” She closed and locked the door.

“Er…no” Sheila replied.

“Good. Now, I want you to go into the front room, and don’t panic.”

“Can I take my coat off?” Sheila was starting to feel concerned.

“No time. No time. In a minute.” Mabel pointed to the living room door, which was closed, and gestured Sheila to walk through it.

Gingerly, Sheila pushed open the door and stepped through. Two armchairs were the first things to see in the room, and sat in one of them was George, fast asleep. A tray sat on the other chair, with a teapot, a jug of milk and three empty cups, and a small plate of biscuits. “What’s going on? Is George alright?” Sheila looked back at Mabel, who continued to gesture her into the room. Sheila stepped into the centre of the room, looking at George. “Is George OK?” She asked with a little more urgency.

“Oh, he’s fine, Sheila!” Mabel said, slightly exasperated. “The sofa. Look at the sofa!”

Sheila turned herself around and looked at the sleeping figure on the sofa, who was covered by a pale peach crocheted blanket. “Oh, I like that blanket, Mabel.”

“Never mind about that now, our Sheila. Look under her head.”

Sheila looked at the way the young girl was propped up on the sofa. “Who is she?” she asked, as she looked at the pillows behind her head. “They don’t look too comfortable them, May. Why have you folded them like that?”

“Look again.”

Sheila noticed the feathers. “You should’ve said, May. I could’ve brought a couple of pillows if you’ve only got these old ones.”

“Ooh, Sheila. Look! She’s an Angel. They’re her wings!”

“Don’t be daft, Mabel. An Angel! Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I thought with you working on the reception at the police station, you might’ve heard of any missing people or anything… or heard of anything fallin’ from the skies last night.”

“Falling from the…?” Sheila smiled. “Mabel, I don’t work at the police station. I work on the reception at the plumbers across the road from the police station. I keep telling you that! Now, what’s going on? Who’s this girl, and why have you really asked me to come here at half eight all flustered?”

“It’s her! She fell through our shed roof last night. Me and George managed to get her in here and onto the settee, and she went out like a light. She’s been like that ever since. And then he” Mabel thumbed over to her husband, “fell asleep there shortly afterwards. I made us all tea, but it’s cold now. I can microwave it up if you want some.”

“No ta, I’m fine…” Sheila looked again at the figure on the sofa. “How’s she an Angel? She’s just a girl.”

“Well, them wings are stuck to her good and proper if she isn’t an Angel. They won’t budge!” Mabel explained. “I was hoping you’d have heard something about this.”

“No… well, I wouldn’t. You’ll have to – does she need an ambulance?”

“There isn’t a mark on ‘er, she’s just slept all the way through. She was groggy when we brought her in, but she walked OK.”

“Walked?” Sheila pondered. “Maybe her wings are broken.”

“Broken?!” Mabel brought her right hand over her mouth, shocked. “I hadn’t thought of that. And here was me tryin’ to pull ‘em off! Should I call a vet?”

“A vet??!” Sheila burst out laughing. “She isn’t an animal.”

“But she’s part bird. They may be able to help.”

“Mabel, she’s a girl with glued on wings. Don’t be daft.”

The girl on the sofa sat upright, and instantly starting flapping her wings ferociously, creating a strong wind in the room. She kicked the blanket to the floor, and leapt off the sofa.

“Ooh, ‘eck!” Mabel shouted, as she shut the door with a slam. The winged girl knocked a couple of ornaments off the mantel with her beating wings. “Me squirrels!”

Also panicking, Sheila picked up one of the ornamental squirrels without thinking. “They aren’t broken, May.” She said. “What are they? Marble?”

“Sheila! We need to try an’ calm ‘er down. She’s going mad!”

Sheila held up both her arms, palms facing the girl. “Calm down. Now calm down…” she offered.

“Ah do rat clack” The girl screamed. “AH DO RAT CLACK!”

“Ah do rat clack, love!” Mabel said in as soothing a voice she could muster.

“What the bloomin’…” the commotion woke George. “Mabel, get ‘er some bread! Quick!”

“Bread?”

“Bread Mabel! Now!”

“George Green, don’t you speak to me that way! Why bread?”

Sheila raised and lowered her palms, hoping the girl would know she wanted to calm her and meant no harm. The girl sent another ornament crashing to the floor with her wing. “Oh, that one’s broke, Mabel!”

“Bread! She might be hungry.” George shouted, and Mabel ran to the kitchen, returning a second later with a loaf. She handed it to George. George took out a slice and broke it into pieces, scattering it across the floor. Sheila joined Mabel inside the door.

“Ah do rat clack!” the girl said again.

“George Green! She isn’t a bird!” Mabel argued. “Stop throwin’ ‘er bread!”

The girl stopped flapping and sat herself cross-legged in the centre of the room.

“Ah do rat clack!” she said once more, looking at Mabel with a pleading look across her face. She picked up a piece of bread. George motioned to his mouth, suggesting she could eat it, which she did. And another. And then another.

“She was only hungry, Mabel.” George said, offering a full slice.

———-

This is the second instalment of my fan fiction tale based on the DC Comics character Dawnstar. The first part can be found here. Dawnstar was created by Paul Levitz and Mike Grell. All other characters are of my own creation.

DC’s Dawnstar

“George!”

“GEORGE!” Intense shaking followed.

“Uh… what…? Where? Mabel, what are you doing? It’s three o’clock in the morning. I’ve only just got to sleep.”

“George, someone’s broken into the shed.”

George sat upright in bed, still feeling sleepy. “The shed? What shed?”

“Your shed. Our shed. The garden shed. And it’s ten past one.” Mabel walked over to the bedroom window, wrapping herself in her dressing gown. “I heard a clattering and got up to look out, and I saw the hole. They’ve got in through the roof.”

“Through the roof? The door’s hanging off, Mabel. Why would they bother to climb up to the roof?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Come and ‘ave a look!”

George moaned as he climbed out of bed and walked across the bedroom to stand beside his wife. Through the light of next door’s faulty security light he could see the splintered hole in the roof of the shed.

“We’re in the middle of a street. Why would someone break into a garden shed in the middle of a street?” George was puzzled. “And I’m not too happy that they’ve chosen my shed.”

“It’s not as though there’s anything in it for starters!” Mabel scoffed. “Your bench is riddled with woodworm.”

“I’m going to see if they’ve taken anything.” George put on his dressing gown. “They’d best not have taken me watering can.”

“Why would they want your watering can?” Mabel laughed, and then stopped herself as she saw George putting on his slippers. “You can’t go down there, George Green. They may still be down there.”

“I’m going, Mabel. And I’m going to give ‘im what for.”

“But George. I’m going to phone our Sheila.”

“Mabel, what would phoning your Sheila do? By the time she gets here, he’ll be long gone.”

Mabel sighed as George left the bedroom and walked down the stairs. She stepped into her slippers and followed him.

George obtained a small torch from the drawer beside the fridge in the kitchen, and walked through the sliding door into the conservatory. Mabel linked his left arm as he unlocked and opened the door out into the back garden. “Go back inside, Mabel. I can deal with this.”

“Nonsense, George. I’m coming with you, and that’s that.”

Outside, the night air was cool. The sky was partly cloudy, but several bright stars could be seen shining above. The crescent of the moon shone brightly too, giving both George and Mabel a clear view of the hole in the shed’s roof. The security light from next door switched off as they stepped outside.

“Mabel. They’ve smashed their way through that. It must have taken them ages. It would’ve been quicker for them to peel back the planks.” George shone his torch over to the shed. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier? We could’ve scared them off before this.”

“George Green, I woke you as soon as I ‘eard the noise. I went to the window, saw the hole and woke you. There and then. Don’t go saying I was lying there all night without doing anything.”

They walked across the garden to the shed.

“I’m not saying anything like that, Mabel. I’m just saying it would’ve taken them ages to make a hole that size by knockin’ it through.”

“Well it didn’t. It was like a quick whoosh, is what it was. A whooshing clatter. They probably just fell through the rotting wood.”

“Right then. Now shush. We don’t want to let them know we’re here.” Mabel glared at George as he shone his torch onto the padlock on the shed door and turned the key. “I mean, if they’d have just tried the door at least, they’d have seen the key was in the lock. They needn’t ‘ave gone to the bother of climbing up to the roof and force themselves in that way.”

George pulled the rotting door outwards, and he and his wife were greeted by the familiar and comforting musty aroma from within. A small crockery plant pot fell out of the door and George bent to pick it up, rubbing his back as he did so. “This cold is doin’ nothing for me back” he moaned.

They both peered inside the shed as George shone the torch around. Garden tools and plant pots were strewn all over the place, but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Debris covered the floor and large splinters of wood lay scattered across the top of the workbench.

“There!” Mabel shouted. “Behind the bench. They’re asleep!”

George shone his torch over the figure who lay stunned between the bench and the shelves. A rake and a hoe lay across them. “They were after my watering can. Look!” George directed the torchlight to the rusted can under the intruder’s left arm.

“George!” Mabel rolled her eyes.

They both stepped into the shed, taking care not to trip over the contents that were scattered everywhere. George shone his torch at the figure’s face. They could both see her eyes slowly opening and closing. They could also hear a faint groaning.

“George! It’s a girl!” Mabel realised. “She must’ve been freezing, looking at how she’s dressed, and wanted to get some warmth in our shed. Poor thing.”

“Mabel, there’s a bus stop outside, with a shelter. It isn’t as though she could see our shed from the street. She was after my waterin’ can. That’s all there is to it.”

“George! Even if she did want your watering can, it looks like she’s hurt. We can’t leave her there like that. Let’s see if we can get her inside and give her a cup of tea.” Mabel took the torch off George, and moved the light away from the girl’s face, stopping mid-sweep. “Are they feathers?”

“Mabel, they’re wings. Look.”

“George? Is she an Angel? She must be an Angel. Look at her face.”

“Mabel, why would an Angel want my watering can?”

“Oh, George. Let’s get her inside. She needs help.”

—————–

I’m trying to get my mind back into writing again, but thought, just for once, I would have a go a creating a piece of fan-fiction. Being a long time comic book and superhero fan, I thought I’d have a go at writing something featuring a character who isn’t as well known as others, and opted for DC Comics’ Dawnstar. Dawnstar was created in the mid to late 1970s by Paul Levitz and Mike Grell, and she is set in the far distant future. Credit where credit’s due!

I thought about what would happen if Dawnstar crashed into our time period, into the back garden of a normal everyday couple, and tried to write it like the first scene from a movie or TV show about the character.

I feel uneasy about writing using other peoples’ characters, but as my characters have a tendency to speak to me and tell me what to write, lately, Dawnstar was doing the same. It goes without saying that I hold no rights to the character, and Dawnstar is the only character that doesn’t come from the depths of my mind. The Greens, the garden shed and the watering can are all figments of my imagination.

The question now is… will the characters speak to me further?

The Artist’s Muse

The Muse. One of a group of goddesses linked to the arts. Our museums are named after them because of the history and artefacts contained therein.

One of the muses is Kleio (or Clio). Kleio is the muse for history. For recollection. For memory and looking back if you like.

And Kleio is my muse for today’s post.

First of all, a couple of images of her posing elegantly, looking over a scroll or two:

And then a quick sploshing about of digital oil paints. Yes, I know it’s no oil painting, but it’s the colours that I wanted to use, spread liberally based upon my muse.

Kleio

I’m not normally very good with faces, so hopefully, when inspiration strikes and another muse comes along, these may help me to improve. Well, one must act upon inspiration!

I wonder who my next muse will be?

Maraganna and Huffle Halloween Special

“I’m going to get this cake sorted this side of Halloween, if it’s the last thing I do!” Maraganna scraped the recent burnt remains of the cake she’d just ‘baked’ out of the cake tin. She plunged the charred tin into the hot soapy water in the sink, ready to wash it by hand. “I must be using the wrong cook book. That must be it! When I ‘magic up’ a cake they are always perfect, when I bake one,” she looked in the rubbish bin, “not so…” She twirled her right index finger around in the air three times, and watched as the cake tin cleaned itself, and hovered over to the draining board. She then gently blew above the cake tin and a mini tornado appeared out of nowhere, which dried the tin.

Maraganna then clicked her fingers and a book hovered off the bookshelf outside the kitchen and floated to the worktop beside her. “I’ll try another of my recipes.” Maraganna thought. Huffle followed the book into the kitchen, curious as to what Maraganna was up to. He investigated the bin, and noticed the four ruined cakes that were in there. He mewed in disdain, and jumped up to the worktop. The book Maraganna had chosen was her own, handmade, recipe book, ‘the book of the appointed pineapple’. Huffle mewed again, and knocked the book to the floor.

“Huffle! What are you doing?! You shouldn’t even be in here when I’m cooking. Come on, it’s back to the living room with you!” Maraganna lifted her familiar off the worktop and carried him out of the kitchen. Over her shoulder, Huffle watched as a bright orange light appeared in the kitchen and a green-skinned woman step out of it. Straight away the light surrounded the woman and she, and the light, vanished again.

Maraganna re-entered the kitchen, and went to pick her cookbook off the floor, only to find it wasn’t there. She looked under the table. On the worktop. In the bin. On the draining board. She even checked in the sink and in the oven, but the book had completely vanished. She walked back to the living room, in case she’d picked it up with Huffle without thinking. She hadn’t. She checked the bookcase, in case she’d only thought she’d brought the book into the kitchen but actually hadn’t, but her book wasn’t there.

“Hmmm….” Maraganna pondered. “Where’s that gone now?” She glanced back over to Huffle who had curled up and was now sleeping on the sofa. “You’ve done something…” she thought, but then realised Huffle was only a cat and he couldn’t make a book disappear. “Oh well,” Maraganna said to the bookcase. “It looks like another magicked up cake again.”

On the sofa, Huffle pricked his ears briefly, and then settled into a lovely sleep.

Previous parts of the Sinsters’ search below:

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine