A story high above the low, recorded by few, disputed by later.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and POSSIBLY YOU.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.



They had taken away his pens. After the fourteenth riddle he had marked over the once-pristine walls, they had informed him that he was acting destructively and could not do with this privilege any longer. Eddie hadn't humored this exceptionally well. If you hadn't intended for me to express myself, he had argued, you wouldn't have encouraged such easily attained access. Whose idea was it to give me the tools anyway? His words were stonewalled, met with incomprehension or disdain. And shortly soon, punishment. Edward Nygma found himself alone, without release, staring at his blackly inked words driven over his walls. A room riddled.

He kept thinking of Norman. How that man was meandering through his life, undisturbed, when he had so abruptly ruined Eddie's own. How unfair it was, how cruel. How much he direly wanted to snip out Norman's vocal chords with a charming pair of symbolically rusty scissors and --

Oh. But that was rather frowned upon, wasn't it?

"Hardly a resonating concern anymore, is it?" Eddie muttered to himself. He had been in the habit of drifting in and out of speech in his solitude. Robbed of an audience and introduced to all kinds of new anti-psychotics (how the market had changed, since his Arkham days), he found himself prone to halfway-audible discussions with his own ears. It was grand company thus far, he wouldn't argue that. His eyes focused on the wall to his left, idly reading his own desperate scrawls.

PARTIAL OBLIGATION
FOLLOWING 01000111
ENDING WITH THE PENULTIMATE IN BEGINNING

Work that had yet been erased by his self-appointed caretakers. He rather liked that one particular riddle, it was rather pivotal. The act itself was soothing, something delving deeper into his past habits. A sort of solace granted in the dark, quiet places of his mind. An old friend. A resolve, an endurance. Truth screaming behind art. Truth. Obsession. Compulsion. This was better, he reasoned, this is how it should be. And that thought was perhaps the thing that Eddie hated the most, the one idea that he couldn't suffer; knowing how Norman Osborn made this realization first.

We may as well talk on equal terms, was what Norman had said to him as they both wore their respective costumes, both soaked in darkness. Equal terms. It was a phrase that stung, as surely Norman knew. When Eddie orchestrated his rival's convoluted downfall, he had done so with the superiority of his moral action. Eddie was right, and if he had to sacrifice a few dozen innocent lives to prove how right he was, so be it. If he had to pay with minimal blood in order to rescue thousands -- maybe even millions -- then it was a price well paid. His method was unconventional, yes, but effective. He was an agent of the greater good, a visionary of the Bigger Picture. He was the hero who had humbled a monster. Equal terms dismantled the idea, mocked it. Weaponized it.

SLAIN WITHOUT THE LEAD
VILE IN CONJUNCTION
WHAT IS THE HERO?

Locked within the painfully pale rooms of the Norman Osborn Hospital of Psychological Evaluation, Edward Nygma then decided that he was done playing games.

Comments

[goryteller]

The last month had broken something inside Katurian. Small cuts and tears grew inside of him, flourished, built. It happened the day he returned to the City, bruised and scraped, whittling out memories that no one close to him seemed to remember. It happened the moment he realized he had been tortured and abused, and then the moment DeConnick told him I hope you're not squeamish. It happened when he met Fugue, when his idyllic home (the most comfortable place he had been in months, years maybe) was torn apart by anonymous bones and flesh. It happened when the woman he didn't really love who had given him trust he didn't really deserve died against him.

He brought Edward a gift. Not a book, because he knew how many he had in his house, but a collection of logic puzzles and word games. Unscramble words and then place them in a crossword puzzle. Scramble faces, learn which nose belonged to which person. And so on. He came in after his usual Thursday meeting with his psychiatrist, where for the first time, he refused to answer her questions. How did you get those stitches, just above your temple? she had asked. What is the bruise? Have you stopped sleeping again? He tried to steer the conversation away from himself and then, after a time, he told her that she may as well lock him up again if she was expecting him to talk, because he had nothing to say.

In many ways, Katurian was done playing games, too.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

He was watching his hands, when Katurian was let in. His back was to the door, his arms extended and fractionally obscuring one of his fourteen riddles. Palms faced his wall, and Eddie was staring at the backs.

"Their Latin name, of course, is manus." Eddie spoke to the footsteps he heard, refusing to turn around. "Man -- us. This curious mutation, this very unnatural shape, the hand. A name in one language, broken and morphed by another to obtain an entirely new insight. Man. Us."

He turns at that, pulling away from his riddles and greeting his guest with open hands. And lacerated, bleeding palms.

"Are we defined by our mutation, Katurian?"

8/10/11 - After Hours

[meowminx]

She'd broken in in the middle of the night to taunt Norman. She could at least do the same for a guy who once in a long while was something almost akin to a friend.

Security was less of an issue than finding the right gift to bring along as promised. Crossword puzzles were a bit too obvious, other books rather vague. She settled on a handsome journal (bound in green leather of course) with a silver pen that slid into the spine.

Hopefully he wasn't crazy enough for that to give him any ideas.

She remembered the layout and the systems well enough to find his room without too much trouble. But the writing on the walls did bring her up short.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Selina," Eddie had practically cooed upon seeing her. He was expecting her audience post-hours, anything less would have been somewhat disconcerting. His hands were still bandaged from the previous day, but there was no long any blood stains on his hospital-appropriate garb. It was almost a cleanly, stable appearance.

He spread his arms wide.

"So good to see you." He walked over the floor, littered with the finished puzzle books Katurian had granted him. Eddie grinned, shrugging. He didn't offer explanation for the vandalized walls.

8/12 - early

[osreborn]

Once upon a time, Norman had spent visiting hours behind these walls, behind these thick panes of glass. He remembered easily the weight of it when his fingers would press, every crack in the cell walls burned into his mind forever.

He slid easily into the chair opposite Edward Nygma, the anticipation on his face restrained. He'd looked solemn, in fact, when he first entered the building, though all there was in his eyes was sadistic pleasure.

"How's the new home?," he said quietly, not taking his eyes away from Eddie's to even blink. "It's a good look for you. Being in your natural element, it shows in your eyes. You're looking as clever as ever, if not more so. And so much more psychotic."

He crossed his legs. "You're welcome."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Well, you know what they say about genius and madness." Eddie wafted his hand lazily towards his walls, indicating his recent work. His posture was languid, relaxed. He wasn't bothering to play the gentleman between these tense moments. He didn't move off his cot, he didn't even sit up in Norman's presence. Dignity was a commodity unaffordable to anyone within these walls.

"Ever intertwined, like dual threads of the Moirae," he said, finally meeting Norman's unblinking stare. "You know. Destiny."

He tasted the word against his teeth, breaking into a wolfish grin.

"I hope you weren't expecting gratitude."

Beneath the sedatives, beneath the dislocating chemical stops on his synapses, Eddie could feel the agonized hatred howl within his veins. His smile twitched in response.

August 8th - after hours

[hacktivist]

Something about breaking into a mental institution should probably be the tip-off for an ordinary person that they belonged there. For Ghost, though, it was routine infiltration with a more personal twist - that Karla was working here, that his current boss was institutionalized here. A layer of surreality atop the regular madness that was his everyday existence. There was no righteous thrill as he penetrated the complex as surely as water bled through cracked glass, because he wasn't here to blow the place sky high and release the (surely) political prisoners therein. In its place he felt a low-level resignation, a disappointed ebb at the back of his brain that he couldn't fix everything wrong, at least not this time.

Even so, no doors could be barred against him, no surveillance could catch him unless he wanted it to, and his advance through the hallways was dead silent. It took him several minutes peering through the walls and identifying the individuals inside before he found the one he came for.

Ghost slipped in through the wall with the body language of a party guest excusing himself early, every right in the world to be there, and--

Riddles.

He spent a second staring at one of the walls, tempted as he usually was; the one with what looked like binary written into it. "Prejudiced commitment... G-N?"

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"You didn't even knock," Eddie accused with a whiff of mock-haughtiness. He wasn't in bed, but instead was pacing along the far end of the room, hands behind his back. The low-lit darkness suited his demeanor -- brooding, hostile and ironically self-aware. "What if I was in a compromised position? What then?"

His communicator was discarded, still under his pillow from when he had stashed it (still recording) during Karla's brief visit. It was the only physical weapon he had now, the only tool to use against his environment. The machine with the Ghost outside of it. Eddie smirked to himself, enjoying the idea at play.

"I had figured you for a binary man. That's what I like about you, Ghost, your skill can be depended upon." Eddie walked around his sudden company, coolly surveying Ghost. "And I'm in need of a dependable variable. Would you like to know why?"

Small hours of the 10th

[incywincyhero]

It was with a sense of deja vu that Spider-Man crept along the walls and ceilings of the corridors of NOHoPE, not quite mirroring the path he'd taken to see Norman just a few months ago. And now it was the man who'd been Norman's "handler" who was behind the safety glass. Coincidence? Peter would have known it wasn't, even without Eddie's dancing around the details on the network. Not that a man didn't have reason to be discreet about the reasons for his hospitalization (as discreet as practically broadcasting news of his stay over a semi-public social network could be, anyway), but Peter knew Norman Osborn's handiwork when he saw it.

He also knew that he'd dropped the ball. His worst enemy had been in the City since before he'd arrived, and he'd lost track of what Norman was up to. It was easy to make excuses, to say that there'd been so much to adjust to, so many people to look out for, and the Norman situation had seemed under control if not perfectly resolved -- but the truth was that he'd been complacent. Norman had become someone else's problem while he was here, and on his own Port in he'd seen that and let it stay that way. He'd avoided his responsibilities, and as usual someone else had paid the price.

There was no making amends for that, but Spider-Man could check on the man he'd failed, at the very least.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

It was the boredom that conquered his patience. Waiting, without diversion, with only the Network as his companion -- and even then, that was an uneasy alliance. His caretakers thought his interaction with society (even removed society) should be kept minimal. Monitored. Controlled. Eddie's dissent on the topic exploded in a few moments of violent discussion. Violent in the most ungentlemanly of senses.

That's why he was in the straitjacket for a couple of hours.

"Well," reasoned Edward to himself. "Clearly they hadn't thought that through very well." He eased pressure on his shoulder, intent on popping it out. It was a worn puzzle, something he had been quite good at back in the day. Arkham doctors caught on eventually, of course, and reinvented certain patterns, creating new physical mazes to overcome. This, if anything, was just a touch nostalgic.

But at least this was a puzzle to stave off the boredom.

8/9 - evening

[amoray]

It had taken Eridan a while to build up the nerve to visit.

It had taken Eridan a while to actually realize why that was, too. True, the NOHoPE facility in general made him uneasy, but he had long since been groomed out of allowing something so trivial affect something so important as his quadrants. The thought that one word from Rose could get him thrown in here crossed his mind, too, but Rose enjoyed blackmailing him too much to just throw this game of theirs out the window like that. So why had it taken his and Eddie's conversation earlier that day to jolt him into finally dragging himself in, when he should've been the very first visitor?

It actually didn't occur to him until he was being let in, a number of the most difficult looking puzzle books he could find and a couple of what Eridan surmised might possibly be favorite novels of Eddie's (they were really just Eridan's favorites) under his arm, pens and sharpies and shoelaces included, that what was making him uneasy was the weakness inherent in being caught so thoroughly like this. Locked up and crazy, as far as most anybody else was concerned. The highblood mores of any and all failings in any respect being an unforgivable sin combating his quadrants. Mores he'd always praised and followed militantly, until showing up here. He would still praise them and follow them militantly, of course, but there was now an exception to the rule.

Those were never good.

"I brought those shoelaces a yours."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

Eddie peered through the triple-paneled, bullet-proof glass. Tapping his bare fingers against the pane, he grinned, greeting Eridan without irony. He stepped back, away from the door, allowing the boy to enter unimpeded.

"You did, I'm so pleased." Spreading his hands, he accepted the offerings ever so theatrically. There was little else inside the room, save for the standard twin sized bed with starched sheets, a night stand and the riddles scrawled so tenderly over his walls. The far wall allowed for a small bathroom and sink. No private shower.

It was a meager existence.

"Can you imagine how lonely my shoes have been, robbed of their laces? It's a mad world, Eridan, it really is," he murmured as he glanced over his new bounty. Delicately places the collection on his bed, he couldn't help but smirk at Eridan's admittedly touching efforts. Eddie cracked his neck, his eyes still glued to the material.

"A moment. These are all your favorite books."

[specifythepoint]

Arthur had taken great pains to research who moved the City, both legally and illegally, and the name of Edward Nygma has come up more than once, but always through vague, blink-and-miss-them channels. Luckily, Arthur is more than just slightly adept and not missing critical information.

He is more than sightly adept at making himself important, too, so when he presents himself to see Edward Nygma, there are no questions to his reputation, which he knows for a fact is sterling. There is a fake last name attached to the ID he uses, which is the same fake last name attached to his flat in London but not the one used for his loft in the City itself. As far as anyone knows, he's an interested party out of London.

He steps into the room. "Mr. Nygma," he addresses, his dark eyes focusing in on the man before him. "My apologies for taking so long, I was on a business trip."

Vacation with Zatanna - that's enough of a truth, right?

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

Eddie's eyes zero in on the name tag, the valid proof of sanity worn so easily by Arthur. His eyes narrow as his smirk widens. His body leans against the wall parallel to the door, his arms are folded and somewhat nonchalant in tension.

"Well." The word was savored, a mock surprise colored with intrigue. "A business trip. Quite a terrible thing, that your enjoyment had to be cut short. Would you like to take a seat?"

Eddie indicated either a chair next to his bed, and his bed.

"I'm afraid there are only two options."

August 9th, Afternoon

[plays_with_dolls]

Boyd had brought with him a variety of books. Novels, works of philosophy and history, even a few on logic. He wasn't sure what Nygma would be interested in, but he hoped at least the gesture would be appreciated. If nothing else there was enough of a variety for the man to stave off boredom.

As he walked down the hall Boyd had to frown at the walls of the hospital. Pale, white, unnerving. Traits he had always tried to avoid in his own facilities. A bit of proper work on a buildings interior was a cheap investment for the effect it had on patients not to mention the staff. He really should have acted sooner and opened a treatment facility before Osborn. The loss of community good will and easy access to test subjects was something he'd have to rectify.

Of course to do that he'd need some new allies. How fortunate that was the very reason for his visit today. "Afternoon, Mr. Nygma."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Why, Mr. Langton. What a pleasant surprise!" Eddie was on his cot, one leg folded over the other. His riddles lined the walls, showcased in the eerie, luminescent glow from the ceiling lights above. No sign of pens or markers were in sight, as he had yet to receive his would-be offerings.

The one riddle above his head, over his bed, read:
BIRTHED INTO ONESELF
AN OPERATING SYSTEM ANTICIPATING
OR THE SCENT OF SULFUR AND OXYGEN COMBINED.

"I hadn't expected you so soon. That shows dedication, it really does." If Eddie had thought his own enthusiasm was unusual, or perhaps a side-effect from his new medication routine, he made no apology for it. Instead, he offered Boyd a seat, and commented on the lack of refreshments he had available.

"This place is hardly conducive to company. It's really rather crazy."

Mid-morning, 8-XX ¯\(°_o)/¯ i have no preference

[dragony]

The wounds of departure could not heal in the passing of meager days, and misery coiled inside Ruka like clockwork springs. So long as the external could remain whole, the tight pack and unsteady construction of her internal mechanisms could remain held in precarious stability. The pump of an unsteady heart, the billow of clogged lungs, the sharp points of a tightened ribcage; a tenuous human machine trying to keep going through loneliness.

The summer days were excruciating in length. Ever-present sunlight was barely broken by a darkness she could not sleep through. She wasted time looking over saved trinkets, or speaking to uncertain voices on the Network. She was social in a closed-off way, but mostly kept to herself. Putting on airs over a camera was a lot easier than lying in person.

So perhaps visiting one of the people in the City with the keenest eye for deception was not the smartest of plans, if she wanted to keep such things hidden from view. She found it hard to care, or perhaps it was simply difficult sticking to any one course. As for why go all this way? There was a sense of obligation, a kinship to a fellow long, long-term resident of the City. How many of them were left, that had been here those first six months? Twenty? Ten? The number was dwindling all the time. Besides, Nygma had always been nice to her, and surprisingly candid with her considering their respective ages and vastly separated levels of importance. If some magazines and some newspapers were enough to help repay her self-inflicted debt, then why keep away?

Ruka arrived well before noon, though not alone. For his own reasons, Sirius Black wanted time and words with Edward Nygma, so it only made sense for them to come together. Even without knowing his specific goal, Ruka could guess that their approaches would be different, as well as their topics and the mood of conversation; it might be better, she'd suggested when they arrived, if they each had their visit in private, rather than simultaneous. One, then the other.

As expected, when Ruka entered that small room, she did not look nearly as lively as during their chance meeting half a month before. Her face was paler; the purple almost-bruising beneath her eyes made them look smaller, less lively; even her pigtails didn't seem to have their usual bounce. She barely managed a smile in greeting, lips pulled by string. At least her miserable company was not lacking promised accompaniment. In her arms--sleeved, gloved, even for the heat of August, holding the bundle to her chest like a shield--were the requested magazine, as well as two somewhat-thinned newspapers. One for Sunday, one for the current morning, though she'd discarded the useless advertisements and filler sections of no concern to anyone. (He did not strike her as a sports aficionado.)

"Hi."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Hello."

Eddie had his hands folded behind his back. He was standing, as it was suitable to take in company that way. Especially young lady company. It struck him momentarily as odd, that she would be so comfortable and willing to pay visit within an insane asylum (or mental institution, if you enjoyed watered down language). But then again, this was Ruka. She had long ago proven her grit against the strangest of situations. That quality was, in part, why he took exception to her youthful company, when most children otherwise irritated him.

"Won't you take a seat, if that's more comfortable?" The ploy at politeness was instinctual. It was eerie, the attempt made; eerie against the starkly pale and scrawled walls of his room. His prison. There was no shaking that implicit sneer in the back of his mind -- his prison.

Eyes followed Ruka's movements, a curious look knotting his brow.

"You're not well," he remarked, careful to keep his tone in check. Neutral. Since his medication schedule took root, he had often found himself dislocated. Distant. It took effort to remain in focus, to keep on the same plane as everyone else, socially speaking. "Is something concerning you, Ruka?"

[purmoncul.livejournal.com]

Sirius waited to talk to Eddie with poor grace. He was not a fan of prisons or hospitals or anywhere that involved locked doors and restricted freedom. All the more reason to be here, though. Still, it made his skin crawl to be here, and it was hard to sit still.

When his turn came, he arrived with a gift. A massive Norton's Anthology, with inscription and a rather unusual silver-plated bookmark, polished to a mirror-shine. (http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/tsukechick/RPG/EddieGift.jpg)

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Why, Sirius!" Eddie exuded a gleeful smile, a look that contradicted everything NOHoPE represented. He greeted his consecutive visitor with and open palmed gesture, a movement decisively nonthreatening. There was a desperation behind his smile that Sirius Black (of all people) would likely recognize immediately. It clawed within Eddie, this molten sense of boredom and humiliation and searing ire. The look of a man punished for something he never deserved.

Eddie's gaze caught sight of the gift, and that desperation was obscured.

"Well, isn't that a lovely thing? You're going to spoil me, Sirius, I hope you know that," he said, before coaxing his company deeper into his room.

(Anytime/date she could have squeezed in is okay with me.)

[ridi-arlecchino.livejournal.com]

Harley felt a little weird visiting NOHoPE. It wasn't because she had been fired from the facility earlier that year, or the looks she got from those staff members who remembered her as she passed by. Her past at Arkham prepared her for that. No, she realized as she was shown in to see Eddie, it was the fact that she had spent most of her time in psychiatric hospitals as either the doctor or the patient.

For middle ground, it sure felt shaky. But at least it perked her up that she didn't have her own cell yet.

She hoped that she could pass on some of the cheer to her friend. Even if he would be stuck in here for however long. Harley couldn't really imagine what had happened to Eddie to push him back off the edge. It could have very well been a literal edge push this time, cracking that conundrum-craving cranium of his.

"Aloha, oy! I triedta bring ya some muffins, Eddie, but they confiscated 'em."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"They confiscated them?" Eddie peered over, clearly distressed. "They took my muffins?" He was in the only chair in the room, reading a novel from the assortment that Eridan had brought him. Harley's entrance caused him to put his book down, and he took a stand.

"Those fiends." Eddie crossed him arms, unironically displeased. "I'm not in here for criminal reasons, they really haven't a right to do that. Now they'll claim some inane reason: I've been problematic, I've been aggressive. It's unjust, Harley, it really is!"

Eddie had missed hearing himself speak, especially when there was someone other than himself to speak to. It was a relief that he would never admit to, seeing Harley's face again. He welcomed her in, offering her his warmed seat.

some afternoon— whenever best fits

[deadthenred]

Bucky had some experience with prison, but not much with asylums. It was a funny word— asylum— and he knew what it was supposed to mean. And he knew the CO's were raising hell about it back home, but truth be told, it wasn't something he thought about. It wasn't something he had to think about.

He came during the daytime, during the open hours. He didn't want to sneak in.

It was a lot like a hospital, really, with that same queasy clean feeling. Bucky didn't like hospitals.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

Eddie wasn't quite able to restrain his surprise. His visitations had all been welcomed, all posing a pleasant break from the monotony of endless white-walled solitude. Eddie too quickly and too frequently found himself barred from social activity with the other patients due to undesirable behavior, which he rationalized as a slim loss. Still, it was a lonely endeavor. Bucky's appearance inevitably brightened the moment.

"Why hello," said Eddie, armed with a grin. He hung back against the far wall, as his guest was let in. Eddie's door was always unlocked during visitation hours -- such was the privilege of those not criminally insane.

Saturday evening, after the Black Tear Rebellion

[out_of_time]

Jack had meant to do this earlier, but then someone had decided it would be a great idea to try conquering the City with shovels. It just never seemed to end. Even after the magically-induced depression from Ophelia's ashes had passed, Jack was still feeling discouraged. Threats and crises whirled about in his head, real, actual, present, past, possible future. Vulcanus and Gamzee and the Joker and the Tear Drinkers and whoever had burned Stark's factory and the Mayor's assassin and who knew what else?

Just once he wanted to head something off before it could hurt anyone. Just once. That was what brought Jack to visit Edward Nygma, despite only knowing the man in passing and being mostly ignorant of the complexities he was involved in. Or to be more precise, a mutual acquaintance brought Jack to visit him. It would have been better if Nygma was free and healthy of course, but this was something Jack wanted taken care of sooner rather than later.

"Edward. It's Jack Bauer, do you remember me? We met earlier this spring."

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

"Do I remember you? Mr. Bauer, who could forget such a charming demeanor?" Eddie spoke with his usual smirk, his emphasized words skirting the realm of mockery. Truth be told, Jack Bauer was not a man easily erased. There was a certain feeling that Bauer typically inspired, something mixed with wariness and careful awe. Eddie inclined his head, promptly curious about his company's intention.

He had a few guesses in hand.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I'm afraid the only thing I've on tap is water," he said as he indicated the small bathroom in the back. "And you'd have to use your hands to cup. I'm not allowed cups anymore, not after what happened the last time."

Eddie smirked again. He walked a few steps away from the door, as was customary for the arrival of guests. No one felt comfortable when a patient hovered too closely to the glass, even if Edward was technically allowed to move as he pleased (in restricted areas, during restricted times). One of the perks to his particular, non-criminal ward.

"How may I be of service, Jack Bauer?"

LATER ON...let's call it the night of August 9th...AT LIKE MIDNIGHT

[purmoncul.livejournal.com]

Late in the evening the night of Sirius's visit, something in Eddie's room is ticking. There is also, every now and then, a little flicker of light.

Sirius waits to see how quickly Ed would turn to the book, and its silvered bookmark.

[enigmaestro.livejournal.com]

He had suffered a long few hours of avoiding communal crafting in the common room. The visitations had, thankfully, stolen him away for most of the day but even then the withdrawal of familiar, saner people was a burden he continued to carry. Craving any small escape from his constant humiliation, Eddie soon turned to the charming array of thoughtful entities that had so unexpectedly been given to him. The crosswords long ago conquered, his eyes fell over Sirius' gift. A beautiful anthology. Eagerly snatching at the tome, he choose a section of particular interest and laid to rest the bookmark on the page opposite.