2.0: Unlike Time

Time moves swiftly when she is dead. It creeps when she lives sometimes, and it has crept on for months now. It is divided incredibly unevenly between three physical arenas: the lair, which occupies her least of all now, the Council Room, and the Arena, where the Misshapen have gathered and train and learn from her. The Arena is a former military base that Shaen had claimed before the City had been re-rebuilt. Those had been some rather glorious days, according to her now vivid recollections.

While time creeps in her living days, it is full of wonders and surprises, delightful memories and trips to destroy those that ought to have been destroyed the last time she had been skating this side of mortality.

Though, on the subject of those she ought to have already destroyed, Ritophe is strangely absent still...

that doesn't matter. The Council, in the time since Chael's last visit, has once more been overthrown. The Council is always being overthrown and made up differently. It is a little absurd sometimes, but Shaen doesn't mind. The last Elder died without any real fanfare, despite it being a proper assassination and all. Another had stepped up, and in the time since then, very little of the Council that Chael had spoken to over a year ago had anything to do with those that sat at the table now, listening to Shaen's status report.

Nodding complacently as she detailed the derailment of the last wave of Vigilante Justice Force attacks, the Scribe effortlessly typed away on his key-knuckles in shorthand, monitoring on his lenses the program that modified the shorthand to proper sentences. Tempted to let his mind wander down the path of natural language processing history, it took all of his efforts to focus on the failings of the VJF. Of course, there was some mirth at the discussion of the fall of the one who had called herself Time.

There had been plenty of quips at the petty thing's choice of pseudonym at previous Council meetings. When she had finally been crushed underneath Shaen's 'heel 'o death' as they'd taken to calling it with the number of 'heroes' they had disposed of, the jokes had erupted anew. The newspapers had taken a different approach to the situation, though the reporter had evidently had some Council-influence. The article about the last death due to the Council had been titled "Time Stopped by Woman," a rather pitiful attempt to play on the old adage "Time stops for no man." It had the right number of syllables. Shaen was relatively certain that that had been the purpose of the woman's choice of title anyway.