Chapter Five or Six, I'm Not Quite Sure
OK, so it's been a long time since you had any more of that story I was writing. This is a 5-thousand-word part, so a bit of a behemoth.

I hope you enjoy it. For those of you that were reading it before, I have backtracked a bit.

THE STORY SO FAR:

Darwin, the Action Naturalist, has been killed by Canon Ordinance while hunting a Storm Butterfly on Salisbury Plain. Meanwhile, Mister Bad-Trousers himself, Lucifer Morningstar has escaped Hell and killed a girl on Clacton seafront, mistakenly believing that will get him back in to Heaven. Caramel Thorpe the cat burglar, who does not appear here, has been recruited by God along with Dorothy Ladyman, Librarian, to save the World. Clint Spark, the worst reporter in the World, has found the head of a dead girl on Clacton pier, while God himself has been discovered at CERN. What happens next? Can this ever make sense? Will the bad jokes never end?

Read the replies, and find out!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 17:20, 7 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Darwin, against all reasonable expectation given his recent encounter with a canon shell and subsequent death, opened his eyes. There was no immediate pain, which he figured was a good start. He then ran through a series of checks, making sure that all systems were in working order. Now, this was interesting. The last time he had been conscious of his right arm, it was being ripped from his body in a hot, fiery mess – but now it was attached and in perfect working order. The same was true of his left leg and, come to think of it, quite a large portion of his head. However, he was now whole again, and that (while a good thing) was most certainly confusing. He lay there, chewing his lip and waggling his toes, enjoying both activities immensely. It had been a few minutes since he’d come to, and still he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to turn his head left or right, let alone to sit up. All he could see above the curve of his nose was a white ceiling. Wherever he was, it was deathly silent. But light. At strange light, though, the sort of light that suggested that it was neither night nor day. He flexed his wrists and his ankles, and found that he was unbound which he decided was A Good Thing. Finally, and with a grunt of effort, Darwin sat up.

He found himself in a room. A normal, in the circumstances anyway, room. It had the requisite four walls, complete with ceiling and floor accessories. Each wall was white, matching the ceiling and the floor. There didn’t appear to be any kind of light source, but the room was still well lit despite the absence of a window. He lay on a clinical white bed, which was the only furniture in the room. The floor was carpeted in white carpet tile, which scritched against the soles of his feet when he pressed them to the floor. On the Eastern wall (Darwin had no concept of direction is this place, but he’d decided this was East and he was sticking with it) there was a door. The door, perhaps unsurprisingly, was white but, against the sparse room it inhabited it was extremely ostentatious. It was carved and inlaid with intricate patterns, had a large crystal knob, and it felt cold when Darwin pressed his fingers against it. He leaned against the door now, his ear hard against the wood, straining to hear if there were any sounds of life from without. Silence. Carefully, Darwin stepped away from
the door, and sat heavily on the bed once again.

Time to plan. What felt like half an hour ago he had been on Salisbury Plain hunting down a storm butterfly. He had been blown to pieces, and yet he was fine, albeit in a strange white room in a silent place. He didn’t feel threatened, but he also knew that something was most definitely up. Inventory check. Nothing. No weapons. No blunt objects. All he has was what he had on: a white hospital gown, side-laced, which left his rear on show. Not his finest hour, he reflected. Whatever, it was time to get the heck out of dodge.

He got to his feet once again, trying to ignore the way that the feel of the carpet tile set his teeth on edge. He approached the door, gripped the knob and, with a deep breath, opened it. Immediately, he flattened himself against the wall, eyes tight shut. Eventually, when the volley of bullets and biting teeth failed to materialise, he opened his eyes again. The door hung there on its hinges, creaking quietly as it moved in the breeze that came from outside. Darwin sniffed the air. It smelled good and clean, and to him that meant safe. Carefully, he poked his head out in to what turned out to be a very, very long corridor. It stretched away in both directions, and seemed to go on forever. Darwin paused in the doorway. He stood stock still for exactly two minutes, only his eyes scanning backwards and forwards. A gust of wind brushed the right cheek of his face, and Darwin looked in the direction it had come from. Wind, he reasoned, meant an open door, or an open window. An opening meant an exit. And an exit meant he could get out of here, and then kick the arse of the person who’d put him here in the first place (and then thank them for giving him the ability to kick back in the first place). He took a deep breath, and ran.

~~~

‘Hang on a minute,’ thought Jennifer Spry, ‘this can’t be right.’

She was sat in some kind of holding area, something like the departure lounge at an airport – only it was one of the biggest spaces she had ever seen. There we hundreds of thousands of people there, each looking vaguely disorientated, and in various states of disrepair. As she looked around, she noticed that there was a fairly constant stream of people approaching a series of desks, before being ushered through in to another area. There was an equally constant stream of people entering the area through glass lifts, although she herself could not remember how she came to be there.

Periodically, a booming voice would fill the space calling out a selection of sequential numbers, and a group of people would scurry forwards to join those who were waiting patiently in line at the desks. Looking up, Jennifer saw a huge screen that displayed groups of numbers, the same groups of numbers that were being called out. She held in her hand a grubby piece of paper, and on it was written a nineteen-digit number. The worst thing was, she had no idea how she got here. The last thing she remembered, she had left work, locked the door, lit a cigarette and…
Saw the eyes. Felt the hands. Tasted the fear. She remembered how the thumbs pressed against the temples. She could still feel her neck stretching. She remembered the crack as her spine broke. And then there was nothing.
She sat in her moulded plastic chair, and shook. Tears coursed down her face, but she made no sound at all. She was dead, and she knew it. But that didn’t explain how she was sat in an airport lounge with a huge amount of people, clutching a ticket with an impenetrable number on it. She sat and cried for what felt like hours, before she decided that it just wasn’t on. Whatever had happened had happened, and there was nothing that she could do to change it now. She’s just have to sit here and wait for her number to be called, so she could see what all this was about. She sat for what felt like an age and finally her number was called. Standing, Jennifer shakily made her way over to the desks. The floor beneath her feet felt soft and yielding but stable. As she approached the nearest available desk, she noticed that the man sat behind it was impossibly beautiful. He was tall, had blonde hair and a jawbone you could break rocks on. Beneath the cut of his Italian suit lay, she could tell, the sort of physique that would make a bear think twice before having a bit of a wrestle. His eyes were piercing blue, and his smile was radiant. Jennifer, on the other hand, was suddenly feeling a little breathless, and as she sat down she wondered if she’d even be able to speak to this vision of wonder.

“Name?” He said, deftly clicking what looked like one of those ridiculous pens that enable people to write at extreme altitude.
“Er…” Jennifer leaned over, trying to see the content of the form the man was filling out. He covered it with his right arm, but she had managed to get a glimpse of the words ‘ven Registration Form’ before he did. Ven Registration? She noticed he was looking at her quizzically, and felt her knees go weak. “Jennifer Spry” she croaked, wishing she had a) not croaked and b) had a sultry and sexy voice, not the estuary Essex twang she’d picked up over the years.
The man in front of her scribbled. “Date of Birth?” he said.
“Fifteenth of August 1980.” More scribbling followed. Jennifer looked around at all of the other desk attendants. All of them were tall. Some were blonde, some were brunette, some were redheads. Some were men, some were women. All the men looked the same, that jutting jawbone and powerful physique. All of the women had perfect shapes, dazzling smiles and what Jennifer determined to be firm breasts. She’d have been prepared to bet that there wasn’t a drop of cellulite among them, and immediately came to the conclusion that these women were bitches of the highest order. And then she noticed something else. Every one of them, every man and woman, had two slight bulges between their shoulder blades, pressing at the fabric of their clothing. The all floated around the place, instead of the more traditional method of walking.
“Erm.” Said Jennifer. The man in front of her looked up. “Listen, I’m sorry if I’m being dense, but…”
“Yes?”
“Am I in… You know… Heaven?”
The man in front of her laughed.
“Oh dear, no!” he guffawed. “You’re not in Heaven! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Thank God for that, I thought I was going mad for a moment then.”
“Heaven! Ha! No, this is what we like to call the Triage. This is, basically, the gates to Heaven.”
Jennifer laughed. The man in front of her didn’t.
“Oh. Shit.” She said. “You’re not joking, are you?”
The man shook his head.
“So then… You’re Saint Peter?”
“What?”
“You know. St. Peter. The Pearly Gates. Where I shall be weighed and measured, that kind of thing.”
“Oh, yes. Well, that was the old days. There were so few of you then that Old Pete used to be able to do the whole Maitre D bit, but when a lot of you started relying seriously on the rhythm method – seriously, why do you think He gave you Condoms? – and the population exploded, it became a bit tiresome. Nearly killed him, the stress of it all. So,” he rapped the desk with his knuckles “we bought these in a job lot from an airport that was closing, and formed a little Check-In for heaven. It’s the busiest check in desk in the multiverse.” He added.
“Multiverse?”
“Yes, mulitverse. What’s wrong with you people? Do none of you read Pratchett?”
Jennifer looked at him.
“I guess not,” he muttered “Shame.” He shook himself. “Right then. I suppose we’d better get on with it. Name we have, date of birth, da de da, blah blah blah, ah. Here we are. Method of death?”
“Decapitation. My head was ripped from my shoulders. I only just remembered.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep.”
He rustled through some papers.
“So… Are you an angel?”
“Hm?” he paused, mid-riffle. “Oh, yes. Yeah. Low-level sort of thing, though, administration mainly. “
“I see. Where are your wings?”
“We hide them under our clothes in here, it helps prevent confusion.” He returned to his shuffling. “Excuse me, but this is quite embarrassing. You did say ‘Spry’ didn’t you? As in S-P-R-Y?”
Jennifer nodded.
“And you’re sure you were decapitated?”
“I think that’s a bit insensitive, don’t you?”
“Right. Right. Only…”
“What?”
“Well, there’s no easy way to say this…”
“Go on.” She narrowed her eyes.
“It’s just that… You’re not dead.”
“WHAT?”
“You’re not dead. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but you’ve a few years ahead of you yet. This is obviously some kind of ghastly balls-up in the destinies department. It must have been the temps they got in. Anyway,” he continued, noticing that she was about to cause a scene “I think it’s best you see the boss.
“Who?”
But the Angel didn’t answer. He picked up a small keypad from the desk, and blipped a couple of the keys. He placed it down carefully, and looked her square in the eye. “Bear in mind,” he said, “that Tuesday is His golf day, so he might be a bit cranky.”
“What? Who are you talking about? Where am I going? Why are you smiling like that?”
And the Angel was smiling. And he was waving a jolly little wave. And then Jennifer Spry felt like she was being stretched very tall and crushed very small all at the same time. All of a sudden there was a pop, and she disappeared.

~~~

Darwin ran. He’d been running for ages. The corridor was straight as an arrow and even though he could still feel the breeze on his face, there had been no corners or bends on his journey. He reckoned he’d been running for half an hour when finally he stopped, bent over at the waist, and breathed heavily. He took stock of the situation.

Darwin had spent the previous three decades as the world’s leading expert in paranature and supernature. He knew all there was to know about, amongst other things, Storm Butterflies, Werewolves, Pixies, Fairies, Yetis, Gorgons, Leprechauns, Minotaurs, Griffins, Centaurs, Phoenix and Treemen. He had tirelessly sought and catalogued these creatures and plants. He also made it his business that none of these creatures stepped in to what he referred to as ‘normality’. His predecessor had made the mistake of letting these creatures roam free, but that had all changed when a Basilisk got on to the Central Line and ate a train full of commuters. It was his policy that there were two distinct worlds occupying one tiny planet, and both could live side by side if only there was someone like him between them, straddling the border. His endless bravery, willingness to track a beast anywhere (up to and including the crater of an erupting volcano), had earned him the moniker of Darwin, the Action Naturalist. He was many things – a lover, a fighter, an after dinner speaker and a bounding cad, but now he was…

Fucked.

‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘fucked is a good word for this situation. He breathed in sharply through his nose and pulled mucus in to his throat. He coughed, growled and spat out a huge lump of snot on to the pristine white floor. He looked back from where he had came. The corridor stretched out behind him, mocking his effort and making him feel that he hadn’t actually gone anywhere. Turning on his heel, Darwin started running. Sprinting. Galloping. He felt lactic acid building up in his legs as he ran ever faster, while the burning in his lungs made breathing almost impossible. He was tearing along now, arms pumping up and now, chest thumping with the effort his heart was throwing out. Suddenly, before he could even see it, a door opened in to the corridor.

Darwin hit the door so hard he pulled it off of its hinges. As his face connected, he felt the definite cracking of nose bone. He tumbled, rolling in a mess of limbs and splinters of door. He cracked his head on the floor, and felt the sharp sting as he skin split. With every strike his body made against a hard surface, he became more painfully aware that this wasn’t going to end well, and so soon after getting a new body, too.

Eventually, there was silence, save for the rushing of blood in his ears. For the second time that day, Darwin was forced to make a stock check and found that the hull had received minimal damage, but all cylinders were still firing. He was OK. Until, that was, a strong hand reached in to the wreckage and grabbed him by the shoulder, lifting him free. He looked straight in to the face of what was unmistakeably an angel. He’d spent enough time around the paranormal to know an angel when he saw one. He did not expect, however what happened next.

The angel hit him in the face. Hard. Darwin was deposited back in to the erstwhile door, but before he could react, the angel had hauled him to his feet again, thrust him against the wall, and delivered two swift but effective punches to the kidneys. There was a pause as the angel held off, but that was all Darwin needed. He span, and planted his shoulder in to the angel’s sternum and shoved forwards, shaking the angel off balance. They had swapped positions now, the angel had his back to the wall, and Darwin delivered a knee to his groin. The angel laughed, and Darwin realised the futility of hitting an angel in the balls. ‘No matter,’ he thought, as he cracked the jawbone of the still laughing angel with the solid length of his forearm. The laughter was cut short as the angels jaw was forced out of place with a sickening crack. Darwin swept the feet of the being and put him on the floor. Leaping on top of him, Darwin punched down twice in to the chest, once in to the face, and allowed himself some gratification as he saw that he had broken the angel’s nose. ‘Funny thing,’ he thought ‘of all the things I’ve duffed up, I’ve never duffed up an angel before. Unless…’

He’d thought too long. The angel kicked upwards and Darwin, having the equipment between his legs that the angel so lacked, fell backwards making a sound that sounded an awful lot like ‘meep.’

Looking up through squinted and teary eyes, Darwin saw the angel standing over him, clicking his jaw back in to place and wiping the blood from his nose. He healed right in front of Darwin’s eyes, and Darwin realised that he had been an idiot to get in to a scrap with an immortal. This was all for show. ‘Buggeration,’ he calmly thought ‘what the bloody hell am I involved with now?’

“That’ll do, Maurice.” This was a new voice, a voice belonging to someone Darwin hadn’t seen before. The pain was slowly subsiding in his testicles now, and Darwin found it in himself to sit up. His broken nose flowered again with pain, and began bleeding profusely. A hand reached down, and touched his face. Almost immediately, his nose went cold. He felt his bones knitting back together, crunching and creaking as they did so. Thirty seconds later, he was fully healed. Darwin threw up.

“They always do that,” said the voice again. “something to do with the healing touch makes people lose their breakfast. Thankfully, the cleaners around here don’t object to a bit of vomit now and again.”

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Darwin got shakily to his feet. He looked at the small man with friendly features who was stood in front of him. “Well,” he said “I suppose that explains how I got put back together again.”
“You didn’t think it was all the King’s horses and all the King’s men, did you?” said God, chuckling to himself.
“Not really. I didn’t expect the treatment of the Creator, though. Speaking of which, am I in, y’know, Heaven?”
“No.” spake God “I’m afraid not.”
“Well where am I then?”
“You’re in purgatory, my friend.”
“Puragtory? But I was christened! And this is just a long hallway. A really, really long hallway.”
“Infinitely long, in fact. And you may have been Christened and led a largely blameless life but there were some… logistical issues… that prevented your entry in to paradise. I promise I’ll explain later, but right now we have a meeting to go to.”
“Excuse me? What logistical issues? And why the hell did that angel – “
“Maurice.”
“-Maurice beat the living crap out of me?”
“I can explain that.”
“I’d like to see you try!” said Darwin, before realising he was in the presence of the Almighty. God gave him an appraising look, not dissimilar to what Darwin imagined would be His smiting face.
“You remember,” said He “when we first met?”
“Remember it? I beat you at Risk. In fact, you still owe me twenty quid.”
“Exactly. No-one beats me at risk,” he smiled “without facing some pretty stiff consequences. And now, let’s be off. We have to meet a very important group of people.”
God stepped through the doorway that had opened in to the hallway of Purgatory. He was followed by Maurice, and finally by Darwin who, looking over his shoulder one last time, closed the door behind him.

~~~

Jennifer popped back in to existence. She fell delicately in to a comfy chair in a large office. In front of her was the biggest marble table she had ever seen, and sat behind that was a small man with friendly features. He was looking at Jennifer, and he was grinning. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself pierced by his gaze. Tearing her eyes away from his, she couldn’t help but feel he’d just looked in to her soul, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. In finding something else to look at she saw, on the edge of the desk facing her, a nameplate. On this was a name, picked out in golden letters:

“GOD”

“Oh,” she said “fuck.”

God, as she now knew Him, leaned forward. “I’ll thank you not to swear in my presence, young lady.”
“Sorry.”
“So you should be. “
“It’s just that I’ve never really believed in you before.”
“Right.”
“So, er, I’m having a bit of a time taking this in, see.”
“I understand.”
He steepled his fingers, and returned to staring at Jennifer. There was silence, and she intended to fill it.
“Erm. I hate to be a bother, but I think I’ve been sent here to see you because apparently when someone pulled my head off it didn’t actually kill me and now I’m in heaven but I shouldn’t be and I don’t know what to do and everyone keeps giving me knowing looks and now I’ve found God and I’m very confused so if someone could just tell me what’s going on then I’d really appreciate it and I’d like to go home, please.” She breathed out.
God, on the other hand, remained silent.

Eventually, after spinning in his chair a couple of times, he faced her.
“OK,” he said “this is what happened.”

~~~

“I won’t bore you,” said God “with creation theory. Firstly, you humans have it all wrong; no matter how many clues I give you, and secondly, look at me. I may have the most fantastic brain that has ever been heard of and I may be directly responsible for life as we know it – but at the end of it all I’m still a man, and when I built the universe I needed some help. Of course, there was me and the angels and we could do all of the fiddly bits, the artistic touches that were going to make the place habitable and nice to look at, but we’re none of us structural engineers. If I’m honest, the Big Bang – which is coincidentally how we referred to it, strange how you picked it up too – was a bit of a chemistry experiment gone wrong. But we have to make the best of what we’re given, don’t we? Anyway. There I was, a formeless universe drifting around my ears, and not a bloody clue what to do with it all. I had plans and big ideas. I even drew out the pencil sketches for how I wanted the planets to be shaped, and I’d created a few animals to go on to them. I just knew that if I could get the planets built then I could do the rest myself.

I’ll never know if I brought them in to being or not, but after a few million years of me trying to corral dust together to try and form the rudimentary basis of a planet, I came upon another sentient being. This was some big news to me, I can tell you, because as far as I was concerned I was the only one. This being came to me, and introduced himself as Godot. It was funny, at that point I felt like I’d been waiting for him for an awfully long time.

Godot came from another part of the multiverse. He’d found a way to travel between dimensions and he, having already created a fully-functioning and populated Universe of his own, was looking for a new project. He explained that his particular skill was planetary engineering, just exactly what I needed to really get my work up and on to its feet. I took him on board and then, for the next few million years (which felt like they passed in a heartbeat), we pored over the plans for our new home. He educated me in planetary construction, which involves a surprising amount of dumb luck, techniques that could be used to kick off evolution, and how to place stars effectively within the galaxies to provide the optimum conditions for life to thrive. I showed him my initial designs for the dinosaurs and the humans, and it was he that noted that there would be no way you would ever be able to live together in harmony. We worked fantastically well as a team and soon we had a universe that was running as well as the others that surrounded it. Our particular pride was what you know as Earth – a tiny speck of blue and green in an ocean of sparkling dark. We watched as the life crawled from the primordial ooze, knowing that if we left the world to it life, in whatever form it would take, would do a good job.

It was then that we wrote the contract, the Intergalactic Planning Act. It named both Godot and I as the principal engineers of the Universe, although I still retained Intellectual Property rights and overall ownership of profit-making opportunities. He would be a silent partner, taking regular dividends and rent payments. It was a good arrangement all around, and one that we were both happy with. In retrospect, though, it was possibly a bad thing to do. You see, the contract also covered property management, and how the property should be kept in a state of good repair at all times. Now, being as the universe is finely tuned and does run, for the most part, on good fortune, keeping this state of good repair is very hard work indeed. It was about this time that you humans really started believing in me, thus forcing me to take on this form. Godot saw that I was starting to sympathise with you, that I was starting to care too much about this little planet when I had so much else to do. He hated that I tried to stop suffering and end wars. He spent so much time trying to dissuade me from battling against the Morningstar that I sometimes thought that they would both rise against me.

That didn’t happen, though. It turned out that Godot wanted the world for himself, and was prepared to use the Morningstar for that to happen. The clause in the contract says, broadly, that if a being of supernatural power wielding executive responsibility in a designated space/time area (like myself or Lucifer) should murder without right and proper cause a member of the mortal race, then they will forfeit ownership or part thereof of said area of space and time. What I haven’t told you so far is that Lucifer, while a partner in the extreme minority, also has a holding in this Universe. You humans would understand it as a Union thing, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. The crux of it is, though, that should this murder take place, the ownership of this universe transfers to Godot. And this is where you come in. Lucifer was never one for small print, and he never read the contract. Someone, and I think you know who, has been in contact with him, in my form. He has been told that he has been forgiven, and that he may return to Heaven and to my side. Lucifer, for all of his faults, is still an angel, and for an angel to be let back in to heaven when he has been so unceremoniously kicked out must seem like one hell of a let-off.

Sadly, the ruler of the underworld is none-too-bright. He was informed that his route back in to Heaven was the murder of an individual who held in her hands the key to the destruction of the world. Lucifer is many things and most of them bad, but even he knew that the destruction of humanity would be the destruction of himself. Foolishly believing the story told to him, that I couldn’t do the job because of my personal stature, he left Hell and travelled to Earth. To Clacton to be precise, in the South-East of Essex. It was there that he received his final instructions, that he was to end the life of a girl who worked in a bookshop. He was to end the life of one Jennifer Spry.

And that,” He added “is how you come to be sat in front of me now.”

~~~


Jennifer stared forwards.

“How… What…” she stammered “That is… So… What you’re telling me is that Satan, Old Nick, Mr. Bad Trousers himself has left heaven to kill me, thereby activating a clause in a contract that is old as time which ultimately means the Universe is probably about to be taken over by a character with an improbable (and very likely actionable) name, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?! What’s that supposed to mean? And why, for the love of God, did he choose my head to rip off?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Besides, as you know, you’re not dead. You can’t be. It would be a problem of monolithic proportions if you were.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
“Because you’re the one who is going to save the world, Jennifer Spry. Well, you, a Naturalist, a bad reporter, a Librarian and a Cat-Burglar are, anyway.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 17:21, Reply)

Welcome to the God Squad."
He stuck out his hand. Instinctively, Jennifer shook it.
“The God Squad?”
“Yeah. Good name, isn’t it? Kinda catchy, I thought.”
“Catchy, if edging slightly on the blasphemous.”
“Dear me, no. People wouldn’t get worked up about that sort of thing so easily, would they?”
“Hmph. You’d be surprised. And about this whole saving the world thing?”
“Yes?”
“How am I meant to do that? I mean, being up here and all. And having no head back down there… It might make things… difficult.”
“I imagine, Miss Spry, that you’ll find a way around that. But now you have to leave. Someone’s about to find your head, and I think it would be rather comical if you were there to say hello.”
“What?” Said Jennifer, but it was already too late. She was being stretched tall and crushed small all at the same time again, and just before she popped out of existence, she heard God say “Don’t worry about Clint. He’s a good boy really.”
“Who’s Clint? Can I have some more information? Why all the mystery? Argh!” Said Jennifer, as she vanished in a flash of light.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 17:23, Reply)

Yay, new story
for the love of god, more paragraphs though please DiT
*smooshes for all she's worth*
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 17:26, Reply)

Sorry!
There were paragraphs, it's been lost in the pasting! will do it now!

EDIT: Done!

DOUBLE EDIT: Further Editing done for sense and decency. Get reading! ;)
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 17:33, Reply)

Yay!
Been waiting aaaages for a new installment of this!

Excellent as usual Mr. Tightly:)
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 18:54, Reply)

A link to the earlier one?
Please? Good stuff.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 9:46, Reply)

Ask, and ye shall receive:
devil-in-tights.livejournal.com/
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 10:15, Reply)