LNH/LUNA/ACRA: The Liminals #11

THE LIMINALS
#11: "Every Time A Bell Rings..."
A tale of angels and demons by Jeanne Morningstar
A Leadership Cry.Sig Net.ropolis 2023 prelude (maybe?)

This issue is dedicated to Rachel Pollack (1945-2023)
"To learn to play seriously is one of the great secrets of spiritual 
exploration."
–The Forest of Souls: A Walk Through the Tarot

====

Dee? Xauriel McKenna--Masterplan Lad, guardian of the narrative; 
Victoria Arden--Forsaken Lass, survivor of Limbo; Alice 
Ashdown--Net.Access, champion of crossovers; Sakura Mangas--Manga Girl, 
synthetic senshi of creativity; and Maria Hart, troubled trenchcoater, 
along with her ostrich familiar Sunny!  They are four young net.heroes, 
one trenchcoater and one ostrich who fight to understand themselves and 
the worlds they inhabit, moving between the heroism of the LNH and the 
uncanny strangeness of the Lunaverse--the Liminals!

====

JULY 2020

"So," said Masterplan Lad, finishing the the last touches on their 
lipstick. "How do I look?"

"Amazing," said Sharon. "If I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd be grabbing 
ahold of you and pinning you to the wall and kissing you right now."

"Thank you," said Masterpan Lad. The curl of Alys's lip suggested she 
might be interested in that idea as well. It was always hard for them to 
tell.

Just then, to MPL's frustration and relief, the moment was interrupted 
when Doug walked into the room, bearing the the night's movies–Sharon 
Friedman and Alys Delano (as they knew their names were now) were DVD 
watchers; they'd even been known to still watch videotapes.

Doug's abiding obsessions in life were mech anime and black and white 
movies. If you got him in a room with Alice to talk about Macross, or 
with Sharon about Old Hollywood, they'd never talk about anything else 
for a week.

Doug was bisexual, and he had a boyfriend and a very likely potential 
girlfriend in Sig.ago, where he'd grown up. His pride in his home city 
was still pretty considerable (he'd told MPL shortly after they met that 
he in all honesty preferred Dvandom Force to the LNH; he even admitted a 
fondness for Teenfactor). He'd moved here for a film history research 
fellowship; but had told MPL he preferred not to date people in 
Net.ropolis as there was too much drama. He'd meant this in the 
colloquial sense, not the narrative-metaphysical sense, but it was still 
true: the constant flow of Drama around the city meant that it could be 
difficult to hold down stable relationships.

Masterplan Lad knew a lot of queer people in long-distance 
relationships. As in-person queer spaces grew harder to access due to 
gentrification, and the internet became one of the most important 
vectors for queerness, it had grown more and more common. Some people he 
knew–such as Frat Boy and Fearless Leader–were even dating people in 
other dimensions.

Doug's situation wasn't quite that extreme; he just had a boyfriend who 
lived in another city. There were unique potentials and problems 
associated with this for an inhabitant of Net.ropolis. The city didn't 
have a fixed location. It jumped unpredictably between state lines as 
the plot demanded; this caused an enormous legal headache, and was one 
of the reasons the LNH had established an uneasy diplomatic relationship 
with the Lethal Lawyer Corps. That meant that Net.ropolis could be near 
any other city, and that made it that much easier for people in 
long-distance relationships, though they could never predict when 
Net.ropolis would be there. It was a little harder for Sig.agoans, 
though–Sig.ago was Net.ropolis's conceptual opposite; one of the things 
that defined Net.ropolis was that it was Not Sig.ago and vice versa. But–

"Hey," whispered Alys, gently tapping them on the shoulder, "are you 
expositing to yourself again?"

"Er, yes," they said.

"Well it's time to listen to Doug exposit instead." She took their hand 
and squeezed it gently. They looked for a moment of longing and 
frustration and her beautifully painted pink nails.

Then they looked up at Doug instead, who was going on animatedly about 
the movie they were watching today--one of those old Dolores De Wynter 
romantic comedies, "Miss Net.ropolis"–and went on for a bit about her 
various trysts with famous lesbians and experiments with gender.

When the movie was over, they left after Alys and Sharon hugged them 
goodbye.

Their head was full of thoughts on the way back. They thought of whether 
Sharon and Alys were really attracted to them and what they'd do about 
it if they were.  And naturally, they thought of Maria. They felt 
something they'd been feeling for a while now–a deep frustration and an 
absolute, desperate need, the absence of her hand on their skin.

Masterplan Lad felt someone tap them on the shoulder. They turned around 
and saw a familiar figure in a familiar trenchcoat. "Hi," said Maria.

"What? How did you--"

"We're both magicians, babe. And I sealed a narrative connection between 
us–remember?"

"I certainly do. It was in issue six, correct?"

"I guess. Keeping track of that stuff is your job."

"So ah, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, roaming about the Earth and walking up and down on it. You?"

"Well, I've been recovering after what we went through. At some point 
I'll have to help sort out the post-cascade canon, but right now I'm 
supposed to rest as much as possible. Ninja's orders. Oh and, ah, I 
officially came out to my friends as nonbinary. I'm currently using 
they/them pronouns."

"Ha! I figured. Good on you." They were walking down the street 
together, to nowhere in particular or, at least, nowhere Masterplan Lad 
was aware of. "So, do you have a name?"

"I've been calling myself Dee. For the moment, anyway."

"Dee, huh? So, like, John Dee?"

"Not particularly, no. I hadn't thought of that. That whole ceremonial 
magick tradition–that's not really who I am. It's too rigid, 
appropriative, and convoluted. And when something's too convoluted for 
me..."

"So you're more of a chaos magician, then?"

"Well, I think the understanding of our storytelling universe naturally 
tends to something like chaos magick–thinking of magic as a narrative 
function. But even chaos magic strikes me as too programmatic much of 
the time."

"Right! So you're a trenchcoater, then." Maria hooked her arm around 
theirs. "Systems and received traditions are bullshit. They always 
disappoint us. We understand this. That's the trenchcoater way."

"Hmm. I do see much that appeals to me in that, but... It's not a system 
of rules, but it is a set outlook, and I'm not sure it's mine. I'm not 
sure any of the ones I'm familiar with are."

"Ok, whatever. Just wanna let you know that trenchcoaters are the coolest."

"I'm sure. I will say, it's very stressful to not fully understand all 
that. And not know what my name is."

"Yeah, but it's also kind of cool? A lot of magic revolves around names. 
The Name Eater of the Seventh Abyss of Kelorak can't get you if you 
don't have a name in the first place."

"Ah, there's another thing I didn't know I had to feel anxiety about," 
said Masterplan Lad. "Wouldn't it be difficult to perform certian 
magical rituals if I didn't have a name?"

"Hmmmm. Point. Well, maybe you haven't got that down yet but there's 
other things we can take care of... I gotta initiate you further. This 
isn't a sex thing. Not *yet*." She winked conspicuously. "Do you have a 
tarot deck?"

"Surprisingly, no. You'd think a superhero universe mystic wouldn't be 
seen without one. I have done some research into it. I'm still thinking 
about what forms of external magic might work for me now that my main 
source of magical power is gone..."

"Well tarot is great. It's like, not useful for offensive magic but it's 
good for figuring the world and yourself out. Being good at tarot is the 
reason I'm not an even bigger disaster than I am. C'mere."

Grabbing ahold of their hand, she pulled them through the door of a 
nearby shop–the Promethea Spiritual Supply Shop.

The scent of the air was heavy with cheap incense. At the deck was a 
middle-aged white woman with a lot of rings wrapped in a sparkly green 
shawl. There were all kinds of vaguely spiritual knicknacks, gewgaws and 
trinkets on the walls and shelves, from rune stones to rings to 
crystals. MPL grimaced to see a rack of dreamcatchers.

Maria led them to a display rack full of tarot decks, and they turned it 
around. There was an Arthurian deck, a cat-themed deck, an Elvis-themed 
deck. They took out and examined the JONG! Tarot, based on Arthur 
Spitzer's acclaimed series, with images of iconic characters such as 
Plum Master and Dumpster-TRON.

"Good lord, this is a lot of decks." Decision anxiety hit them like a 
ton of bricks.

"Yep!" said Maria. "People love making decks and they love collecting them."

"Of the making of decks there is no end... I'm afraid I can't possibly 
choose."

"So, let the narrative choose. Pick one at random."

So they closed their eyes and turned it around, picking out one at last 
that sort of felt right. It was the old familiar Rider-Waite-Smith Deck, 
the main one their Writer used, as that was the one Rachel Pollack had 
used as a baseline in her books. While tempted by the Dvandom Force 
tarot, they took the RWS out of the carousel.

"OK," said Maria. "Now the next step is..." She leaned in to whisper 
them, putting her hand on their shoulder. "We steal it."

"What?"

"Yeah, there's a custom that you can't buy your first tarot deck. It has 
to be given or stolen. I mean, it doesn't *have* to be that way, but 
it's cooler and therefore more dramatic and therefore gives your magic 
that little bit of edge."

"Are you sure? I mean..."

"You're an LNHer, right? And you have mega scrupulosity even for a 
net.hero. So that's why *I'm* gonna steal it." She pocketed the deck 
quicker than anyone could see, pretended to browse some more, and then 
sauntered out the door.

There was an ear-splitting scream like a banshee's.

In the real world, someone who ran a kitschy spiritual supply shop would 
not actually have the magic powers to attack anyone who stole from them. 
But this was the Looniverse, and therefore...

"Thief!" said the woman at the desk. She raised up her rings, which 
emitted a red light that looked like tinted filmstrip. "By the Neon 
Noodles of Net.torak!" she shouted.

"And here I was thinking we'd get through the whole issue without a 
fight scene," said Masterplan Lad. They readied themself into combat 
stance. They knew they'd be in for a difficult fight, since the store 
was this woman's home ground. Furthermore, Maria, no doubt not expectng 
a fight, didn't seem to have brought her familiar, which left them at a 
considerable disadvantage–Sunny would have made short work of their foe 
without any spellcasting at all.

Masterplan Lad looked about desperately for some kind of talisman or 
artifact they could use but amid this heap of commodified signifiers 
stripped of meaning–which is what magic is–there was nothing.

Maria moved her hands in an arcane gesture and spoke some magic words 
that she had most likely made up. Before the Neon Noodles of Net.torak 
had hit, Masterplan Lad felt lines of force wrap around their body, 
pressing into them.

They had to admit it felt good.

Their body and hand hands jerked; they lunged at teh shopkeeper and 
knocked her down. She'd been expecting a straightforward magical attack, 
so that had taken her by surprise.

"Ah, so you've counteracted her binding spell by using your own on me 
first. I imagine–ngh!–you've put a lot of thought into constructing this 
spell."

"Oh, I have." Maria cackled.

"Do you think you can escape me?" said the shopkeeper. "Now I will 
summon a demon! Behold!" She raised her rings, which began to grow in a 
green light.

All the talismans in the Spiritual Supply Shop shook. The foundations 
began to quiver.

The shopkeeper looked around nervously. She knew that she'd made a 
terrible mistake but it was too late to back away.

Something was coming. A deep, overwhelming spiritual power, something 
that could shake the world.

"Uh, maybe we should bail," whispered Maria.

But they couldn't get out in time. The moment they'd reached the street, 
a blast of infernal fire hit. The building exploded.

At the center of the crater that was once a spiritual supply shop was 
something that might have once been a man. Crosshatched with bulging 
muscles, he exuded Liefedity. This was none other than the LNH's old 
foe, the Robgoblin, now demonically re-powered by the Power Liefeld!

"Oh no," said Masterplan Lad. "I didn't think we were going to address 
this plot that quickly..." [See System Corruptors #37]

"Who summons OMEGA ROBGOBLIN X-TREME?"

"Well, she did," said Maria, remarkably unfazed. "To protect her shop. 
And you kind of blew it up. So there's not really any point for you 
being here..."

"Who needs a point? That is not the way of the Liefeld!" said Robgoblin. 
"The Power Liefeld demands a fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Er, can you wait a moment while I call Captain Continuity?"

"No! Fight NOW" shouted Robgoblin. "ROBBLE ROBBLE ROBBLE!" He sent a 
wicked burst of energy from his axe, causing more destruction. As usual, 
some people ran away, while others desperately snapped up photos.

"Oh boy," said Maria. "This is way out of a trenchcoater's league. I 
don't know if we can bullshit our way out of this one. Might be a good 
idea to run."

"No," said Masterplan Lad. "This moment feels... significant somehow. I 
think I have to face him..."

He looked around the street, where cards from various tarot decks lay 
scattered. Beneath his feet was a Temperance card, showing a winged 
angel pouring water from one cup into a water. "Now what do you think 
that means? This doesn't seem very apt right now."

"Probably one of those readings that'll only make sense after it's all 
over." Maria ducked another axe-blast. "Wait, what's that?"

A faint glow of light had begun to surround Masterplan Lad. They felt 
the panic give way to to a giddy sense of potential. "Hold on. I think I 
can feel another... major dramatic shift about to happen, in who and 
what I am. I... I think you can draw it out."

"I can feel it too," said Maria. "There's power building inside you. I 
gotta warn you... it's going to hurt."

"Then let it," said Masterplan Lad. Maria put her hands on his 
shoulders, as the light began to grow brighter and brighter. Masterplan 
Lad felt the light pierce their body, stabbing into their shoulder blades.

As they fell to their knees, Maria took their hand. The world seemed to 
slow down around them, the flow of Drama drawing them into a timeless 
moment.

Masterplan Lad felt a sharp pain in their shoulder blades.

Their bones cracked and shifted, their flesh split. Their clothes and 
reality as a whole shifted around them. From behind them they could see 
a great light.

Their body was filled up by pain, but in Maria's hands it didn't feel so 
bad.

Masterplan Lad screamed.

Then it was over.

They stood up and stretched out their two bright silver wings.

"Whoa..." said Maria, grinning.

"I... ah. Hmm," said Masterplan Lad.

"What????" said Robgoblin. "An angel? Who's not a hot girl like 
Avengelyne? Blasphemy!" He shouted.

"I mean, some people might disagree with the not a hot girl part," said 
Maria.

This time, Masterplan Lad flew–well, hovered–out of the way of the 
blast. They could sense the flow of Drama around them in a much more 
immediate, visceral way. They knew their initial intuition was right–it 
wasn't time for this storyline to be resolved. This was one of those 
times when putting things off just might be the right answer.

They drew in the currents of the narrative toward Robgoblin. Caught up 
in the brightly colored whirl, he faded away.

"Whoa," said Maria. "What did you do?"

Masterplan Lad took a deep breath. "I sent him to a point in the 
narrative that's more dramatically appropriate for a confrontation. 
Hopefully, whoever faces him next won't do so alone." They stretched out 
their wings. "This is certainly going to take some getting used to."

"I'll bet," said Maria. "But this actually is a lot better. Now you 
don't have to worry about your umbrella being stolen by the Terrible 
Ones or some shit."

"Yes, well," said Masterplan Lad. "It's just... not what I was expecting."

"Well," said Maria, "what is?"

"True. Unfortunately, I'll have to go back to the LNH as soon as 
possible to warn them about Robgoblin."

"Aww. That's it for our date, huh?"

"...we were on a date?"

"Yep!" said Maria. "But you'll see me again soon, right? If you need me, 
you'll know where to find me." She kissed them on the cheek and ducked 
off into the alley, then turned back.

"Wait! I had a thought about teh name thing. Hear me out–Denys, with a 
y. Which is a form of Dionysus, as in Pseudo-Dionysus the Areopagite, 
the author of On the Angelic Hierarchy. That seems on theme now. It fits 
the cadence of your name, it makes the 'Deus Ex Machina' pun work, and 
it's kinda halfway between 'Dennis' and 'Denise' so it's a good 
genderqueer-y name."

"Hmm... interesting. It also connects my name to Bacchus, I note, who 
some call the founder of trenchcoatry. But what if it doesn't work out?"

"Then you can just change it again.."

"That's a good thought, though. I rather like it."

"Thanks. I'm good with names. It's a gift."

Maria waved goodbye and left.

"Hmm." MPL rested their hand on their cheek as they flew, still a little 
uneasy on their wings, back to the LNHQ.

===

And somewhere in an abandoned apartment building, a figure paced. A 
figure who happened to be made of conglomerated snail mail.

The Letterhack had been planning its revenge for a very, very long time 
now. It'd been five years since the first issue was posted, for god's 
sake! A being made of resentments, it had nurtured its desire for 
vengeance every step of the way. The lethal lump of letters had watched 
and followed after Masterplan Lad and Manga Girl, shadowing their every 
step (well, a lot of their steps); but somehow the time was never quite 
right. It had just been about to make its moved when Robgoblin had 
appeared and ruined everything.

The Letterhack heard footsteps and turned around. A couple of very 
greasy-looking men in suits had walked into the building, who seemed 
charged with an arcane power. There were wands in their pockets, and 
they definitely didn't look happy to see it.

They were hit wizards from the Wizard Mafia. That was good. Mafia plots 
were serious, realistic, important. The fact they had their wands 
pointed at it was less good.

"You're coming with us," said the wizard-goon.

They lead it out to a well-polished black Jaguar and opened the door. 
Sitting inside was a man wearing some kind of Elizabethan outfit with an 
enormous ruff that didn't look like it'd actually be able to fit through 
the car door, along with a large pair of mirrorshades and some 
surprisingly shiny and impressive-looking shoes.

"What do you want?" snarled the Letterhack. (Well, the lettering above 
its head was especially snarly.) "Why are you dressed like that? 
Mobsters don't go to ren faires!"

"Ah, but I am no ordinary mobster, my friend," said the ruff guy. "I am 
Edward De Vere, Earl of Oxford, author under various pseudonyms of such 
renowned literary works as Hamlet, Moby Dick, and The Unbeatable 
Squirrel Girl. I am one who, like yourself, has faced calamity at the 
hands of those irksome, vexatious, and pestilential young net.heroes who 
call themselves the Liminals. When I flew close to the very height of 
heavenly glory, I was flung down from the skies like Phaeton--"

"Get to the point," said the Letterhack.

"Well, though all great rulers such as myself know well the wheel of 
fortune's stings and arrows--"

"GET TO THE POINT!"

"The one who bears particular responsibility for my downfall is the one 
called Manga Girl. A familiar name, no doubt?"

"Hissssssss," said the Letterhack.

"Indeed. I fell into the very depths of Hell, of which Virgil verily and 
truly wrote that descent is easy and return is hard, and this indeed was 
no poetic fancy nor fine conceit but the veriest of truths." Letterhack 
sighed inwardly, realizing it'd just have to get used to this. "I 
returned only with the aid of a new patron who shares many of my 
grievances, and through his favor have I advanced myself in the ranks of 
the occult underworld of this fair city. And thusly shall I, like the 
son of Atreus, avenge the most foul and unnatural wrongs done unto me!"

"Who was that?" said the Letterhack. "Is that from Dune?"

"Ah, my friend, I shall give you a literary education yet... As well as 
an education in what I in one of my most exquisite essays once called 
the simple art of murder..."

NEXT: The Manga Girl Revenge Squad!

====

Notes:

And now we know what MPL's deal is right now, to the extent that they 
themself do. This was a plot development I thought up... jesus christ 
almost ten years ago, back when I was watching that terrible but weirdly 
fun CW Constantine series.

While I couldn't fit it into this issue, they do have the ability to 
"fold" their wings into extradimensional space which makes it easier to 
get through doors and such. (Which is why they're not visible in 
Leadership Cry.sig #8).

I really have no idea when Robgoblin will show up again. Is he going to 
come back in Leadership Cry.sig? That cascade already has a ton of plot 
elements, but you know how cascades are...

CREDITS:

MPL, Maria, Letterhack, Edward De Vere: Jeanne Morningstar
Robgoblin: Jeff Drizzt Barnes

-- 
Jeanne Morningstar, The Confused Cyborg
Chief Procrastinator, Commission of Ecumenical Translators

I believe the hyperbole
I see the fourth colour
--King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, The Fourth Color