> I'm not in the mood for fluff right now.  I want something that'll
> blow me away.

    Oh, now there's a challenge. I think I'll step up to the plate.
Here's something that I promise is different from your average SC story.
It's not that fictives-bitch-at-their-writer stuff. It's... Well, Kielle
told me she liked it so I can't think of anything better to say than
that.



Subreality Café: Tell Me What You See
by Skyrocket


 "I still don't understand why you want me to do this," I say.
 "Just humor me," says my friend.
 "But--"
 "Look, all I want you to do is show me around Subreality and describe
to me what everything looks like. Can you do that for me?"
 "Sure, if that's what you want. Where do you want to start?"
 "How about that café you're always going on about?"
 "Okay, we're getting close to it now," I say as my friend and I walk
down the road.
 "Describe things. Where exactly are we? What is the weather like? What
does the café look like?"
 "We're on a dusty desert road," I begin. "That's were the Subreality
Café is. On a lonely desert road outside Subreality City. The landscape
is like Arizona. Lots of sagebrush and craggy mountains. It's night
right now. It's always night when I'm in Subreality."
 "Why is that?"
 "Night is when I'm creative. After 'Politically Incorrect' is when my
muse sings to me."
 "You promised not to over do the metaphors."
 "Sorry. Hey, we're coming up to the café."
 "What does it look like?"
"Like some beat up bar you'd expect to find in the middle of the desert.
It's got a big neon sign that flashes 'Subreality Café' in red and
purple. The Bouncer is at the door as usual. And as usual he doesn't
look very happy to see me."
"How many times do I have to tell you? No writers in the Café except on
Writer's Night!" grumbles the Bouncer.
"Okay, the Bouncer here looks like he crawled out of the mosh pit of a
Green Day concert. His hair is dyed a weird shade of blue and he has
loads of piercings. He's also sporting a pair of shades and a leather
outfit he must have stolen off the corpse of Sid Vicious."
"Uh, you are aware that I can hear every word you're saying, aren't
you?" asks the Bouncer.
"Call me when I care," I retort as I shove past him.
"Skyrocket, he did say no writers allowed," says my friend.
"You better belive that's what I said!" snorts the Bouncer as he reaches
for me. Just as his beefy hands are about to grab me he stops, freezes
for a moment, and then looks sadly at his feet. "Go on in. You writers
get in no matter what I do anyway." With that the Bouncer turns and
shuffles off. "To be honest, I don't even care anymore. I think I'll go
into town and get loaded," he mutters as he departs.
"Well, that was...different," begins my friend.
"If you think that's weird you should see the inside of this place," I
say as I hold the door open. Looking a bit nervous, my friend adjusts
his trenchcoat and starts to follows me inside.
We haven't taken two steps when four gusts of wind shoot pass us almost
sending us to the ground.
"Sorry!"
"Pardon us!"
"Excuse us!
"Watch it, jerks!"
"What was that?!" gasps my friend.
"Offhand, I'd say it was sonic youth," I answer.
"The band?"
"No, teen speedsters. I'd say that was Crimson, Velocity, XS, Legion
version, and Impulse who just blew by."
"If the inside is a half as interesting as the outside..."
"I'll notify your next of kin. Come on, let's go in."
"So what does this place look like?" says my friend after we enter and
get a table.
"Everyone sees this place differently. Some people say it looks like an
old English pub. Others think--"
"What do YOU think it looks like? That's what I want to know."
I take a deep breath a good look around before answering. "Wood.
Everything here is wood. It looks a bit like a lodge or a cabin. The
wood is worn but in that good way that a family dinner table is worn.
"Over there is the bar. It looks just like the one on 'Cheers'. Right
now Major Mapeleaf is poring a drink for a Maxx fictive. Off to the left
and right are the outer wings. They lead to the private rooms."
"What goes on in there?" asks my friend
"Mostly they're for when the fictives want some privacy. But authors
have meetings there. Swapping stories and the like. Sometimes they get
together with the fictives and they complain to the author about how
long it's been since they wrote about them."
"This place sounds crowded. Who's here?"
"The Titans and the New Mutants are having a dart tournament. I see
Nightwing, Donna Troy, Tempest, Arsenal, Argent, Rose Wilson, and
Flamebird. On the New Mutants side I see Wolfsbane, Moonstar,
Cannonball, Legion, Kitty Pryde, Sunspot and...Vance Astrovik? Must be
from an alternate reality."
"Who else do you see?"
"Well, Cyberfrog is off in a corner by himself chowing down on a bucket
of chicken and watching a portable TV."
"Who?" asks my friend.
"Cyberfrog. Not many people have heard of his book, the poor slobs. He
and I hang out from time to time."
"What do you do when you're together?"
"Watch the tube, mostly. The Frog and I are major TV junkies!"
"Anyway, I see Captain America and Superman chatting at another table.
God, I wonder what two guys like that talk about...
"Now this is interesting. Medusa has just invited the Gen13 kids to sit
with her and the rest of the Inhumans. I wonder how long it will be
before Grunge makes a fool out of himself. Zealot, Shi, and Electra are
comparing weapons over by the ladies room. Puck, Radius, and Northstar,
from Alpha Flight, are playing poker with Aquaman, Grifter, Nightman,
and Painkiller Jane," I finish.
"Quite the busy night."
"Nah, is fairly normal. You should see this place when it's REALLY
crowed."
"Pass," says my friend. "As interesting as this place is you promised to
show me Subreality City as well."
"Okay then, come on."

As my companion and I head down the road to Subreality City I take a
metal object from the pocket of my coat. "Here," say as I pass it to my
friend.
"What is it?"
"It's one of those things Batman uses to swing around on. I got one for
each of us."
"How?"
"An animated Robin owed me a favor. Anyway, with these we can swing
around the roofs of the city!"
"And we want to do that because..."
"Would you rather take the bus?" I ask.
"Touché."
"Are you sure you can handle that thing?"
"I think I'll manage," grins my friend.

 It doesn't take anywhere near as long as I thought it would for me to
get the hang of the grappling line. In no time my friend and I are
swinging our way to our first destination. We stop on the roof across
from our goal and I look down to the street below.
 "Where are we?" asks my friend.
 "You saw were the heroes hang, I thought you might like to where the
villains go for a brew. Welcome to the Villains Café!"
"We're not going in, are we?"
"No way! The last time I was in there me, and the folks I was with,
almost got ripped apart by Lex Luthor, Magneto, the Joker, and Dr.
Doom."
"So what does this place look like?"
"Like what I imagine Avenue D in New York looks like. Burned out cars,
trash, and bums laying in the street, a couple of Marauder clone hookers
hanging around outside, stains on the sidewalk that could be booze,
blood, or any other number of nasty substances."
"And the inside?" asks my friend.
"I wasn't in there long enough to get a good look," I say.
"That's fine. Let's move on. Hopefully, our next stop won't be so--"
"Frank Miller? Warren Ellis?"
"I was going to say grim and gritty but you got the point."
"Well, I'm not sure what you'll think of our next stop but it's more
pleasant than this," I say as we swing into the night.
 "I wonder if this is what it's like to be Spider-Man," I think as I
swing though the concrete canyons of Subreality City. Man, this
grappling line is a blast!  I glance behind me to check on my friend.
He's doing fine. Of course, with him being who he is and doing what he
does I shouldn't be surprised.
 I come to a landing on the street, my friend just behind me. "Where are
we now?" he asks.
 "A place I think you'll find interesting. Behold, the Antiheroes Café!"

 "Antiheroes Café? Why is it that I've never heard of this place?"
 "Not a lot of people have. I created it myself doing a particularly
weird Round Robin," I say.
 "Can we go inside?"
 "Sure. I created this place so it's like I'm the landlord. We won't
have any problems. Besides, I think some friends of mine might be here.
Just watch yourself."
 "Why?"
 "It's two for one night for Vertigo characters. That always brings out
some weird folks," I grin as we enter and sit down.
 "So tell me about this place."
 "Just a second, I'm thirsty. You want anything?"
 "I'm fine."
 "Yo, barkeep! One California Style Sunny Delight, pronto!"
 One thing I love about this place; the service is fast. In just a few
moments I have my drink in hand, personally delivered by the bartender.
"Thanks," I say.
 "No prob," replies the bartender as he returns to work.
 "So, now are you ready to tell me about this place?" asks my friend.
 "Okay, okay. I admit the place is a bit of a dive. The walls are a
depressing shade of gray, the floors are sticky from spilled drinks and
god knows what else. The bar itself is battered and covered in graffiti.
The tables are pretty much the same."
 "You seemed to know the bartender. Who is he?"
 "You ever hear of Wildog?" I ask.
 "No."
 "You and everyone else on earth. He's just some poor Punisher wannabe.
Wears a hockey mask, something he calls 'stun gloves' and blue
sweatshirt. And here's the kicker. The shirt has a  picture of a really
mean looking dog on it. Scary, huh?"
 "I'm sure the Green Goblin is wetting himself as we speak," jokes my
friend.
 "Ah, he's really not so bad. I hired him mostly because I felt sorry
for him. But I have to admit the man is good at his job. He somehow
keeps this madhouse in shape."
 "This place is even nosier that the Subreality Café. Who's here and
what's going on?"
 "Remember what I said about Vertigo Night?"
 "Yes."
"Well, it's out in full force," I say. "Cassidy is on to what looks like
his eighth bottle of rum. Oh hey, Jesse Custer is making John
Constantine sing the 'I'm a Little Teapot' song without his pants on.
God, John is just boiling mad!
"Over by the pool table King Mob and Spider Jerusalem are smoking
something that certainly doesn't look like tobacco."
 "It's doesn't smell like it either," comments my friend.
 "No one ever told those guys to just say 'no'," I joke. "Okay, over in
the corner the Punisher is, shock surprise, brooding. It's looks like a
pre-Marvel Knights version. So hopefully we can keep the number of
demons in here to a minimum."
 "What do you mean?"
 "Well, you see--" I begin.
 That's when an inhuman voice begins to yell, "I AM BAYTOR! I AM
BAYTOR!"
 Then gunshots ring out and the voice is silent.
 "Shut up, you ugly little freak! I can't hear myself think!"
 "Jeez, Tommy, be more careful next time, will ya?! You spilled my
pint."
 "Sorry, man. I'll get you another. Yo, Pitbull, or whatever your name
is! Another for my pal here!"
 "What was that all about? Who were those people?" asks my friend.
 "Tommy Monaghan, A.K.A Hitman, and his pal Natt the Hat. Regulars
around here," I say.
 "And...Baytor?" my friend asks.
 "You don't want to know."
 "So, is there anyone else of note here?"
 "I think I see Warren Ellis passed out in front of the men's room.
Deadpool just stuck a note that says "My mommy didn't love me, and look
what happened!" to his shirt. Man, he cracks me up. Vampirella and that
Alex Elder kid are talking by the jukebox. Probably debating what blood
type goes best with fish.
"I also see Damion Hellstorm, Razor, a Medieval Spawn,  Nomad, and
couple of James O'Barr-style Crows."
 It's then the door opens and a familiar group walks in. "Say, you
remember those friends of mine I told you about?" I ask my companion
though a mile wide grin.
 "Yes. Was that them that just walked in?"
 "Yeah," I say.
 "Well, who are they?"
 "DV8, my favorite guys to write."
 "Do you want to go talk to them?"
 "Nah, I told them I'd be with you tonight. I'll see them some other
time. Are you ready to go?
 "Sure."

 "So where to next?" asks my friend as we walk outside.
 "We could go to the Subreality Day Care Center," I suggest.
"What's there?"
"That's where all the children of fictives stay when their parents are
busy. It's really something to see. They've got a whole wing just for
the kids of Gambit and Rogue."
"Pass."
"Okay, how about the Cosmic Café?" I suggest.
"Never heard of it."
"Of course you haven't. I just created it."
"So what's the Cosmic Café then?" asks my friend.
"It's were all the big cosmic types hang. You know, Galactus,
Highfather, the Phantom Stranger, Infinity, Kismet, Eternity, Shazam,
the Specter; guys like that. I have Access's pager number. I'm sure he
could get us in."
"No thanks. I've always worked best as realistic, street-level type.
That cosmic stuff always made my head spin."
 "Is there anything you can think of that you want to know about?" I
ask.
 "I would like to know more about Subreality City. You've never really
been very clear on just what this place is."
 "Your wish is my command! And I know just the place for this," I say.
************************************************************************


     "Quite a clime up here," comments my friend as I help him onto the
roof. "Where are we?"
"This is the most important place in all Subreality. Welcome to the
House of Unfinished Ideas!"
"Exactly why is this place so important?"
"Well, this is where all of Subreality's unfinished ideas are stored.
Even story put on the back burner, every for forgotten storyline, every
half-finished thought, is keep here. Just waiting for someone to come
along and use them. It's the tallest building in Subreality. You can see
everything from here."
"What does the House look like and what all can you see?"
 "For some reason the House looks like the firehouse from
'Ghostbusters'. Don't ask me why. It just does," I say.
"What about the view?"
"Like I said, you can see everything. Over there is Shifting Sands
Beach. It's deserted this time of night. I like to go down there and try
to come with story ideas.
"Over to the east there's a reconstruction of Tokyo Tower. That marks
the heart of the anime and manga section of the city. Did I tell you
want happened to me there last week?"
"No, fill me in," says my friend.
"Superboy talked me into going over there with him to see if we could
pick up some cute anime girls. Talk about a wild time! SB ended up being
chased though the streets of Neo Tokyo by a very ticked of A-Ko. And
then there was that incident between him and that...whatever from Ranma 1/2.
God, he'd kill he if I repeated that."
 "Sounds like you had a good time," says my friend.
"I got to spend the whole night watching Superboy make a fool out of
himself and I scored a date with Sailor Jupiter. So, yeah, I'd say I had
a good time. As for SB..."
"But getting back to the city..." hints my friend.
"Oh, sorry. Got to rambling. Okay, over near Shifting Sands in a copy of
the Golden Gate Bridge."
"Let me guess, Sliders fanfic?"
"That's on the other side. The one we're facing is right near Starfleet
Headquarters, home of all Star Trek fic."
"If that's the home of Star Trek fanfic where are the ships and such?"
asks my friend.
"They're keep in orbit over Subreality earth. Along with the ships and
space stations from Babylon 5, Space: Above and Beyond, Blake's 7, Red
Dwarf, Seeker 3000, Dr. Who, Star Wars, and all that other sci-fi
stuff."
"Anything else I should know about?" asks my friend.
"Well, other notable sights in Subreality City are the Great Archive of
Continuity, Kirby Park, Avengers Stadium, Image Square, DC Avenue, the
Century Center, where futuristic fictives hang--"
   "Don't tell me everything. I would like to experience some of this
for myself," interrupts my friend.
"Can I take that to mean my time as tour guide is over?"
"You got it," says my friend as he drops him trenchcoat reveling his red
costume underneath. From his pocket he takes a red mask which he secures
to his face. Gone is my friend Matt Murdock. My friend Daredevil is here
now.
"Going out to see, so to speak, the city for yourself?" I ask.
"I've had you play guide dog long enough. Now I want to see this place
my own way."
"Cool. Have fun, buddy. But can I ask you something before you go?"
 "Of course," says Daredevil.
"This is Subreality," I begin, "Here anything is possible. Even a blind
man seeing. Why did you choose to stay blind and have me lead you
around?"
 The Devil grins at me. "Being blind is a part of who I am. It shapes
me. It defines me. It makes different from all other heroes. You
wouldn't want me to go against my core characterization, now would you?"

"No, I guess not."
"Now that I've answered your question maybe you could answer one for
me."
"Sure."
"Just what is this place? What is Subreality?" asks Daredevil.
"Damned if I know," I say. "Some people think it's a crossroads between
the realms of reality and fantasy. Others, mostly people who've read to
many issues of 'The Invisibles', think it's some odd part of humanity's
collective unconscious. And some others just think it's the delusion of
a bunch of people with to much free time and overactive imaginations."
"And what do you think?"
"I think Shakespeare put it best. It's the stuff dreams are made of," I
say.
 "You know, dreams are the only place where I can see things," my friend
says.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Again the Devil grins. "Make of that what you will." With that Daredevil
dives into the air and over the side of the House of Unfinished Ideas. I
rush to the ledge in time to see him swing away on his billyclub's line.

Yes, Subreality is an amazing place. A place of ideas, adventure, drama,
love, sorrow, and all things in between. In short, it's a place of
dreams. A place were dreams come true.

                                     THE END