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Jintesh was all claws and fangs; all sharp angles and sleek lines. When it came down to it, it was all a matter of what you wanted to be but could never attain, really. So he did his best to come as close to his desires as possible. He was a creature of the night, with a leathery batwing coat, black rimmed eyes, and talons for fingernails.

His eyes themselves were blue, stark and unforgiving, and it pleased him that in the right kind of light they were almost black. His short, spiky hair had been many colours, but he'd settled on black again for now.. it was less noticeable, and he didn't want to stand out in a crowd, not anymore.

He'd enjoyed being stared at, being freakish and at odds with everyone else; he still did enjoy it. But that was then, when he was a nobody, when no one cared who the freak was. Nowadays, his face was recognisable, and those that stopped and looked might just take another look and decide they wanted his attention, his autograph, his opinion, his.. anything.

That was the sort of attention Jintesh didn't want. He wanted to be left alone, for the most part. He wished he could do something painful to whoever had first let his picture out along with his games; his boss' idea, most probably. Good for promotion. See the real man behind the creations, a nobody just like everyone else.

His games, his creations, were the love of his life, and in the beginning, they'd been his alone. When he'd been left, jobless, loveless, broken, he'd taken solace in the one thing that he could do well and be proud of, the one thing that let him escape everything that he didn't want to deal with. He created mystical worlds with fantastic stories and characters who were so much better than he; characters that triumphed over everything. And he made them into games, so that he could play them again and again, and feel that it was him in there, in control.

And then, things had changed. Someone had found a game he'd accidentally left out while playing in the cyberlooms one day, and within a few weeks he'd had hundreds of data-threads begging him to make more. So he'd given them the next thing he'd worked on.. and then the next.. until one day one of the big guys had data-threaded him personally, and offered to pay him in return for selling what he'd been giving away for free.

At first he'd told them to shove it. Fucking corporations, just looking for another quick avenue to get rich. Besides, he liked giving those people what they asked for, and for nothing. He liked the praise they gave him, the words of encouragement, the interaction with those who loved what he created so much that they had to get involved with its creation. But the bigwigs kept chasing him.

He was poor. He was hungry. Thanks to the corporation's automation of all the mundane jobs that were all he was qualified for, he was out of work and his only skills were making his games. He was fed up, and his fans themselves were telling him to do it. They loved what he made, they'd pay for it. And if it gave him a chance to rip off the higher ups in the process, he should do it, they said.

So, he did. He delivered the next installment of his game once every two weeks, right on deadline, and people bought it. Lots of people. He was starting to become uncomfortably rich. His boss was trying to make him move to a better area. People were starting to want to be his friend for what he did rather than who he was. And his name was becoming all but worshipped in the underground circles where he'd started out. He was their success story.

Jintesh didn't want to be revered. He didn't want to be anyone's success story. He just wanted to make his games, his magical stories. So he surrounded himself in a cloud of anger and darkness, spun the cyberloom in remote places, changed his data-thread to something private, and went outside only when it was dark.

He was crouched atop a wall the first time Jintesh laid eyes on him, and Jin's first impression was of a four-legged spider -- long, lanky limbs that spread in a wild pattern around him. Until he moved, that was. Then the impression changed; his slinky movements were too graceful for that of a scuttling spider. He was the lion, the tiger, the sensuous panther, and he padded towards Jintesh as though he'd just cornered his prey.

"Do you have a name?" His voice glistened, somehow, a sparkling, elusive sound that was crisp and pleasant on Jin's ears. A riot of hair haloed him, gorgeously silver, hanging in reckless locks that trailed down his back, over his shoulders, and hid one of his eyes from view. The other eye was narrowed, meeting Jin's gaze head on, and the palest of greys Jin had ever seen, as though his very eye had been drained of colour.

"Jintesh," he replied with a growl, keeping his angry cloud around him, yet somehow unable to stop himself answering.

"Tesh.." echoed the strange boy, a smile curving his pale, pretty face. Then he reached up to flick back the hair that hid his other eye. "I'm Krispin."

Jintesh blinked as his gaze met the other eye; no pale grey was this one, but a brilliant, sparkling green, a vibrant colour at odds with everything colourless about the boy. He stared, until he realised that he was staring, and then dropped his gaze angrily. Krispin laughed, and that sound sparkled too.

"Tesh.. you look annoyed." Krispin slid down off the wall, smoothly, then leaned against it, his body seeming to mold languidly to the bricks. Jintesh found himself staring again. Krispin's clothing, what little he wore, matched his hair and his eyes. The open vest that bared his lean, muscled stomach and the short cutoff jeans that hugged his hips were bleached grey and white, and both were lined with a hint of glowing green. Even his sneakers, grey and faded, sported green laces.

"I'm always annoyed when people get in my way," he grumbled, and then pushed past Krispin, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, not looking back. After a moment, Krispin's laughter followed him down the pathway, but still he didn't look back. He didn't want to know; he didn't need people in his life anymore, no matter how interesting they might seem at first glance. He knew by now that they never really matched up to first impressions, and he was tired of being disappointed.

Krispin didn't follow him as he headed home, and for that he was glad.. mostly. A small part of him wished the strange boy had followed him. But he pushed it aside.

The memory of Krispin followed him, however, and as he worked over the next week he found a new character working its way into his game; a sultry elf with silver hair and mismatched eyes. He named the elf 'Quicksilver'. It was unoriginal of him, but he refused to name him Krispin, and nothing else suited.

He delivered the new game, as always, right on the deadline, and found some small satisfaction in seeing it in the avid hands of collectors within hours. His work was always perfect, and the boss knew it. From there, it was only a matter of turning around to the consumers and letting them know it existed, and they were instantly giving their data-charge numbers and begging for the download.

"Quicksilver, ne? That wasn't very original of you."

Jintesh's head snapped up, his features drawing into an automatic snarl at the intrusion of his thoughts. When he went to the bridge, he went there to be alone, and he hated interruptions. But a familiar silvery laughter stopped his harsh rebuttal before it even started.

"Krispin..?" He shook his head, frowning. What the hell was this guy doing, anyway, following him?

"Tesh.. you look annoyed." Krispin winked at him, then jumped up on the railing, arms spread, walking along the thin metal beam. Krispin had called him Tesh again. No-one had ever thought to call him Tesh before. He was always Jin. He wasn't sure why, but he was perversely pleased by this different name.

"Are you following me or something? I don't need your psycho shit, y'know." He reached into his coat, pulling out his cigarettes. He didn't normally smoke while he was at the bridge, but then, he didn't normally have company, either.

"Ooh, big tough boy, I see how it is." Krispin laughed again. "You're the one who put me in one of your games. You only met me once. Whose psycho shit are we talking about here?"

Jintesh lit his cigarette. "Whatever, whatever." He leaned on the railing and stared down at the layers of buildings spread out way below where they stood. "People get in my head. I make 'em into characters. Most of the people in my games come from real people, and most of them I only met once as well. What's your problem?"

"I didn't have any problem with it. You're the one snapping at me." Krispin walked back to where Jin was standing, and slid down until he was sitting on the railing, his legs hanging over the edge, swinging lazily. He grinned at Jintesh over his shoulder. "Got a spare cigarette?"

"Do I look like a damn vending machine?" Jintesh found himself offering his pack all the same.

"Yup." Krispin took one and winked at him. "Thanks, Tesh." The silver-haired boy lit it himself, and turned his attention on the buildings below. "You ever think about jumping?"

Jintesh shrugged. "Sure, often enough. Pretty stupid, though. Becoming a statistic."

"Yup. That's what I thought, too." Krispin kicked his heels against the bars that held up the railing. "Wouldn't it be nice, though, to jump off and not fall? Wish I could do that. Jump off and fly away."

Jintesh took a deep drag on his cigarette. "You're nuts."

Krispin began to giggle. "Absolutely." He slithered down off the railing onto the solid ground. "I owe you a cigarette, Tesh. Remember that for me." He darted off down the path.

"Hey!" Jintesh found himself yelling after the boy, almost about to chase him, even, and he forced himself to stop. No people, no friends, no involvement. Besides, this was his bridge. He was supposed to be relaxing. "Shit. Stupid kid."

Jin flicked the remains of his cigarette over the edge of the bridge and walked away, making sure to go in the opposite direction.

He went to the Fringe that weekend. The dark, smoky atmosphere, the loud, throbbing music, and the packed masses of people that he could be lost amongst was something he needed every now and again. He was well-known at the Fringe, but not for his games -- just for being Jin. And he liked that fine.

He let himself get slowly drunk and spent most of his time at the dj booth with Laran, the Fringe's main dj. Laran was one of his few actual friends, his partner in loud, abrasive music; it was only a matter of harassing the dj about a hundred times for the name of the band being played before he started letting you into his booth. Their friendship had developed from there, and Laran had stuck by him through even his most depressed, abusive stages of life. It had been a long time since he'd dropped by, and he found he'd missed Laran. And not only that, he'd missed the music, too.. the grinding guitars, the howling voices, and most of all, the deep, sonorous thrum of the bass guitars that underlaid everything.

Late in the evening, Laran handed him a disc cover.

"Here, about to play it. Check 'em out. These guys are totally nuts, but damn if they don't rock."

Jintesh closed his eyes as the first strums of the bass guitar washed over him, almost deafening, so close to the speakers as he was. The sound hummed through his head and shivered down his body, and he sat completely still for a long moment, listening to it, until the guitars and the voice kicked in. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at the cover in his hands.

The riot of colours clashed angrily enough to make him squint; no set picture was formed, just squirming colours, battering against each other for dominance. Occasionally they would battle down far enough for a word to be revealed for a moment - 'Crustacean' - before the colours oozed back over it again.

"Crustacean?"

"Yeah. They're pretty new. Seen 'em around here and there. They put out their own discs. Like the cover? Made Rhys sick the way it never stopped moving." Laran winked at him and he grinned back. The music pumping around him was angry, extreme, different, taking sounds he'd heard a hundred times before and twisting them into something new, something he wanted to hear more of. He turned the disc cover over to see the back.

Five young men stared out of the plastic at him, but it was the one leering from the very left that caught his eye. Long white hair and mismatched eyes, grey clothes lined with green. Krispin.

He was clutching a bass guitar in the picture, and squinting through his hair, his tongue sticking out. The arm not holding his guitar was wrapped around the neck of the guy standing next to him, fingers in the guy's mouth. Jintesh suffered a second of jealousy at the sight of that and promptly blamed it on the alcohol. Damn Krispin, getting into his head like this.

"Whatcha think, Jin?" The track was ending and Laran was fading into another song. He glanced at Jin, who put the cover back on the table.

"I like it. You got a spare?" he asked hopefully. Laran nodded.

"Sure, they gave me a couple, and like I said, Rhys hates looking at it. You want?" He fished around under the table and finally produced another copy of the disc.

"Thanks, Laran." Jin stared at the picture on the back for another moment, then tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. "Listen, I gotta go. Deadlines, y'know. Seeya around soon, okay?" He shifted out of his seat. Laran, rifling through his collection, nodded and gave him a wave, and he squeezed out of the dj booth.

It was almost uncanny, discovering Krispin like that. It bothered him, and yet.. that music. He wanted to go home and listen to it again. Hear more of it. So he wove a way between the crowds and finally made his way outside the club, heading for the safety of his home and its disc player.

Jintesh flipped the disc into his player and thumbed the play button. The sonorous bass guitar pounded out of his huge speakers and he dropped into the nearest chair with a sigh, closing his eyes. He blocked out all thought, and just let himself become completely immersed in the music; for a long time, he was nothing more than the music.

He didn't know how long he sat there, almost senseless, but when he finally emerged he felt.. different. Calmer, and yet wilder. Things seemed to make more sense, and yet he'd found so many more questions. Just what was this music doing to him, anyway?

He hit the repeat button on his player, and then reached for his kit. His mind was craving the safer fields of the cyberlooms again, and who was he to deny it? Besides, the music had evoked some wild patterns in his head, and he wanted to reproduce them while they were still fresh within him.

Hooking up was easy enough; it was finding somewhere quiet to spin that took time. He slipped into his most comfortable avatar -- a simple black-feathered raven. Most people still took the form of humans when they were spinning, but he felt better in something, anything, other than a human body. He was sick of people.

For once he ignored the data-conferences waiting for him to read and reply to, and hit the loom itself. This was no time for him to be bogged down in the minds of others wanting his opinion. The music was still pumping over him and through him, via his body itself, and he wanted to feel it, to express it.

Most of his favourite loom corners were occupied; creators like himself, hackers, punks looking for trouble, netjunkies looking to learn, even couples engaged in cybersex. It seemed there was nowhere sacred in the looms anymore. But finally he found a quiet, comfortable place, and he cleared everything else that had been there before him. He wanted a clean slate for his working.

He span a story of colour and pain, the emotions evoked by the music tearing him to pieces that he had to share somehow. It was dark and harsh, much more biting than the usual stories he span together. But he liked it. He could feel the tears splashing down his cheeks in the real world as he mixed the colours, the pictures, the words.. but sometimes he needed tears. Sometimes he needed to cry.

He barely noticed how long he spent in that dusky corner of the loom, but when he was done, the story was complete. Hard and unforgiving, but complete. And not only that, his real world stomach was practically convulsing with hunger. He folded up his story, packing it safely inside his avatar, and moved to leave.

"That was impressive, Tesh." A voice echoed out of the loom behind him, compressed by the datawaves but still very recognisable. He turned in surprise.

"Krispin?! You.." He didn't know what to say. His avatar was hardly recognisable as himself, and he was nowhere near the normal path of the looms.. how on earth had Krispin found him?

"You like saying my name in surprise, don't you?" Krispin bounded closer, and Jintesh almost laughed. Krispin's avatar was a sensuous panther, and a silver one at that. The panther's mouth widened into a grin. "You know that cats eat birds, right?"

"Only if they catch them." He let the black wings take him higher; some laws still held true, even in the cyberlooms, and one of them was that ravens could fly and panthers couldn't. "What the hell are you doing here, Krispin? All you ever seem to do is appear randomly to scare the shit out of me."

"Oh, really, Tesh. Is that what you think?" Krispin shook his head, mockingly sad. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, but it seems to me that every time I turn around you're there. And you're usually doing something interesting. I can't help it if I have to comment on everything, can I?" The panther's face became the picture of innocence -- well, as innocent as a cat with sharp teeth could look.

"It's not my fault if you have a loud personality." Jintesh found himself getting annoyed, and yet.. the music was still washing over him in the real world, and he knew that Krispin's bass was the driving force behind that. And not only that; this silver-haired freak was somehow attractive with his wild, brash manners and his nonchalant way of waltzing in and out of Jin's life.

"Well, you don't have to live with it." Krispin winked at him. "I still owe you a cigarette, Tesh. And you're pretty interesting, too. Want to toss these avatars and meet up somewhere real? I'm bored."

"Bored?" Jin frowned. Boredom was the only thing driving Krispin to want to spend time with him? He didn't want it to be like that. If Krispin was going to merely bother him because he had nothing better to do -- and no doubt wander off and leave him as soon as something better came along -- then he wasn't interested. He'd rather have no friends than friends who'd pass him up for the next best thing the second they saw it. "Fuck you, Krispin. I'm not your minder. Find some other feather to amuse yourself."

"Tesh.." Krispin's tone turned harder somehow, but Jin didn't stop to hear it.

"If you really want me for more than easing boredom, try threading me. Maybe then I'll listen." He flapped his raven wings at the silver panther and then pulled the plug on his connection and sat up, blinking. It always took a few minutes to get used to the real world again, especially when he'd been in the looms for so long.

"Good luck to you, Krispin." He smirked to himself. His data-thread was near impossible to come by, now. He'd made sure of that; not only had he gotten it private, he'd gotten it hidden away by one of the few friends he still had who also happened to be a hacker. The only other person who knew his thread was his boss. All other threads were redirected to him via his boss, so no-one could thread him directly. If Krispin actually bothered with the amount of effort it would take to find out his thread, he'd feel a little less suspicious of the boy's motives. Maybe.

His stomach growled and he pulled himself out of his chair, forgetting the looms and everything associated with them for the moment. He was damned hungry.