The Phil Phorce is a fictional periodical featuring my favorite characters from my own writing. It comes out in episodes, once every three months or so. To find out more and to read previous episodes, please go to these two pages: About the Phils and the Phil Phorce. Please enjoy Phil Phorce, Episode 6: Soap Opera.
As soon as Percival was back, Quirk called a conference. They sat in Percival’s living room in chairs pilfered from the kitchen and bedroom. Steve was in the fish tank again for some reason.
“I think you’ll agree that we’ve done well over the past few days,” began Quirk. “A lot of things went haywire, yes, but we pulled ourselves together and made things happen. I’m sure some of you are happy, specifically, that our debt to the Blanks is paid.” He looked at Percival, who nodded. “Not only that, but we’ve managed to function together as a team for the first time since Liam died, and that means a lot to me. Now, I know it was hard along the way, but we made it through safe and sound.” He glanced at Isaac. “I know I speak for all of us when I say that we would have been sorry to lose you, Isaac.”
Feiron snorted. Quirk glared at him. He was glad Steve was submerged; he knew the ping pong ball would have something nasty to say if he had heard.
“Now listen here,” said Isaac as the Phils sat back, feeling good about themselves. “I want to make something perfectly clear. I do not appreciate being given one thing, then having it ripped from my hands as a potentially fatal object. I don’t care if it was intentional or not, but I won’t have it!”
“Isaac, calm down,” said Quirk. “None of us knew the soap was dangerous when we gave it to you.”
Isaac threw up his hands. “It was soap? I didn’t even know what it was until now. I was told to try it out, but what am I to do? I’m getting yelled at by this psychotic fairy to use something I can’t identify, and then someone’s bursting into the room, yelling at me more, and ripping whatever it was out of my hands.” Isaac thumped his fist into his leg. “I can’t make sense of anything on a normal day—today was even worse. I am, for the second time, handing in my resignation.”
The room was silent except for Steve blowing bubbles in the aquarium.
“We don’t want to lose you, Isaac,” said Quirk.
“Quirk, if that is indeed your voice,” sighed Isaac, “I am already lost. I haven’t seen for more than a year now. My time with you has been long and painful and rather confusing. I’ve heard of people saying they’ve learned to live with the other four senses after becoming blind, but my other four senses don’t want to help me at this point. Feiron’s said it many a time and I’m sure you’re all thinking it: I am pathetic. Please, just let me get back to my story. Let me get my sight back.”
Quirk didn’t know what to say. Isaac had always been a little discontent—he had tried to leave once, but Liam had written a plot bunny into his story that had forced him to stay. Isaac had been useful, however. Not as useful as Feiron, but they were never separate. Losing Liam because he had to die had been difficult. Losing Isaac and Feiron because they didn’t like his company was much, much harder.
“You want us to let you regain your sight yourself,” said Percival, “but I think we can do better than that. Phils, I think it’s time for a field trip—a true quest. We can help Isaac find a cure, or we can die trying.”
“You’re just trying to get us out of your apartment again, aren’t you?” asked Quirk.
Percival looked at the fresh graffiti by the window and nodded.