Meet The   a.k.a.  Marie Treblast

Date of Birth: July 5, 1928
Date of Death: January 1, 1976

As well you should be, because I'm not your run-of-the-mill gargoyle. . . Quite frankly, I'm dead. Here's the "why" and the "how".

>>From that day on, I traveled by myself, and learned how to fend for myself. Moving from one place to another, never putting down any roots for fear of getting hurt and being abandoned again. Besides, it's not like there were thousands of gargoyles to choose from or anything. For about ten years, I thought I might be the only one left in the whole world. . . or at least in Canada.

That was until 1965 when I finally found a small clan living in Edmonton. And when I say small, that is no understatement. There were a grand total of five of us, all abandoned or orphaned, and all vulnerable to the pressures of a big world.

It was the age of hippies. The era of bellbottoms and platform shoes. The time of flower children, and the period where most of the commen swears used today were "born". Of new age music and strange, but beautiful poetry. The time where there were riots protesting this and that, peace crusaders in rainbow coloured clothing, and rallys every weekend.

I was caught up in the excitement of it all, the sheer enthusiasm that these people had for their causes, and I absolutly luved the fashions. And not to mention the understanding some of the humans had for us! Many of those who were hippies readily accepted us gargoyles for what we were, after only a few screams. Of course, most of the time they were full of alcohal or drugs. . .

And, after a few weeks, so were we. We had the "look", we had the personalities, but the sad truth is that, beyond the peaceful, colourful appearance we all shared, each and everyone of us was sinking into the pit of drug addiction and alcohalism. It was part of who we were, and, after a while, the only way we could feel at peace with life was after a bottle of beer, or a bit of marijuana. At the time, it seemed a great way to relax and calm yourself, not to mention escape- but it would prove to be the end of many of us- including your's truely.

Yes, on the eve January first, 1976, caught up in the new years celebrations, I over doesed and fell unconsious. No one thought anything of it, we'd all fainted a few times from various sorts of drugs and various amounts of alcohol, and we'd always come out of it the next night, none the worse for wear. But I never came out of it. I died, quietly, on the floor of a seedy, drug dealer's apartment.

I "woke up" in a place that might be called heaven, devistated and horrifyed. I'd always heard of the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse, but it had taken death to knock some sense in me. I got my halo, my eternal happiness, and a boring white robe whcih I promly ripped to shreds, prefering my "mortal" attire. I was an angel.

And a bad one at that! I couldn't do ANYTHING right. I couldn't escourt new souls up without taking a wrong turn somewhere. I couldn't make it rain without first making it hail with stones the size of golf balls. I couldn't hand out halo's and robes to new angels without giving the wrong person the wrong halo. I couldn't keep the books without putting the entries in the wrong place. Quite frankly, I must be the singular most horrible angel that ever died. But I had to do something, I couldn't just sit there all the time and twiddle my thumbs. So, as a last resort, I was sent on a guardian mission.

To be a guardian is a tough job. It involves going down to Earth and turning someone who isn't a great kind of person into a good, kind one. Don't get me wrong, we get all kinds of "angel magic" and stuff to help us, but we do have limitations. And we cannot, under any circumstances, let that particular person, or anyone for that matter, know what we are. Big, bad rule number one, amung about fifty others. One thing you should know about me, I hate rules with a passion. They stink. I've always said, "The rule that can't be broken can surely be bent".

Now, first of all, my mission isn't exactly the easiest mission I could have gotten. In fact, it's down right impossible. "It" is Demona. She's more than just a gargoyle with a bad attitude, she's just. . . just. . . wrong, you know what I mean? And I have to make this right. . . sheesh, talk about your fixer-uppers.

But what could I do? It was my last chance, and I didn't really want to find out what the consequences were if I failed. So, I took it. I went to Manhattan, and promply discovered new technology, strange people, and a clan of Scottish gargoyles nestled high above the sky in a castle perched above a skyscrapper, as well as Demona.

Two things went wrong. A) Demona hated me, and I do mean hate. I guess she somehow sensed me as some kind of a threat to her evil type lifestyle or something. So, now, I have to be very careful in how I approch her, and most of the time I sort of work my "magic" through Angela, the only gargoyle who can see Demona and come back alive. I think it was the time she threw me headfirst into the brick wall that I realized she didn't like me very much. . .

B) I fell in love. With a cute red gargoyle named Brooklyn. This "infatuation" as it's been called, lead me to break big, bad, rule number one. Of course, I just didn't go and tell him like that, without cause or meaning. After all, "Nice to meet you, I'm Anya the angel" isn't really a great way to start things out, never mind the fact that it's hardly believable.

No, it's Owen. . .er. . . Puck's. . . (WHOEVER he is) fault. I did one iddy bitty magical thing so Brooklyn wouldn't be chopped up into tiny pieces by Demona, and was ready and waiting with a big long story about how my mother was half fey and my father a sorcerer or something like that, but noooooooo. He had to go and ruin it by telling everyone that I wasn't fey. So then, what was I supposed to do? They practically strapped me to a chair and MADE me tell them who I was.

It wasn't like I told them everything. No, just that I was dead, and an angel sent back to Earth. I figured, okay, I can deal with this. Wrong. The big guy up above got mad, and I do mean MAD! I'd screwed everything else up, and now I'd broken the rule. So now, I'm stuck here, on Earth, until I reform Demona. Considering she's immortal, I'm in for quite a long stay.

And there's a catch. After she's been reformed, the only way I can get back is if I die again. Once was quite enough for me, and I'm not too excited about doing it again. It's a cold, frightening, almost evil experience, and it seems to last forever. Needless to say, Owen/Puck and I don't get along very well.

So, I am now part of the Manhattan clan, though I'll always be a true Canuck at heart. I help out on patrols, and get especially, er, temperamental when I hear about drugs on the streets. I've had first hand experience with what those things can do to you, and I'm about as anti-drug as you can get. I guess all it takes is a fatal serving of pot, and you "Wake up and smell the coffee." Sort of a high price to pay, isn't it?

And I'm sort of a trouble maker. My hippyish instincts from the sixties and seventies still live inside me, and I've been caught by Owen more than once for spray painting various messages on the castle walls. Heck, I'm only trying to add a little color to this otherwise drab and dull castle. Brooklyn likes it. He calls me a "creative soul ", and I guess it's true. (In more ways than one!) I'm a poet, a writer, and I'll draw, occasionally, on surfaces other than brick walls. And then there's my voice. It's truely my pride and joy, and I'll sing whenever I get the chance.

As for looks, I'm a lightish greenish color, and my long hair is black. I wear traditionaly "hippy attire", and always cape my wings unless I'm in flight, including stone sleep. My eyes are gray, and I can often be seen with a small flower painted onto my cheak. Up above, the stupid little halo float above my head constently, and I can't get rid or it. When I came to Earth, I left it, hoping that, when I return, it'll have disappeared. Praying, if fact, no pun intended. . .

So, that's me. . . probably more than you needed to know about me, but I'm very long winded, and I just hope I haven't bored you too much. See ya around, and remember:

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